- Being the only child of my husband, the responsibility of taking care of my father-in-law fell on us.
- After 61 years, we had to relocate him from his long-time home to an assisted living facility.
- Unfortunately, he passed away at the age of 93, just before Valentine’s Day. However, he was deeply loved.
Gently maneuvering my father-in-law’s squeaky wheelchair into the stark white conference room, I couldn’t escape the overpowering smell of ammonia permeating the nursing home.
Despite its mediocre state inspection ratings, this facility had an available bed, which led to overwhelming guilt for my spouse and me as we placed Bob here.
In the conference room, a stoic social worker sat beside the activities director, who had just returned from a smoke break by the large green trash dumpster. The scent of cigarette smoke battled the unpleasant urine odor for any semblance of fresh air. We settled in for Bob’s care plan meeting, an assessment of his well-being, evaluating what was effective and what needed improvement.
Since Bob couldn’t hear a thing, as his hearing aids had not been charged the previous night, I came prepared with a dry-erase board and red marker. By writing down the discussion, I aimed to ensure he remained aware of the conversation and could express his concerns and questions.
Unanticipated Circumstances
Sitting in the conference room, my husband and I exchanged anxious glances. This was not how we had envisioned the final years of my father-in-law’s life.
Four weeks earlier, after much contemplation and with Bob’s consent, my husband and I moved him from his Dallas home of six decades. Being in a wheelchair most of the time, Bob could manage basic activities like transferring from the chair to the bed. However, the level of care required was too much for the initially chosen assisted living center.
Barely lasting 72 hours, he ended up in the hospital due to dehydration caused by nausea and vomiting. As our obligation fell upon us as the only child of an only child, my husband and I, as newlyweds, made the decision to move two hours south to be closer to Bob. We had hoped for quality time with him, taking him out, enjoying meals together, and attending local events he had always cherished.
A Desire to Stay Close
After his hospital discharge, Bob required advanced care, forcing us to reluctantly find a nearby facility with an available bed. Despite the family photos on his nightstand and a vibrant red poinsettia, his somber demeanor prevailed. The tasteless and colorless institutional food couldn’t compare to his love for freshly cooked, seasoned vegetables. Cherry pie, one of his favorites, was nowhere to be found in this nursing home.
The Question of Old Age
The staff agreed that Bob should be present for the meeting. In the wheelchair, he seemed small and vulnerable. His round face donned a five-o’clock shadow, and his eyes appeared bluer than ever in the 33 years I had known him. A former architect, he had always dressed impeccably, but now he wore oversized flannel plaid pants and a sweatshirt stained with cereal crumbs from breakfast. Weakness and muscle atrophy had confined him to the wheelchair. Bob was fading, and he knew it.
Fifteen minutes into the meeting, he grew restless and expressed his fatigue. In response, I wrote on his dry-erase board, asking if he had any questions for the staff. Without hesitation, he asked, “What do you do with a 93-year-old man?” Given his unwanted circumstances, it was a reasonable and poignant inquiry. The staff squirmed in their chairs, and the activities director, emitting the lingering scent of smoke, replied, “We love him. That’s what we do.” Bob smirked and barely nodded his head.
Bob lived for another six weeks, passing away a week before Valentine’s Day. As I looked at his lifeless body one last time before the funeral home arrived, my gaze fell upon the small heart-shaped box of candy I had bought him for Valentine’s Day. We would never witness his enjoyment of each gooey chocolate nugget. This simple gift was meant to symbolize our love for him in the coming week. It was then that I realized my husband and I had accomplished our initial goal from the start of this journey — we had shown him immense love.
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