A man I’ll call George hired my friend, a social worker, to visit his “Uncle Milt.” George hoped my friend would persuade Milt, 96, to move from the home he loved on the East Coast to a nursing home in Nebraska near George. Uncle Milt, however, was firmly planted and said so loud and clear.
The social worker found Milt alert and engaging. She gave him a “mini-mental” test that showed minor memory loss but no dementia. Milt’s two long-time health-care aides were present. They kept him clean and well-fed and took him on outings. A neighbor looked in on Milt every evening. Clearly they all shared a deep affection for Milt. He seemed happy.
My friend informed George that Milt could safely remain in his home and recommended he be allowed to do so.
Changing roles is an inescapable byproduct of time. From your baby’s first step, to his first day at school — from the day she gets her driver’s license until her college dorm is in your rear view mirror — your role is changing. And your relationship evolves from all-knowing protector and teacher to “out to lunch” parent of a teen, to bankroller with a good idea once in a while, surprising your nearly grown college freshman.
When my father was 93, riddled with cancer, chronically nauseated, and living on opioids he suffered a major heart attack. In the hospital, doctors determined his death was imminent but didn’t tell him. Dad denied his condition was serious. He was furious to be given a room on the heart ward instead of the ICU.
, 2017 ”a sign of hope.”
