THE TRANSITION
When the time came for my family to make the choice to transition my sweet dad in to a long-term care facility, I remember both sides of the coin felt unfair. If we kept him at home or if we placed him in a facility – we still didn’t get him. And that’s ultimately what we all want. We all want our loved ones back. The transition to a care facility ends that hope (which we all know is an illusion anyway – once FTD swoops in, that hope slowly subsides).
The feelings and emotion surrounding moving my dad definitely ebbed and flowed. When he was first placed, we tried a board and care facility as we wanted him in a home setting vs. a facility. After a few months there and as his disease progressed, his behavior became unmanageable for the staff and we moved him again. Each transition held something new. But the feelings…. Oh, those emotions – they were always there. They changed and shifted and grew and diminished, but they followed me. The pain and the anger, the sorrow and the helplessness, the vulnerability and the “handing over the reigns” – that never goes away. It shifts, but never fully leaves.
During his stay at the board and care, I remember being so incredibly anxious to visit. I feared he was angry at me for “giving up” and I absolutely hated seeing him living somewhere other than in my childhood home. I felt guilty, I felt scared and I felt so unbelievably sad. I hated seeing his room, where he slept and his clothes hanging in the closet.
It wasn’t supposed to be this way
When our family knew he needed a higher level of care, we transitioned him from the board and care to a long-term care facility where he spent the last years of his life. The move (for him) was smooth and easy, while I was a worried wreck.
Would he be confused? Scared? How would he adjust? Would he resent me? Would he even know?
Because he was non-verbal, he wasn’t able to express his feelings, so I took my lead from the staff and from watching him. He remained docile and kind and we quickly learned the ropes (he liked looking out the front window, he loved music time and crafts, and his roommate, Daryl became his new buddy). I took pride in decorating his room, getting him extra cozy blankets and fluffy pillows, I even found a Jimi Hendrix poster that I put near his bed. I wanted to make him feel like he was home… because after all, it was. This place became his home. Slowly and surely and with time and patience.
My dad lived the majority of his disease in an assisted living. And even though it was brutally hard, heartbreaking and painful – for us – it was the best place for him. I knew he was clean, fed, cared for, stimulated and loved. Over the years I developed a friendship with his team. I grew to know their hearts were in the right place and they all truly loved my dad.
Change is hard and it can be scary and overwhelming. It can feel never-ending, guilt ridden and intimidating. The shift to a care facility is no different, except you’re making decisions for someone else. I’ll tell you what, though, you know your person, just like I knew Frankie – you know their heart and they know yours.
