Everlasting Place - Golden years: a blog about the elderly

The second kindest thing you can do for your loved ones

11/6/2019

After decades of hanging out with nursing-home residents and their families, I've come to the conclusion that the second nicest thing we can do for our loved ones is to preplan our funerals.

I have to admit that, as an accomplished expert in denying reality, I did not support my own mother in this effort almost two decades ago. She was perfectly fine. She was not going anywhere. She couldn't possibly die; I needed her. How dare she even mention the word funeral? SHUT UP! I DON'T WANT TO TALK ABOUT IT! I WON'T TALK ABOUT IT!

She insisted that I would one day thank her, insisted too that I join her for a chat with the local funeral director who was making the rounds at her nursing home. I finally agreed, wanting to make sure he didn't pull a fast one on her. So one autumn afternoon, the three of us sat at a little round table in what was then called the South Day Room. They chatted happily as they pored over catalogs of caskets together; I remained bitterly silent and watchful throughout the whole ordeal and, when they were through, made a mad dash for home and a good long cry.

HOW COULD SHE HAVE PUT ME THROUGH THAT HORRIFIC HOUR? HOW COULD SHE BE SO HATEFUL?

As it turned out, she was as right about this as she had been about everything else we'd ever disagreed on. When the time came -- when she actually did the unthinkable and died on me -- I didn't have to make a single decision about her funeral beyond agreeing on the date and time. She had taken care of everything.

What a gift it was, to be free to grieve, free to launch my inquiry into the possibility that she still existed somewhere out there.

In the end, preplanning her funeral turned out to be the second kindest thing my mom ever did for me.

But she also did something even more wonderful for me, something of eternal proportions. And that was telling me again and again, throughout our lives together, where I would find her once she departed this world.

That, in fact, is the kindest thing any of us can do for our loved ones: To conduct the research, to determine once and for all where we will be spending eternity, and to let them know exactly how to find us.

It's probably best to tell them while we're still alive and kicking, so we can answer all their questions about our final destination, such as how they themselves can get there. But it never hurts to leave them a note.

My mother did both, and I am eternally grateful -- to her, for making the effort, and to our Creator, for giving me the kind of mom I couldn't bear to lose for all eternity.

"It is written"

10/29/2019

I heard a number of excellent comments following our October Christian Music Hour at Care-age of Brookfield – none more enthusiastic than the review that my dear friend C. gave the message delivered by our own Chris Carrillo, fearless proclaimer of the word of God.

“Chris was on fire today,” C. raved. “I loved it. I was hanging on his every word!”

With good reason: In a message entitled “It is written,” Chris showed us how Jesus used Scripture to battle Satan; how the world twists the word of God to attack us for trusting in and obeying Him; and how the never-changing Jesus is both God incarnate, and the only way to heaven.

I hope you’ll take a few minutes to listen to this powerful message, and to share it with others.

If you’re reading this via email, please click on the title above to be taken to the audio file. And if you’d like to hear more from this wonderful preacher, be sure to check out our Messages from Chris Carrillo page.

All you need is hope

10/23/2019

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about how we Christians do not “sorrow as [do] others who have no hope.” And of course, when he penned these words in what would become 1 Thessalonians 4:13, the apostle Paul was speaking of biblical hope, which is to say not “wishful thinking” but “confident expectation.” In fact, we can rejoice in even the most unhappy circumstances, because we know that this life is the blink of an eye and that we’ll be spending all eternity in heavenly bliss.

That’s precisely what 86-year-old heroine Sadie came to understand in the novel The Song of Sadie Sparrow. Sure, her husband Ed had died years earlier, and she was hardly a priority for her daughter Dana, and she would be spending what was left of this life in a nursing home. But it was an awfully nice nursing home. A fun Activities Assistant named Meg was about to interview her for a mini-biography. And whenever she thought to turn her eyes upon Jesus, she could scarcely contain her joy.

So the Beatles were wrong. Love is nice. But all we really need is hope, as this excerpt from Sadie’s story demonstrates.

Meg’s questions were definitely intriguing.

