[Open-faced] Sandwich Generation
I am one of millions of baby-boomers directly helping a parent deal with the challenges of aging. Probably unlike most of my cohorts, however, I am lucky to have a parent who isn’t in denial about her fading abilities. Additionally, my parents were never shy about talking about death and dying – in fact, over the years we’ve had some rather morbidly funny conversations about The Inevitable. After my father died at 92, my mother started talking about maybe moving to a Life Care community, where whatever level of services she might need before dying would be available where she was already living. She started researching both Life Care and Assisted Living facilities in New York (state and city). She also made a couple of “reconnaissance” trips to the Twin Cities (Minneapolis/St. Paul) area, where I, her only child, live, to see what was available near me.
As she gathered information and visited sites, she would ask me what I thought she should do. I told her, honestly, that I was ambivalent – and listed my reasons for and against - and would not make the decision for her. She had many of the same reasons for being ambivalent, so just stayed put in her NYC co-op apartment – until a “perfect storm” of sorts occurred: a pipe burst in her apartment and flooded her unit, the unit below her, and part of the lobby 6 floors down (some of the water in the pipe’s room escaped out the back door and down the service stairway). The clean-up and insurance claims were a nightmare for her, and mom decided she wanted the lesser responsibility of being a renter instead of an owner. The other part of the storm was that the senior residence in the Twin Cities that she’d liked the best was having an “anniversary special” on rent and included services. Mom crunched the numbers and determined that it would cost the same for her to live in the Minneapolis apartment with all the extras as it did to stay in (more expensive) NYC. That did it: mom moved to Minneapolis, and a month later, transferred all responsibility for her finances to me, saying that her brain had “slowed down” so much, money management had become too much of a chore. I now tease her unmercifully about the role reversal when I give her any cash for incidentals. It’s not a complete role reversal, since she’s still competent to control her finances if she wanted to, so unlike my childhood allowance, she gets as much cash as she wants. But I enjoy giving her a hard time about her “Rockefeller ways” (in reality, she lives well within her means).
My apprehension about all mom would give up by leaving NYC faded quickly. From Day One, mom loved her new apartment. For one thing, her NYC living room faced a brick wall; the bedroom faced a courtyard surrounded by tall buildings. The Minneapolis living room on the south side of the building has a panoramic view from above the rooftops of surrounding buildings; the bedroom also has a south-facing window. So mom has lots of light. She makes me laugh with her constant exclamations of “all the sky in Minnesota!” Compared to the “canyons” of Manhattan, I guess we do have more sky here.
I was also worried that mom would get lonely and that I’d become her only social connection. Although she’s friendly, she’s also shy and content to be alone. That’s served her fine in a place like NYC that she knew well and where she had several relatives and life-long friends nearby; but in a completely unfamiliar city (and culture!)…. Mom amazed and impressed me on this issue: for the first few months, she went to dinner in the residence’s restaurant every evening, looked around for someone sitting alone at a table, and asked him or her if she could sit there! As other diners started to recognize her, many would invite her to sit with them when they’d spot her arriving. Soon enough, mom had developed a social circle. Even more amazing to me, whenever I’d visit, Mom would reel off names of the various people she’d met lately. This from a woman whose short-term memory for everyday things is noticeably declining!
Another way in which I’m lucky compared to my fellow baby boomers is that, being self-employed, I don’t answer to anyone about my “work attendance” or “productivity”. For the first year Mom lived in Minneapolis, I would visit her every Thursday, and go with her on the lunch outing that was scheduled every week (with free transportation provided by the residence). Since I can converse with just about anybody, Mom didn’t have to worry about talking to others if she didn’t feel like it: she could size them up by what and how they conversed with each other and me, and decide who among them she might want to cultivate as friends on her own later. My strategy worked quite well, plus I really enjoyed getting to know the various characters Mom lives among. I went through a kind of withdrawal when Mom said she didn’t want to go anymore. Apparently they miss me, too: Mom still mentions that someone has asked about me. She also tells me, somewhat slyly, that some seem to be quite envious of her with such an “attentive” daughter who visits once a week and spends the whole afternoon every time! Their kids must hate me for making them look bad by comparison. However, I don’t have children demanding my time. Thus I’m not a harried member of the “Sandwich Generation.” The only “unlucky” part of my situation is having no siblings, and no relatives younger than 70, to help me help Mom if/when she needs more than her current residence (which has a la carte assisted living services available) can provide.
But for now, Mom is healthy enough not to need any prescription medication, has no aches or pains, can be as independent as she wants to be, but has meals, transportation and cleaning services available whenever she wants them. Mom says she doesn’t know if she left NYC just in time, or whether the super-easy living she enjoys now has hastened her decline. In NYC, she walked 2 miles three times a week just for exercise, plus was out and about in at least a 5-block area every day. These days, she doesn’t leave her building very often, and doesn’t get anywhere near the exercise she used to, despite having plenty of options for it. But she not only continues to say how happy she is here, she also says that, at nearly 92, she’s ready to die whenever her body decides it’s time. I’m in no hurry to lose her; but being able to talk – and even joke – about it with her will make it easier to deal with when the time comes. Dad took 3 months to go from healthy to dead, but even before he got ill, he, too, felt he’d lived long enough. Mom and I hope her transition will be at least as quick.