Saturday Morning Greetings

[Donster]

Morning all. First day of the American 4th of July weekend. Got back from Madison, Wisconsin last night around 7:15. Had a nice little birthday celebration with Lottie's mom for her 90th. Good cake! We shared with many of the other assisted living residents who wished to partake and members of the staff. Such a feeling of sadness overcomes you with some of the residents. A few seem to frighten easily, some refuse to talk, though they can. Others ramble on incoherently. I have to say God Bless those residents, as most are part of the Greatest Generation, and it seems so cruel for them to have to end the golden years like this. And God Bless those caregivers, I don't see how they do their job day in and day out. It has to be depressing, messy of course as you can imagine, and hard work. I don't know if Lottie's mom will be with us by her next birthday, as I noticed a big change in her both physically and mentally since I last saw her. I hope some day soon we get a phone call that she left this earth by going to sleep and just not waking up. It is days like yesterday that I question my faith in God. But I know I have to keep on believing what his plan is is the righteous one. I am so glad my brothers and I were able to care for our mother up to the end in her own home. Would have been so much more difficult for her to be in a nursing home. And that is the saddest part, those people don't want to be there, the wanted to stay in the homes they lived most of their adult lives in, where they raised their families. Lord please take me before I get into a situation like that.

Clear skies and 63F, warmer today with a high of 86F and more humid.

[The Dude]

Morning.

I know what you mean, Donnie.

I dreaded what I called "The Gauntlet" at the care center where my father spent his last two years. The gauntlet was the long walk through the hallways I'd have to make to get to my father's room. In each hallway, or gauntlet, the residents were parked in their wheelchairs outside of their rooms. Each resident would see me coming and would get this happy, hopeful look on their face because maybe I was their son come to visit. My sister couldn't look them in the eyes because it was too hard for her, but I'd try to at least look at them and say hello. But that was almost a cruelty to say hello because as soon as they realized I was not going to visit with them, they looked so crestfallen it broke my heart. And the hallways were long ... and there were four of them.

And then I'd get to my dad's hallway, and I'd see his face light up as I approached, and I'd say hello and he'd look at me and smile and be so happy ... but he had no idea who I was.

I'm with you, Donnie ... better to go quickly than languish in a "home" no matter how kind and gentle the care might be.

[TCat]

Morning.

I know what you mean, Donnie.

I dreaded what I called "The Gauntlet" at the care center where my father spent his last two years. The gauntlet was the long walk through the hallways I'd have to make to get to my father's room. In each hallway, or gauntlet, the residents were parked in their wheelchairs outside of their rooms. Each resident would see me coming and would get this happy, hopeful look on their face because maybe I was their son come to visit. My sister couldn't look them in the eyes because it was too hard for her, but I'd try to at least look at them and say hello. But that was almost a cruelty to say hello because as soon as they realized I was not going to visit with them, they looked so crestfallen it broke my heart. And the hallways were long ... and there were four of them.

And then I'd get to my dad's hallway, and I'd see his face light up as I approached, and I'd say hello and he'd look at me and smile and be so happy ... but he had no idea who I was.

I'm with you, Donnie ... better to go quickly than languish in a "home" no matter how kind and gentle the care might be.

Same story here Doug, to the 'T'. The only difference being the condition of my dad. He was a double amputee at the knees and had chronic asbestosis. My mom was home but in very poor condition, smoking all her life, she dragged an oxygen bottle behind her. At the time, I was working my butt off trying to overcome the loss of my business. When I visited him, he knew exactly who I was and would ask me to take him home. Guess I'll pay for that later on.

[The Dude]

Guess I'll pay for that later on.

Only if modern medicine saves your body but not your mind