That night after dinner—even though tablemate Gladys managed to find fault with the carrots and onions, it had been a delicious meal of impossibly tender pot roast and cornbread muffins—Sadie wheeled herself to the built-in desk in her room, flipped on the lamp, and pulled her best pen and a few sheets of stationery out of the drawer. No notes were needed for the “who, what, where and when” queries of “Part One, The Basics”; but “Part Two, Beyond the Basics” included a number of questions deserving some thought, and Sadie didn’t want to attempt to answer them off-the-cuff. Someone—okay, her daughter Dana Sparrow Maxwell, to be precise—might one day read Meg’s report on Sadie’s life, and it might be Sadie’s last opportunity to impact a life that had gone tearing down the wrong path, the path to what Sadie called “dead-end careerdom.”

The first of these questions was pretty broad. “Why do you live here now?”

Sadie started jotting down the answers in her arthritic hand.

1. Because I have heart failure and need help. Can’t even safely transfer into bed or onto the toilet on my own and that means the retirement home won’t have me anymore.

2. Because living with my daughter was not an option. Her plate is plenty full without adding a helpless old mother to her duties.

She sat back and thought for a moment. Does that sound pathetic? Dana did not suffer whiners gladly. Imagining the eye rolling these thoughts would provoke, Sadie crossed out her second point and substituted a more positive answer:

2 . Because I wanted to live with people my own age, with the same values and experiences and hope for the future.

She liked that. It was true, Dana would like it, and it might lead to an interesting conversation with Meg.

3. Because it’s a beautiful facility with a dedicated staff and my daughter made sure the bill will be paid to make up for otherwise ignoring me.

Definitely whiney.

Sadie put a period after “staff” and crossed out the rest, sighing. It was pathetic that she was framing her answers in order to avoid irritating her so-often-irritable daughter—especially since said daughter would most likely not see her answers until she was cleaning out this room after the funeral (an event which Dana would probably greet with both relief and more irritation, since it would no doubt interfere with some important business meeting).

Still, Sadie’s goal here was to plant seeds with eternal impact, and that meant she’d have to set aside all her personal, earthly complaints. She wanted Dana to put down the biography of Sadie Sparrow thinking, “What a woman! I want to be just like her, and spend all eternity with her! How can I be sure of it?”

Sadie laughed. Okay, then, she’d settle for a “Gee, she wasn’t nearly as stupid as I thought. Maybe there’s something to this eternity business after all . . .”

That reminded her of a favorite song, and she started singing it in her wobbly old voice: “Softly and tenderly Jesus is calling, calling for you and for me.”

She looked over the rest of Meg’s questions and decided to call it a night. She was tired, and she still had some time to frame her answers before their meeting on Friday. She tidied up the desk and closed her eyes, letting her thoughts drift heavenward on the wings of the old hymn.

“Earnestly, tenderly, Jesus is calling, calling ‘O sinner, come home.’”

The best rendition of “Softly and Tenderly” she’d ever heard was Tennessee Ernie Ford’s. He had gone on ahead long ago, she knew, not too long after Ed.

“Oh, for the wonderful love He has promised, promised for you, and for me.”

She wondered if they had met in heaven, maybe had even sung some hymns together. Ed had always been a big fan of Tennessee Ernie’s deep-as-the-ocean bass.

“Though we have sinned, He has mercy and pardon—pardon for you and for me.”

Thinking of Ed and Tennessee together was surprisingly comforting. And one day, she would join them.

Which reminded her of another old favorite of Ed’s.

“Just over in the glory land,” she sang, scrunching up her face just like a Spirit-led gospel singer,

“I’ll join the happy angel band. Just over in the glory land!”

She was smiling now, almost giddy at the idea of heaven and glory and seeing Ed again.

But oh, in the meantime, it was good to be alive!

As the fog rolls in

10/15/2019

If you have yet to walk from one room to the next and forget why you made this little journey, just wait: It happens more and more often as we age, along with letting slip little things like the day of the week or an appointment with a hairdresser or insurance agent.

For a time, anyway, you’ll be able to chuckle over these brain freezes with your family and friends; they’re all experiencing the same thing, after all.

But one day, if you live long enough, you may no longer be able to laugh it off. You may find yourself forgetting the necessities, like taking your medication or eating a meal. You may begin to wander, clueless about your destination and maybe even your location. Familiar landmarks might become unfamiliar; for a moment, you may forget how to get home. And when you are able to shake it off – as if you really can shake it off yourself – the fear may set in.

