It is hard to watch someone you love
diminish in health and mental sharpness. I saw it first with my grandparents,
then again with my own parents as they neared the end of their lives. What I
found hardest was not being able to help them make wise decisions about how to
care for themselves. Especially when it came to where and how to live in a way
that would make their final years safer, more supported, and less worrying for
everyone involved.
Being excluded from any decision-making is painful.
In my experience, the successful move from a home to an assisted living complex or a senior citizen residence depends on a multitude of factors. Today, I want to focus on just one of these factors: time.
To move somewhere of your own choosing, before it becomes absolutely necessary, can give you a new lease on life. My grandmother reluctantly moved out of the home that she and her husband had lived in for over 45 years. She held onto the past: her church ladies, her neighbours, and all the memories that filled every corner of the house. But it became clear she could no longer take care of the housecleaning and daily chores, either physically or mentally. So, with great hesitation, she moved into a small one-bedroom apartment in an assisted living complex.
Her life changed almost immediately. She befriended her neighbour down the hall, Barbra. She was given a small garden plot, where she could grow her favourite flowers. She could take a bus to the local shopping centre every week and enjoy people-watching and window shopping. She was able to go to Sunday mass regularly.
These were activities she had not done in the years before she moved. The ease of taking care of herself, compared to managing a large house, gave her years of unexpected joy. The fact that she moved while she could still do a bit of gardening and had curiosity about new friendships made all the difference. It gave her the strength to build a new life.
Choosing to move, or allowing yourself to be gently encouraged, does not mean life is over. It does not have to signal decline.
Over the past forty years, I have seen again and again how the decision to move “while we have the energy” can create a surprising sense of renewal. I have also seen the opposite: aging parents who absolutely refuse to consider a different facility, no matter how burdensome their current situation has become. In many of these cases, the emotional, physical, and financial toll affects everyone around them.
Knowing when to move feels like it should be a shared decision.
That said, I realise it is ultimately up to each individual to decide when and where to move. But how much better it would be to involve family and trusted friends in the process. To have the conversation early on, even years before the decision has to be made. To listen to each other. To leave enough space for new ideas to settle and grow.
There is a particular kind of sadness in being asked for advice when it is already too late. The decision has been made, the lease is signed, and there is nothing left to say. A shared decision gives everyone a voice. It allows time for doubt, for resistance, and for slowly leaning towards what is wise rather than what is convenient.
My mother-in-law is steadily moving towards a decision that we fear may not serve her well. She wants to transfer from one assisted living complex to another because she believes the new one will be better than the one where she currently lives. But it is not close to any shops. There is only one bus per hour. It will be difficult for any of us to visit regularly.
She wants a solution that suits her needs today. We are hoping for a solution that supports her well into the future. One that allows her to receive more care if she needs it and makes it easier for family to stop by without planning far in advance. We are thinking of what is to come. She is thinking of what is immediate.
Because she is someone who has always had to make hard decisions on her own (mother of nine, non-contributing and often violent husband, worked until she was 70 on a production line) , we can only watch from the sidelines. That is what we had to do with my parents as well. In this situation, we have not been invited to the table. We have not been asked to dance.
Perhaps that is the quiet heartbreak of it all: standing on the platform, watching someone you love board a train you would not have chosen, knowing it may not take them where they truly need to go. But loving someone, especially as they grow older, means letting go of control while remaining close. Even if we cannot steer the decision, we can stay nearby. Ready to visit. Ready to listen. And, if the door opens, ready to walk alongside them.
Being excluded from any decision-making is painful.
In my experience, the successful move from a home to an assisted living complex or a senior citizen residence depends on a multitude of factors. Today, I want to focus on just one of these factors: time.
To move somewhere of your own choosing, before it becomes absolutely necessary, can give you a new lease on life. My grandmother reluctantly moved out of the home that she and her husband had lived in for over 45 years. She held onto the past: her church ladies, her neighbours, and all the memories that filled every corner of the house. But it became clear she could no longer take care of the housecleaning and daily chores, either physically or mentally. So, with great hesitation, she moved into a small one-bedroom apartment in an assisted living complex.
Her life changed almost immediately. She befriended her neighbour down the hall, Barbra. She was given a small garden plot, where she could grow her favourite flowers. She could take a bus to the local shopping centre every week and enjoy people-watching and window shopping. She was able to go to Sunday mass regularly.
These were activities she had not done in the years before she moved. The ease of taking care of herself, compared to managing a large house, gave her years of unexpected joy. The fact that she moved while she could still do a bit of gardening and had curiosity about new friendships made all the difference. It gave her the strength to build a new life.
Choosing to move, or allowing yourself to be gently encouraged, does not mean life is over. It does not have to signal decline.
Over the past forty years, I have seen again and again how the decision to move “while we have the energy” can create a surprising sense of renewal. I have also seen the opposite: aging parents who absolutely refuse to consider a different facility, no matter how burdensome their current situation has become. In many of these cases, the emotional, physical, and financial toll affects everyone around them.
Knowing when to move feels like it should be a shared decision.
That said, I realise it is ultimately up to each individual to decide when and where to move. But how much better it would be to involve family and trusted friends in the process. To have the conversation early on, even years before the decision has to be made. To listen to each other. To leave enough space for new ideas to settle and grow.
There is a particular kind of sadness in being asked for advice when it is already too late. The decision has been made, the lease is signed, and there is nothing left to say. A shared decision gives everyone a voice. It allows time for doubt, for resistance, and for slowly leaning towards what is wise rather than what is convenient.
My mother-in-law is steadily moving towards a decision that we fear may not serve her well. She wants to transfer from one assisted living complex to another because she believes the new one will be better than the one where she currently lives. But it is not close to any shops. There is only one bus per hour. It will be difficult for any of us to visit regularly.
She wants a solution that suits her needs today. We are hoping for a solution that supports her well into the future. One that allows her to receive more care if she needs it and makes it easier for family to stop by without planning far in advance. We are thinking of what is to come. She is thinking of what is immediate.
Because she is someone who has always had to make hard decisions on her own (mother of nine, non-contributing and often violent husband, worked until she was 70 on a production line) , we can only watch from the sidelines. That is what we had to do with my parents as well. In this situation, we have not been invited to the table. We have not been asked to dance.
Perhaps that is the quiet heartbreak of it all: standing on the platform, watching someone you love board a train you would not have chosen, knowing it may not take them where they truly need to go. But loving someone, especially as they grow older, means letting go of control while remaining close. Even if we cannot steer the decision, we can stay nearby. Ready to visit. Ready to listen. And, if the door opens, ready to walk alongside them.
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