With Mom in an assisted living facility, my visits to see her have exposed me to the impact of old age in ways I’ve never seen before. It’s been an eye-opener.
Typically my interaction with the residents happens in two scenarios — coming and going, and in the dining room. When you enter the facility, you pass outdoor benches and rockers. If the weather permits, there are usually some residents outside. Most of them are smokers. It was a bit jarring the first time I saw 85-year-old women dragging away on cigarettes, but the smokers probably figure what the hell — why not, at this point? Curiously, the smokers seem to be among the residents in the best overall shape.
Many of the other residents are congregated in the large common room near the entrance. Some of them are in wheelchairs, and most of the rest use walkers. Some are sleeping — usually deeply, often with heads back and mouths wide open — and others are just sitting. Although there usually are many people in the room, there typically isn’t much conversation. Even when I walk in on an event, like a bingo game run by a chipper assistant or an accordion performance, many of the residents are disengaged.
Some residents still get dressed up and take care with their appearance, and others have just let it go. You’ll see women in make-up and jewelry and coordinated outfits and others who just wear loose shifts. Some of the people clearly are with it, and others aren’t. Recently, when Mom was still down in the dining room when I arrived, I sat at her table with a cheerful woman who, upon being introduced, immediately told me that she had no short term memory. Within a minute, she repeated herself several times. She clearly was aware of her condition, but there was nothing she could do about it.
Mom’s assisted living facility is a nice place, as such facilities go. It’s kept very clean, the meals are well-prepared, and the staff members are friendly and attentive and work hard at what has to be a very tough job. Most of the residents seem to have accepted their situations and are . . . waiting, and trying to make the best of things. They can’t take care of themselves, their spouses are gone, and they really don’t have any good alternatives.
Even though I’ve been visiting the place for more than a year, I’m still sorting through my reactions to the very complicated issues raised by the end-game scenario.