Some time ago, I read And Have Not Love (Harper and Brothers, 1954), another amazing novel by the late Anne Parrish. In it, she describes the early stages of this phenomenon in the 90-year-old heroine Clara:

“Sometimes she grew confused; was it today, or yesterday? Was it spring, or fall? She would lose her place in life for a moment, and be dizzy, and a little frightened. Now, gazing at the white moon, everything became snow and winter, and she was back in a night when her friends had gone to bed, and would not come out to make merry with her, although she called under their windows, the sleigh bells calling with her, and the moon shone bright as day.

“For a moment, the moon clung to the rim of the horizon, then floated free, filling the night with beauty and infinite loneliness, bringing Clara back to the present. She could do nothing, call no one. There was no one to look at her and distract her. No voice so loved that it could never fail her spoke to her from the past.”

So what are we to do when we begin to see the signs of such deterioration in a friend or loved one? The answer – the only answer -- can be found in the title of this novel, drawn from the apostle Paul’s great love chapter, 1 Corinthians 13:

“Though I speak with the tongues of men and of angels, but have not love, I have become sounding brass or a clanging cymbal. And though I have the gift of prophecy, and understand all mysteries and all knowledge, and though I have all faith, so that I could remove mountains, but have not love, I am nothing. And though I bestow all my goods to feed the poor, and though I give my body to be burned, but have not love, it profits me nothing.”

The best thing we can do for those sinking into dementia is to wrap them in agape love – selfless and sacrificial love that has nothing to do with emotions and everything to do with serving God. Allow them to see us as protectors, as people who will care for them even as they forget our names and our relationships to them. Help them to feel safe whenever our eyes meet theirs.

And then? Be there. Make them a priority. Years ago, the daughter of a friend of mine with MS said it was easy to tell who her family’s real friends were. “They’re the ones who just show up,” she explained from her home six hours away. “They mean the world to us. And most important, they mean the world to Mom.”

Have any special interests or skills?

10/8/2019

It's now been three years since my elderly friend "Gisela" died at the nursing home where I hang out, and I still think of her often. Which may seem a little strange, since in most ways, she was just like many of her neighbors – sometimes cheerful and loving, sometimes lonely and cross, sometimes suffering greatly from various aches and pains, occasionally feeling absolutely terrific.

But Gisela was unusual in some important ways. Perhaps most notably, she had immigrated to the U.S. from Germany only a few decades earlier and her English was still pretty tough to interpret. What's more, she could often be found with her nose buried in her Bible, searching for edification and consolation--an increasingly rare sight these days. But it wasn’t just any Bible she turned to. Hers was rendered in German, in the old gothic typeface that, like so many other precious remnants of the past, is going to its grave along with today’s elderly Germans.

I visited Gisela weekly for several years, trying my best to converse with her about the things of this world and the next. But communicating with her was always a struggle for me. I tried to resurrect my self-taught German from 40 years ago, with little success; once we’d shared a few laughs over “wo ist die Bibliothek?” and chuckled over my lame attempts to read her Bible aloud, I didn’t have much else to contribute. Sometimes we’d just give up, sitting quietly or perhaps singing one of the hymns she’d mastered in English.

And then, one lovely fall day, along came a new volunteer who was also a native German. Elderly herself, “Ursula” was a wonder, friendly and laughing and oh, so eager to forge a friendship with Gisela.

They had a flurry of lively visits together, chattering away about the old country – at least, I assume that was their primary topic, because I’d hear the names of German cities and towns being bandied about. And through those weeks, Gisela seemed as happy as I’d ever known her to be.

But then, life happened. Ursula’s own health was failing, and the visits stopped. Gisela clearly missed her friend. She fell into a gloom that not even my pathetic attempts at conversational German could dispel. And a few months later, she went on home to her Lord and Savior.

The moral of this story?

