Caregiving

Indeed! They are back. Not en masse though. It’s early in the back-to-college year, so our beloved town is not inundated yet. The university students return in dribbles, like a leaky water faucet. And many live across from my ALF (Assisted Living Facility). What’s a wheelchairer to do when crossing the street?

See you in a bit, he always says, as he leaves my room, after helping me in one of the “Activities of Daily Living” (ADLs) which, because of my disabilities, I can’t perform myself.

Shakespeare said it – as he always has:

Caregiving crises can erupt with a phone call. For me it happened on a glorious sunny morning in the summer of 2008 with a ring from my sister. Within hours of hearing that Mom’s caregiver needed to be fired, panic and fear rained down on me because we realized Mom would soon have to leave home.

Dear So & So,

I had just finished reading an interesting story on Yahoo News, and went to breakfast in the dining room anxious to tell my table mate, George, about it. After I prefaced my retelling, I couldn’t remember the story I wanted to tell. Yet . . .

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I’m one of 40 or so elders – I could say seniors – equally nice sounding, but without the gravitas - or mature– nah, that’s for movie ratings – or, more scornfully, geezers, or wickedly demeaning – old farts. I guess you could say all-of-the-above. After decades of achievements and societal contributions, and professional accomplishments (and being a bit of a pompous ass ) with a smidgen of pride, I prefer the politically correct, solemn, and dignified first word choice - who reside in an Assisted Living Facility (ALF.).

My wheelchair and I have spent over a decade together.

I had just finished reading an interesting story on Yahoo News, and went to breakfast in the dining room anxious to tell my table mate, George, about it. After I prefaced my retelling, I couldn’t remember the story I wanted to tell. Yet . . .