Nursing Home Holidays

Holidays are supposed to conjure up warm happy images of get-together with friends and family, but for the thousands of people with loved ones in a nursing home or assisted living facility, this becomes more complicated.  Usually it's not practical to bring the resident out of the facility, but they still long to be included in the celebrations.  I've spent the past few holidays- birthdays, Halloween, Thanksgiving, and Christmas- visiting my father in his nursing home.  I need to spend the time with him for my own peace of mind, and it would be painful to think about him by himself, but it also allows me to share with the residents who don't have visitors and get to know the other families that do come. 

Dad got a card from his former secretary
of 20 years, who still keeps in touch

The first two assisted living facilities Dad was in organized formal brunches for the residents' families on Christmas and Thanksgiving, which was nice but not the most practical thing considering so many residents were on special diets or weren't able to feed themselves, and something chaotic always seemed to happen.  His current nursing home, Maryhaven, didn't do anything for Thanksgiving- the nurse told me when I got there at 4p that I was actually only the third visitor to the unit all day.  This greatly saddened me, so I was expecting a similar lackluster turnout for Christmas, and was pleasantly surprised to come on Christmas Eve and see people milling out of a mass service and heading to a table adorned with cookies, cocoa, and eggnog (unspiked, unfortunately). His unit was much more quiet, but still quite cheery.  He said he didn't want to leave his room, so we sat together in there and talked and sang.  I told him it was Christmas Eve and I wanted to be sure to visit, and he truly looked like he meant it when he said, "Thank you." 

When I pulled up at 2:30p on Christmas Day, the parking lot was full.  The families coming out all gave me a warm, understanding nod and wished me a Merry Christmas.  The library and main room were full of people of all ages visiting Grandpa, Mom, or Aunt Susan.  I brought Dad out from his room and we found a corner of the library to camp out in.  A woman and her mother were watching "It's a Wonderful Life" on the computer, a man was reading to his father, and a woman sat quietly holding her husband's hand.  Dad was having some of his usual terrors, and I was trying to soothe him.  Just then my sister Dede called, and I asked Dad if he wanted to talk to her.  He took the phone and was able to have fairly lucid conversations with Dede and my two nieces, who were at a family celebration in Georgia.  Even though he didn't remember the conversation 5 minutes later when I said that they had called, for the time he was talking to his grandchildren he was happy and fulfilled and in the moment.  Afterwards we broke into several rounds of "Take Me Out to the Ballgame," and he relaxed. 

As I pushed him back down the hallway to his unit, several residents in their rooms looked up at us and smiled.  I hoped that they had somebody special to share the holidays with- a visitor on Christmas, a phone call on Thanksgiving, a card on Hanukkah, whatever.  Being able to spend time with Dad on these days and seeing the other families go out of their way to include their loved ones on special occasions has meant to much.  I was feeling slightly Grinch-ish this year, but the outpouring of compassion and joy at the nursing home on Christmas managed to touch my heart and melt much of my dreariness.

Tears

Crying is a very odd behavior.  Usually in response to emotion, moisture comes out of the eyes in a somewhat erratic manner.  It's often accompanied by sobbing, wailing, hiccups, and a runny nose.  But that's just how it manifests- it represents so much more.  Anything can trigger it- pain, sadness, anger, hurt, joy, sorrow, nostalgia.  It's actually quite liberating and comforting.  You often hear the phrase "a good cry," and I think there's something to it. 

I guess I think of myself as fairly sensitive (often to a fault) and emotional.  I get upset at other people's pain and things that don't directly affect me, like hearing about a suicide or horrible injustice.  When I was six, Dad was telling a story to a group of guests about a man who got locked out of his hotel room while trying to find a bathroom in the middle of the night- it was supposed to be amusing with all sorts of anecdotes and adventures and everybody at the dinner table was cracking up, but I was so distraught for the poor man.  When the laughter died down, I looked at Dad solemnly and asked, "But did he ever get to the bathroom?"  His discomfort haunted me all night.

These days, as the stress and depression build up, I find myself crying more often than ever before.  It usually happens at night or in the morning- for me, the times when things seem the most overwhelming.  I've cried over the phone with friends or Hospice, and am so appreciative of them just being there, listening, supporting.  It's a huge act of compassion. 

