My brother and I moved our 92-year-old mother into a nursing home a couple of weeks ago. She requested the switch from a residential care facility because she had fallen twice in the previous week. Quite naturally, she feared falling again and being left on the floor for hours before being discovered.
Sometimes, growing old isn’t so enjoyable. Until she broke her hip at age 89, my mom had been peppy and alert. But as time goes on, her physical and mental faculties diminish. Now she is in a wheelchair instead of using a walker. She has difficulty organizing her thoughts. She has trouble concentrating while reading. She really can’t write letters anymore. And going to the restroom is an ordeal for a variety of reasons.
On a positive note, she likes her new roommate, has seemed to rediscover her sense of humor and is eating better since moving into the nursing home, where the staff is compassionate and friendly, from the groundskeepers to the meal servers.
But the move from a two-room apartment to a semiprivate room meant that my brother and I had to sell, discard or keep various clothes, furniture and mementoes. We have some new photos on the wall at home. My brother reminded me of when our uncle and aunt moved into an assisted-living facility a few years ago. They didn’t have room for all the photo albums of the trips they had taken as a couple. And none of the children wanted them.
Life is short. Have fun. Enjoy the memories. But don’t take too many photos.
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