Please, if you have some interest or skill that might make a shut-in’s day, week or year, don’t keep it to yourself. For instance, if you:

Speak a foreign language
Excel at mending clothing while you chat
Love a good game of bridge or Scrabble
Enjoy scrapbooking or writing letters
Are fond of organizing a chatty coffee or lemonade klatsch
Play old songs (especially hymns) on the piano or guitar
Like to read aloud, whether it's books or magazines or, best of all, the Bible
Pray unceasingly, especially for other people
Think it's fun to teach others how to crochet or knit
Find nothing more satisfying than re-organizing the contents of drawers or closets
Are quite an expert amateur birder with a homemade slide show that no one your age is interested in seeing
Have any of a hundred other special skills or interests that an old lady or old man might appreciate

Don't wait another day! Call a few nearby nursing-home Activities Directors to find out if they have any residents whom you could delight. And even if they don’t have such a need right now, leave your name and number so they can find you in the future, should that situation change.

A girlfriend who volunteers at a rural memory-care center told me that, in this little facility, she has found her purpose in life. Perhaps you can, too, simply by sharing whatever makes you happy with a new elderly friend or two.

"Despicable Me"

10/1/2019

Are you a fan of today’s animated movies? If so, you’re going to love the most recent Bible message from Chris Carrillo, Preacher Extraordinaire for our monthly Christian Music Hour at Care-age of Brookfield. The reason? He takes as his jumping-off point the smash hit “Despicable Me,” using it to illuminate key passages from Mark 12 and Matthew 8 and 9. But even if you’re not a fan of “Despicable Me” (or if your taste, like mine, runs more towards “Bambi” and “Lady and the Tramp”), I think you’ll love the parallels and conclusions that Chris draws from this popular 2010 cartoon.

No spoilers here; you’ll have to listen yourself:

If you're reading this via email, click on the headline above to be taken to the original post, complete with audio. And if you'd like to hear more from Chris, please visit our Messages from Chris Carrillo page.

Who says compassion can't be taught?

9/25/2019

Located about 35 miles due east of St. Louis, Aviston, Illinois, is known as “a small town with a big heart.” And I guess that’s exactly right, if the folks at Aviston Countrywide Manor are any gauge.

In an effort to enhance its staff’s compassion for the people in their care, this Clinton County nursing home took a very unusual step some years ago: It held a contest, dubbed the Through the Looking Glass project, to see which staff member could last the longest living as a resident of the facility.

The first year's winner managed to make it for eight days, taking home a grand prize of $500–apparently not all that much, considering that only four employees accepted the challenge the first year, and only five the next. I was unable to find any details about subsequent years.

But I think this idea is absolutely brilliant. And the home's administrator seems to feel it has legs; she has published a book entiteld What Living as a Resident Can Teach Long-Term Care Staff: The Power of Empathy To Transform Care.

I hope this idea catches on. Just think what would happen to the quality of care–and the level of compassion–that nursing-home residents would experience if their caregivers really understood, from personal experience, exactly what they were going through each and every day.

Lil: a consecrated life

9/17/2019

At my church, we are often taught us from scripture what it means to consecrate our lives to the Lord, to set ourselves apart in service to Him. After all, we were bought at a price, and we belong to Him (1 Corinthians 6:20).

This particular subject invariably makes me reflect on the people I’ve known who have led consecrated lives–a line of thinking that always seems to lead me straight to a wonderful woman named Lil.

Lil was 98 when I met her at the nursing home, and was just three months short of 100 when she died, eagerly and peacefully, in a local hospital, a few months after being baptized at Elmbrook Church in Brookfield, Wisconsin. (Alas, she was not immersed in the enormous pond as a dozen others were. Getting her down to the site in her wheelchair was challenge enough; safely immersing her would have been almost impossible. But there’s no doubt that the Lord saw her submission to a good dousing, following her heartfelt testimony to a huge crowd of witnesses, as “an appeal to [Him] for a good conscience,” as the apostle Peter put it in 1 Peter 3.)

Having been saved at age 17, when she responded to an altar call in her family’s church, Lil had never gotten around to believer’s baptism over the decades. In fact, she had not quite put the Lord on the throne of her heart for many years.

But when she did, look out! I doubt that the Lord has had many bolder, or more courageous, evangelists in His army.

By the time I met her, Lil was not only confined to her wheelchair; the blindness that had begun at least a decade earlier had by then closed her eyes completely to the things of this world. Perhaps that was one of the reasons she was so on fire for the Lord–she was no longer distracted by much of anything material.

