instead of trying to find a place for her to be comfortable before she was as far down the dementia path as she is now, we moved in with her, it was a mistake.

Gah. I'm so sorry, Dawn.

It's not like we didn't try to plan for this, either. We kept asking them about their long-term plans, referring them to some really nice long-term assisted living situations, inviting them to California, but there are so many personal issues there. They kept saying, "Not decrepit yet!" until they were and they'd run out of options.

If my mother had been willing to get therapy thirty years ago, to deal with her anxieties, much of this would have been avoided. But nope.

Would the Emperor's New Clothes work pretty much the same as the tire story to illustrate that?

I'm going to come down on Ginger's and Dawn's side of the question. Both my parents had that irrational fear of "the poor house", and made me promise them when I was in my twenties that they would never end up there.

We cared for my dad at home for eight years after his pyschotic break and resultant drugged to placid state. That is, H and I cared for him, and our teenagers helped, because Mom just went on with her life as she always had done, with Dad at the center of it, but basically doing what she wanted to do around his presence as a touchstone. He might have benefitted from the stimulation of other people and activities in a nursing home. He was always an outgoing, gregarious person. But isolated with Mom most of the day and with H and me and the kids at brief intervals for bathing and getting into and out of bed, and toileting, he had no outlet for interaction. He was desperately clingy for those times we were with him, but because it was unpleasant and painful for us to see him that way, we curtailed our time with him, or restricted it to just getting the unpleasantness over with.

I so very much regret not getting him into a facility. His last years would have been so much more interesting, he would have been so much more engaged and happy, and Mom would have had to learn to lump it.

She survived him for nearly twenty years, and it was only after a series of falls, hallucination episodes and obvious breaks with reality that I broke my word to her and got her into a nursing facility.

And she was incredibly happy. They spoiled her, which she had always craved and which I could not do, at least not adequately. Attention always meant more coming from not-family. She had no responsibilities, no chores, no worries over roof repair or storm damage or taxes (though we'd taken all those on, as long as she was *there* on the premises, she had to supervise). She could just look out the window or watch other people or doze and dream.

And not having to jump every time I heard a strange noise, to be on the alert for a fall or an urgent need at ungodly in the morning to discuss why I hadn't turned in my geography homework in fourth grade (she was cleaning out a drawer and found my report card. At ungodly o'clock), or helping her find the dog we'd had put to sleep two years before. The relief of constant vigilance was incredible. I was actually able to spend time with her and enjoy it. She was able to light up when I came into the room, and not have a list of grievances that I was supposed to resolve ASAP, or at least listen to her gripe about them till she ran down or got distracted.

Assisted living, or a good nursing facility, are godsends. And you should take advantage of them. This is your life, the only one you have. You owe your parents the best end-of-life experience you can provide. Most of the time, that's not being cared for in your home, or in a home you share with them. At least, not in my experience.

Geez, I have been other places and discussed other things today. I just realized I've posted stuff about caregiving both here and in Bitches. I need to go find a randy, topical subject to post about. BRB.

We were in much the same boat with my mom. For twenty years she refused to talk about end-of-life care, nursing homes, insurance, anything. Can't blame her; she was scared, but it made things much more difficult when we had to make those decisions without her input.

Assisted-living facilities are indeed very expensive. We did it private-pay, so that Mom could keep her assets, and we were able to afford it only because a combination of Mom's income and (I think) an insurance policy through her former employer was just barely enough to cover it. During the years Mom was in assisted living, we slowly moved money out of her accounts and into an account that my sister and I held jointly. By the time Mom was sick enough that she had to go into a nursing home, she had no money left in her own name, and so Medicare (Medicaid? I can never keep them straight) paid for the nursing home. This is all entirely legal, if you do it right.

We were lucky in that my sister and I trust each other and have similar priorities. We were also lucky to have a good lawyer.

FWIW, I urge everyone who can, no matter how young you are, especially if you have a family, to get a long-term care insurance policy. I get mine through my employer.

Taking care of your parents at home is a wonderful thing to be able to do, IF you can do it. My sister tried, bless her, and it nearly wrecked her. My mom needed a lot of care, and nearly-full-time supervision, and my sister, who had a full-time job, simply couldn't do it. At one point Mom's meds made her aggressive, and she would hit people, and I think that was the point when Lil realized we had to get Mom in a facility staffed with people who could care for her. Mom didn't like it there at first because it was unfamiliar, but it wasn't long before she made friends with everyone there and started feeling comfortable there. It was the right decision. Lil's a better person than me, because I wouldn't have even tried. The most complicated creature I can care for is a cat, and I know it.

He was desperately clingy for those times we were with him,

Even though my mother can still get out and do things, she's kind of this way, because between years when she had no time to do anything but look after Dad and the years before when she couldn't do anything social because of his drinking, she ended up with few friends. She resents the ones she had who didn't want to deal with Dad at his worst. (I have, on occasion, pointed out that we didn't want to deal with him either.)

And on that dreary note, hookers and blow!

There has not been enough hookers nor enough blow around here recently.

Sorry if I bristled, Ginger. I was just running over here to my MiL's to babysit so you accidentally hit a nerve.

You owe your parents the best end-of-life experience you can provide. Most of the time, that's not being cared for in your home, or in a home you share with them. At least, not in my experience.

Just to absolutely clear, I don't disagree. If I had it to do again, I would have put my mom into a facility a year earlier than we did.

Conversations like this always make me think the utterly I-should-be-struck-by-lightning thought of, "Thank god my dad is almost guaranteed to be dropped by a heart attack."

Of course, the "almost" part of the "almost guaranteed" leaves wiggle room for 30 more years of asking me to program his GPS.

My mom has told me repeatedly, "NEVER take care of me; just put me in a good care facility." The thing is, the way she phrased it, I think it's because she loathes the idea of family taking care of her, not because she doesn't want to be a burden. In fact, I'd bet large sums of folding money on it.

Please, Goddess, forgive me for being so pathetic and grateful that I no longer have to worry about elderly parents.

edit: interesting crosspost with Teppy.