I was at an event with some friends the other night that should have been quite enjoyable, but I was having trouble getting caught up in it.  I was feeling incredibly despondent the whole evening and became more agitated and upset on the way home.  Suddenly the tears started welling up, and right after I pulled over I burst into violent, uncontrollable sobs.  I cried so hard I was sure I was going to hyperventilate or vomit.  I cried for the frustration, the sadness, the uncertainty.  I cried for Dad's condition and for the prospect of losing him.  For the headaches, the tummy aches, the fatigue.  For the friend who lost a brother, the neighbor who lost a cat, and the friend who lost her mother- all last week.  For the fear I am so wrapped up in my melancholy I'm not being a good friend to the people trying to offer support.  For the underlying worry that *things will never get better*.  And then I stopped, just as quickly as I started, exhausted and hoarse but ready to drive home.  

There is an old Yiddish proverb that says, "The eyes are the mirror to the soul."  They show what's really going on inside, as opposed to words and even behaviors that can serve as a mask.  I suppose it's fitting that they are the source of tears- one of the ultimate displays of emotion.  I've heard the stigma that crying is something to be ashamed of and means you're *weak*.  I actually thinks it's an indicator that there's too much bottled up inside that needs to come out, and allowing it to is sign of strength.  When it does, it's a huge relief and a chance to see things from another perspective. 

The Birthday

Monday was my father's birthday.  He was born in 1924-before television, computers, washing machines.  It boggles my mind to think of all he has witnessed in his lifetime.  Two ex-wives, six children and eight grandchildren later, he's still holding on.    

On Sunday a few of my friends drove up to Maryhaven with me for a little birthday celebration.  I made brownies, and we stopped to get Dad a Venti Frappuccino- his absolute favorite.  While I went to his room to get him, my friends set up in an unused room in the basement- actually the old ice cream parlor, and quite charming.  They made a huge "Happy 86th Birthday, Henry!"sign on the posterboard I brought and put out the cards and presents.  Dad was grumpy and combative when I first greeted him, and was suspicious about being brought into the elevator.  As soon as we stepped off, we were welcomed with a chorus of "Happy Birthday to you!" 



Post-chocolate slump!

I think he was more in awe than anything else.  He didn't seem to understand that it was his birthday, or recognize any of my friends.  His face lit up, though, when he saw the Frappuccino and he reached for it.  He said he didn't want a brownie, but that changed as soon as I started cutting them for the rest of us.  Settled with enough sugar and caffeine to sustain him for a while, he let me help with the presents.  The one activity he enjoys on his own is watching videos of old movies, so I had gotten Show Boat and The Sound of Music- two of his favorites- from 2nd Hand Tunes.  He saw the cover of Show Boat and smiled, actually laughed for the first time in months when I started singing "Old Man River," and even sung along for a few bars: "He don't plan taters, he don't plant cotton...".  Then one of my friends started singing "Take Me Out to the Ballgame," and the musical party had begun.  When he started getting agitated, we packed up and brought him upstairs.  We left some brownies with the nursing staff, put on Sound of Music, and said our goodbyes.  He was thoroughly worn out, but in decent spirits. 
On Monday, his actual birthday, I went out myself to visit.  He was dozing in his chair when I got there and I took his hand and sat next to him for several minutes, watching his chest rise and fall and thankful for every one.  His eyes fluttered and finally opened, and I wheeled him into the library.  For 45 minutes we sat, talked, and sang.  He was stoic and still worn out from the day before, but seemed peaceful.  He didn't remember the party or my friends, and again showed no response to my birthday wishes, but he did gobble up the leftover brownie I brought.  At one point Gretta, the head nurse's cocker spaniel, wandered into the library and Dad reached for her.  I lifted her onto his lap and there she sat, providing warmth, touch, and companionship. 

I couldn't have asked for a better birthday celebration, and I imagine Dad would agree.  I am so incredibly thankful that my friends came out to celebrate with us, and that I had some alone time with him.  My Hospice team has told me he loves watching the new movies, and Gretta was the figurative icing on the cake. Attention is all  I can offer him right now, and being able to share the time together was a gift for both of us.