It didn’t matter who you were–friend or stranger, nurse or aide, purveyor of orthopedic shoes or relative of her latest roommate. You couldn’t walk into her room without eventually being quizzed about your relationship with Jesus, and being prayed for, and receiving one of the tracts that her many friends kept her supplied with. But she did it all with such joy and love and giggle-filled humor that I don’t imagine she offended anyone but the most dour atheist.

And once she knew you, she made you feel like you were her best friend in the world. How I miss hearing her cry “Kitty! I’ve been waiting for you!” when I hurried to her room each week, my heart leaping with happiness at the sight of her.

Lil’s enthusiasm for my visits was genuine; there was not an untruthful bone in that old body of hers. But it was fascinating to find out how many others felt exactly the same way about their relationships with her. There must have been 200-300 people at her funeral – exponentially more than I’ve seen at any of the other funerals I’ve attended over the last two decades. Not that this made her a better person than any of the others, or more loved by those closest to her. But it was certainly a good indicator of how important she made each of her friends feel, how essential to her personal happiness.

Lil’s funeral opened with a video of her giving her Christian testimony, taped a decade earlier. In fact, the entire event was as Christ-centered as she had been personally in the last years of her life. If there was any weeping, I didn’t hear it; it’s impossible to be overwhelmed by sorrow when you know, beyond the shadow of any doubt, that your dear friend has simply gone on ahead, to meet her Lord and Savior face to face.

I for one am looking forward to joining her one happy day, to seeing this consecrated life of hers translated into its heavenly presence. I like to think that when I see my dear Lil, I will once again hear her happy cry: “Kitty! I’ve been waiting for you!”

Only God can heal a broken heart

9/11/2019

In Chapter Fifty-Two of The Song of Sadie Sparrow, we rejoice to see that the Lord has begun healing the old lady's heart; her oh-so-busy daughter no longer has the power to break her heart:

As it turned out, Sadie didn’t have to call her daughter again. Instead, Dana surprised her with a visit to the dining room at 7:50 in the morning, just as Sadie was sprinkling brown sugar over her morning oatmeal.

“I don’t have much time,” she said breathlessly, slipping into a vacant chair and bending towards Sadie to deliver an air kiss, complete with a loud “Mwah!”

“What a nice surprise, Dana.” Sadie noted that her daughter was dressed to the nines in a beautiful dark brown suit and a pale pink blouse, and her tawny hair was pulled back into a slightly messy bun that had probably taken a half hour to arrange so artfully. “Big meeting?”

“Yes, with our most important client.” Dana glanced at her watch. “But I wanted to stop in to take care of that paperwork, so you can go to that funeral.”

“It was last Saturday,” Sadie said in an utterly neutral tone of voice.

“Oh. Well, then, you’ll be ready for the next one.” Dana flashed Sadie her most dazzling smile. “So, how have you been? Good?”

Yes, as a matter of fact.” Sadie took a sip of coffee, stalling to flip through all the mental notes she’d made in preparation for telling Dana about how her entire life had been transformed this spring, how truly content she now was, how--

But Dana was already standing up, getting ready to take off. “That’s great, Mom—I’m so happy for you! So I’ll go find whoever I need to see.” She glanced around the dining room, but except for a few other breakfasting early risers, no one was available to point her in the right direction. “I don’t suppose you know who? No? Okay, well, I’ll check at the front desk—should be someone there by now. Bye, Mom, I’ll talk to you soon, okay?”

Another air kiss and she was gone.

Sadie was tempted to fall into one of her old self-pitying moods, but pulled herself out of it before it had a chance to crystalize.

“Dear Lord,” she prayed silently. “Please save Dana, and while you’re at it, could you please make this new thinking of mine stick? Thank you, Lord, in Jesus’ name.”

Sadie's oatmeal was especially sweet that morning. She savored it gratefully.

--The Song of Sadie Sparrow, pages 316-317

How can you help?

9/5/2019

Years ago, a creation-science lecturer was asked how he knew that God had called him to be a speaker on this subject. “I didn’t know,” he said, shrugging. “I just could see what needed to be done, and I did it.”

It seems to me that this is exactly how the Lord often works: He makes a need obvious to one of His servants, and soon enough “seeing” becomes “doing.”

