Loving Your Aged Parent in a Care Facility

by Geneva Cobb Iijima

When my mother grew old, I used to dream, she would live with us. She would putter in my garden, and if she got sick, I would care for her.

Geneva Iijima with her mother and daughter Crystal Iijima

Unfortunately, it was only a dream! When my mother had to move from her home, we tried to keep her at our house, but it didn't work. She was so forgetful, she'd leave the range on--even started a fire. She required constant attention. Other arrangements had to be made.

The day we took her to the Atrium -- a locked memory loss facility -- my heart broke. She was confused and thought we were on a long journey, but as we went inside, she said, "Jesus will be with us here."

A visitor, named Becky, heard her comment. She bent down and looked my mother in the eye. "Yes, Jesus will be with you here, " she said.

At first, however, things didn't go well. My mother's roommate was angry and unkind. When I took Mama out for a drive, she paid little attention to the fall colors I showed her.

Since Mama was too agitated to sit still for a visit, we often walked up and down the halls. As we walked, I sang "God Is So Good" over and over in my sometimes off-key voice. She joined in at times, but once, on a bad day, she said, "If He's so good, why does He have me in a place like this?" I winced with guilt, and tried to make the Atrium like home.

As long as the residents were happy and no damage was done, the administrator didn't mind if I altered surroundings. My mother loved flowers, so I hung a trailing, red geranium outside her window. Together, we planted marigolds, dahlias and geraniums in the patio. Each time I visited, we'd water them. When the hanging plants in the gazebo began dying, we took responsibility for watering them too. My husband hung a bird feeder near the fence, and soon the residents were enjoying the parade of birds. Sloppy eaters that they were, they dropped seeds, and little sunflowers appeared beneath it.

Often, I took my grandson and my mother to a nearby park to feed the ducks, geese and gulls. Sometimes the greedy geese almost knocked her over, but she loved feeding them, anyway. In rainy weather, we threw tidbits from the car window as gulls flew around us.

The staff scheduled activities too. Once they planned a fishing trip to a trout farm and invited family members to come along. Though my mother had never fished, we went. She enjoyed the country atmosphere and watched as others caught fish. Afterward, we ate a picnic lunch.

One resident, Betty*, had been a pilot before she contracted Alzheimer's disease. She piloted her Merry Walker around the Atrium hour after hour. One day when I arrived, photos of Betty at a nearby airport lined the wall. Her family had taken her for a peek into the cockpits again.

Another resident's son always took her to lunch on Wednesday. Before he came, he arranged for her hair to be done at the in-house beauty shop. She might have had a difficult week, but she looked forward to Wednesday. That little bit of schedule helped her maintain some normalcy in her life.

Since I couldn't visit my mother every day, I sometimes arranged for her friends to visit on days I didn't. Sometimes she didn't remember them, and sometimes she was grumpy, but they stayed faithful. Both they and I realized that this contact was important for both her emotional and physical health. Overworked staff sometimes missed details. Twice I discovered a rash no one had noticed. At times I helped bathe her, cut her fingernails and toenails or searched for lost clothing.

I noticed that some residents rarely had visitors. Their birthdays and holidays passed without a visit. I can understand. It's hard to see your parent sad, unresponsive or angry. Sometimes my mother begged to go home with me. It tore my heart. But other days she smiled and said, "Thank you for coming today."

Once a worker told me, "You can tell the difference with those who have family members that visit regularly." At every stage of life, love makes all the difference.

One day I arrived at the Atrium to discover my mother had diarrhea. I could have called staff to do the clean up. Instead, I did it myself.

When I think of that incident, I remember a story my mother used to tell about me when I was a year and a half old. She painted the front porch a walnut brown. Afterward, she put the oil-based paintbrushes into a can of turpentine to soak and hid them under the porch.

She found me later, painting myself brown. "If anyone had come along and offered me ten cents for you, I'd have accepted it." she said. Of course, she wouldn't have. Instead, she washed me off, as well as possible, and gave me a hug.

That's what I tried to do with my mother. The fact that she was in a care facility didn't mean I no longer had responsibility. I could still love her in very practical ways and make her life as enjoyable as possible. To my delight, she improved enough that I could move her back to her home with a caregiver.

The day I moved her home, I drove past a huge maple tree in fall color. "Isn't it beautiful?" I asked.

"Yes," she said, beaming. "You brought me to see it last year, too."

I stared at her, shocked. Last year, she showed no interest -- almost like she didn't see it. But she did. Even when our loved ones seem unresponsive, they know when we show them love.

Yes, like Becky said, "Jesus had been with her. He is good, and he helped her even when neither she nor I saw it.

*Name changed

Originally published in Light and Life magazine. Copyright Geneva Cobb Iijima; reproduction without permission prohibited. Please contact Geneva Cobb Iijima for information about reprint rights.