Transitioning a loved one to a long-term care facility is never easy. But there is one thing we can do to lighten the emotional toll it takes, something that can give meaning and purpose to the process.
Ruth Ann, my wife Lori’s mom, transitioned to an assisted living facility this summer. Though she has a lovely and comfortable arrangement, the move has been challenging for her, Lori, and her two siblings, Brian and Lisa. Lori has been back twice this summer, and Brian and Lisa, who live in the same area as Ruth Ann, regularly visit.
We are thankful Ruth Ann is optimistic and tries to see the best in every situation. “This is a wonderful place,” she said as she settled in. But the move has, at times, confused her and troubled us.
My parents, both deceased, went through a similar experience, although their move necessitated a transition from their home of more than 50 years in Altus, Oklahoma, to Lubbock, Texas. I’ll never forget Dad’s silence and Mom’s tears as we drove away from Altus. The air in the car seemed heavier with every mile. I felt like a parent delivering a child to a new school in a different city, only worse, for hope doesn’t readily spring back in life’s latter stage.
But it did get better, and although Mom was less active than Dad, she found enjoyment and friends there. But it took time.
On my first night in Lubbock with Mom and Dad, I went outside to retrieve some items from the car. It was after hours, and the door was locked when I tried to reenter.
“Do you know the code?” a lady approaching me asked.
When I told her I was helping my siblings move my mom and dad into the facility, she punched in the code for me.
Like me, she was visiting someone in the long-term care facility.
“Do you have a friend or relative here?” I asked as we stepped inside.
“An old friend,” she told me, and then after pausing, as if hesitant to confide in me, she added: “It’s not always easy to visit her. It was tough at first.”
Then she concluded, “But the trick is to keep on going.”
Her last statement caught my attention.
“Could you repeat that?” I asked.
She kindly obliged: “The trick is to keep on going.”
I recall my visits to a long-term care facility as a college student. I was serving as a “pastoral intern,” a requirement for a class I took in pastoral ministries. One resident always seemed to cry loudly, repeating the same word, “Momma.” The smell of the facility made me wince. I determined, “When I’m a Pastor, this is ONE thing I’m not going to do.” But, like many things I thought I’d never do, I did.
The more I visited, the more I stopped thinking about what I didn’t like about the facilities and started entering the world of the residents.
Months after Mom and Dad had moved in, he commented while in the dining room. “Look around, David,” he said. “Everyone in here was somebody, sometime.”
It was a keen observation. The residents have stories to tell, although some cannot share them.
Although our loved ones cannot contribute to society like they once did, each one is still “somebody.” They may appear “less than” but are often “more than” in their wisdom, love, and compassion.
The longer Mom and Dad were there, the easier it was to visit, though I hid my tears each time I left as Dad would stand outside, waving bye to me. But while there, I did my best to live Hebrews 3:13: “Encourage each other daily while it is still ‘today.’”
“God bless you,” I said to the lady visiting her old friend, a resident in my parents’ long-term care center.
“He already has,” she responded.
Yes, indeed, He has and will.
And we receive it.
As long as we keep on going.