Here are a few pressing needs I’ve observed at the nursing home where I hang out. See anything that might turn into a personal calling for you?

Personal shopper: Not many nursing-home residents are able to get out and shop for necessities or niceties. And few are able to access online stores themselves. If you enjoy shopping, and if there’s a way to get reimbursed for your expenditures via, for instance, a petty cash fund, perhaps you could become a personal shopper for as many residents as you have time to serve.

Even though it’s not my thing, I actually do some shopping for one of my resident friends—virtually all of it online. She has all of her marbles (and then some), as well as the ability to get me reimbursed quickly and easily, so it works out very well for both of us.

But how cool would it be for someone who loves to shop, and is a good money manager, to offer this service on a volunteer basis? On any given day your shopping basket might contain items from cosmetics to batteries, slippers to magnifying glasses, stationery to gifts for grandkids—whatever needs have become impossible for your elderly friends to meet under their own power.

In-room gardener: Some residents receive wonderful indoor plants that they appreciate greatly, but are unable to care for themselves. Perhaps you could help those plants thrive, going from room to room each week to tend to them and, while you’re at it, having nice conversations with their owners.

Simply check the labels that are normally tucked into the soil for basic care instructions, and follow them to the letter. Or, to make your service even more personal, look up each variety on the internet, and print out any especially interesting information you may find—information about things like ideal fertilization schedules, repotting requirements, or the natural habitats of particularly exotic plants. Then share the details with their owners.

This service may require a minor investment on your part. For instance, I occasionally bring in distilled water and specialized fertilizer for one woman’s treasured orchid. But the costs are normally minimal, and if necessary, you could ask to be reimbursed.

Feed the birds: Some nursing homes allow you to set up and tend to feeders outside first-floor residents’ windows. Might that task be up your alley? If so, your efforts will be highly appreciated.

Feeders and seed are not cheap; nor is the suet so beloved by woodpeckers in our part of the country. So unless you’re able to underwrite the costs personally, you’ll need to discuss funding this project with your Activities Director.

But if the finances can be worked out along with who-does-what details such as feeder setup and procuring the food, you’ll be providing these residents with hour after hour of pleasure all year long. And you can make the experience even more enjoyable for them by researching the species that frequent their feeders, or by bringing in bird-watching books that you’ve picked up at the library or thrift stores.

Organizer: For any number of reasons, not all nursing-home residents are neatniks. But you could help one or more of them become and remain organized via periodic drawer-cleaning, closet-freshening and gleaning of important items from stacks of otherwise disposable papers and magazines.

As you proceed, you might find additional ways to serve a given resident—for instance, taking special clothing items home for hand-washing, ironing, or mending. And perhaps you could fetch a few file folders from the front office to create a potentially permanent fix for important papers.

Become a scribe: Some nursing-home residents love to correspond with old friends and family members. Yet as we age, our handwriting can become practically illegible, and even handling paper, envelopes and stamps can become a real challenge.

Maybe you could help with this task, by writing out cards and letters for a few residents, preparing the envelopes and making sure that they get mailed.

I spent nearly four years doing this for a woman with Parkinson’s disease. In her case, we created rough first drafts and then polished the words until she was satisfied. Finally, I’d write our final draft on handsome stationery; I kept her well-stocked by shopping the sales at high-style discount stores.

Another woman with an enormous number of friends, children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren simply wanted to remember everyone’s birthday with simple greeting cards. For her, I found a month-by-month pocket folder and inexpensive packets of birthday cards at a local dollar store. Together, we organized it all so that at the end of each month, we could prepare the next month’s cards, complete with addresses, stamps and mailing dates noted on sticky notes; she then kept them on her bedside table for mailing on the appointed days.

What needs do you see? I’ve barely scratched the surface with these suggestions. Other valued services might include reading Scripture to the blind or making monthly runs to your local library for avid readers. If you start visiting nursing-home residents, you’ll no doubt spot many other ways you could be a blessing to each one.

Of course, any such services would need to be cleared ahead of time. In fact, that would be a good place to start, broaching your ideas to the Activities Director you report to.

Do you have other suggestions to share? If so, please let me know via this contact form or by emailing me at kitty@everlastingplace.com.