It takes a village to raise a child. But it also takes a village to help an elderly person flourish during their last chapter of life.
In this column, I have written frequently about my friend Tracy’s elderly mother, Dixie. She celebrated her 99th birthday on Aug. 22. She died one week later, in her sleep, at the home of her son and daughter-in-law. She had lived with them for almost eight years.
Dixie’s story is a familiar one. Her husband passed away years earlier in his mid-70s, and so she lived by herself for quite some time. As she moved into her 90s, she was no longer able to drive and her friends had passed away or moved. She was alone.
She literally lived across the country from her son and daughter, in Florida, and they both worried about her. She would never agree to come and live with either child. She was fiercely independent despite her growing frailty and cognitive decline. Like many older adults, Dixie couldn’t wrap her head around making any change.
Then one day her daughter-in-law flew down to Florida, scooped Dixie up and brought her to Everett for a “visit.” Her stay lasted 7½ years! During those years, Dixie frequently would say that she would be going home soon, but her family convinced her that she was needed — to help with her great-grandchildren who lived nearby and were frequent visitors.
In Florida, she was housebound. But at her son and daughter-in-law’s, she delighted in going out. She was reborn at 91. Her son retired from a long career as a physician in Everett so he could help take care of his mom. “She was a wonderful mother,” he told me. “I wanted her last years to be secure and comfortable.” It was a big decision and a big sacrifice — not one that is practical for everyone.
Once a week, Dixie and I would meet for lunch at a local restaurant. These outings gave her daughter-in-law some time off and added to Dixie’s quality of life. But our lunches also added to the quality of my life. Helping an older adult have a more meaningful and worthwhile old age is a privilege.
The Sunday before she died, I went over to my friend’s house to “elder sit,” so he and his wife could go out to dinner with friends.
In the last several months, Dixie’s function had steeply declined. She couldn’t walk unassisted, she slept most of the day, and she went in and out of awareness. Her breathing had become more rapid and she occasionally had chest pain. She was coming to end of her long life. Her family could no longer leave her alone and were providing end-of-life care. Caring for Dixie had become considerably more difficult.
That day, I helped Dixie with the few mouthfuls of food she would eat and sat next to her, talking about the few topics from the distant past that she often repeated. She reminded me, “There’s nothing wrong with me!” and that she would soon be going back to her home in Florida.
I played some music from the ‘40s that she might remember. She smiled and told me that she used to love to dance with her husband, as we listened to the Glenn Miller Orchestra. She was peaceful, content and comfortable.
Three days later, sitting in her chair in the living room, fast asleep, she stopped breathing. Her long visit was over.
We held her memorial service over the Labor Day weekend. Her son and daughter, five of her grandchildren, 11 great-grandchildren and a small number of family friends attended.
This small village of loved ones — who sustained her, nurtured her and gave her a sense of purpose in her final years — gathered to remember this loving and shining matriarch.
Paul Schoenfeld is director of The Everett Clinic’s Center for Behavioral Health. His Family Talk Blog can be found at www.everettclinic.com/family-talk-blog.
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