I went to visit my parents yesterday in their assisted living facility. I should go more often. But, to be honest, it is something I never look forward to and it usually leaves me feeling sad and depressed. I like to prepare and plan as much as I can in life and both of those are out the door on these visits with my elderly parents; I never know what I'm walking into. Yesterday was no different.
My parents have recently moved into a new facility as their old one was simply not cutting it, for a variety of reasons. I like this place more, but of course it's more money. A lot of money. I respect my parents for being such good stewards of all that God gave them because they have the means to live in a place like this, knock on wood. I'm grateful they instilled the same sense of frugality in me.
Since moving in, my father has been quite confused. He thinks that he and mom live alone in this huge facility, calling it their house. He thinks my mom has divorced him and remarried. And the thinks my brother, Scott, is still alive. But the next minute, he is asking about my job, my new car, the house we are buying. It is a dizzying craziness that simply leaves me at a loss for words most of the time.
And then there's my mom. Prior to moving here, she was completely bedridden, unable to move much or walk at all. When my brother, Eric, was researching the new place they promised him they would get my mom out of bed so she would not be sentenced to life with no interaction with others. When I walked in, sure enough my mom was sitting in a special chair, her legs spread out before her. For a moment it almost seemed all was well. For a moment.
My mom is kind of like my dad: one minute lucid, the other minute talking foolishness. Even though she doesn't let on, I know my mom realizes a lot of what is going on, but when she tries to speak, she just can't find the right words. She has Alzheimers and it is only a matter of time until she no longer says anything, no longer engages, no longer recognizes me. So I'm grateful for the tiniest morsel she feeds me.
A short while after I arrive I hear piano playing and voices singing Christian hymns. I feel like I am home. I sing the words I know, hoping my parents will chime in, as both were raised in church. Neither of them responds, but I sing anyway, hoping against hope.
At one point my dad brings up Scott, my deceased brother, saying that Scott was driving mom and her new husband around in a car. I remind my dad that Scott died over six years ago and that he is my mom's only husband. Then I go on to tell him that my husband and I are thinking we will spread Scott's ashes on the Longmont High School baseball field where he excelled at pitching so many years ago. I ask my dad what he thinks about that. He says he doesn't like the idea because he wants to be able to keep talking to Scott and seeing Scott. This breaks my heart. I remind my dad that Scott is in heaven and if he wants to see Scott, he must simply believe in Jesus. He then says he doesn't know if it was a dream or not, but that it was so vivid. I could tell he just wanted to hold on to it. I get it, more than he probably realizes.
I think it is both profound and extremely sad that my father connected releasing Scott's ashes with no longer having access to him. It hit me hard. My brother has been in my basement for over six years and I think it's time to let the physical part of him go; it just simply is not there anymore. I dealt with his death five years ago, but I am the sister; as a parent, I cannot imagine the nightmare of my children dying before me.
I spent a bit more time with them before saying goodbye. Each time I leave I realize it may be the last time I see them. Of course this is true of anyone in our life which is why it is so crucial to be reconciled to those we care about and to tell them how we feel. So I kiss both of them on the forehead, tell them I love them and silently ask God for mercy, not just for them, but also for me.
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