This is a story of my mother’s journey, and mine too, for I was my mother’s caregiver. I do not know when it all began, but my mom made it clear that she never wanted to move out of her house. That was the last thing she wanted to do. She lived in her house for over 60 years, raised her three children in the house, and stayed after retiring. As she got older, she began to fall, and with increased frequency. By the time she was eighty-nine, she had already installed safety bars, removed furniture for easier access, and had to decide whether to hire private caregivers or move to an assisted living community. She chose to remain in her home with private caregivers.

Her caregivers were helpful, kind, and compassionate, yet they could not prevent her from falling. The last time she fell, a caregiver was standing next to her. It was a bad fall that left her with deep bruises and an inability to stand. She spent a week at a rehabilitation facility and the discharge date came too soon. She was too weak to go back to her house with caregivers that could not protect her from falling. For months I had been researching board and care homes, anticipating the day would come, and I had to be prepared for it. I found a board and care near my home, and all went well. My mom regained her strength and did not fall at all. After several months I found her in bed in the middle of the day, which was not like her at all. After an honest conversation she admitted she was depressed. When I suggested looking into an assisted living community, she brightened up. She moved soon afterward, and was quite happy. Mom loved the full activity schedule, the healthy food, live entertainment, and enjoyed making new friends. Unfortunately, the falling started again accompanied by frequent calls to 911 and ER visits. Mom was frightened. After numerous visits to the ER, I finally realized that the ER visits provided her with a sense of safety and interaction with young paramedics and healthcare workers, which improved her mental state. She admitted to liking the attention. The experience was positive for her, but not for me. My Saturday nights were spent at the ER, and our plans were repeatedly cancelled. I finally consulted her geriatric physician and was advised that she was diagnosed with dementia over a year ago. Why was I not informed? I was a nervous wreck day and night waiting for a call that she had fallen again. My poor mom had dementia, and I was a caregiver that was suffering too, and so was my patient loving husband.

The assisted living community did not have a memory unit and could not accommodate a person with dementia. They offered an escort service to take her to the dining room, but she needed much more. It was a sad time. She needed to leave this lovely community that she enjoyed so much. After one month at a board and care we found an assisted living community with an intimate memory unit, and best of all, a Kaiser doctor (mom was a Kaiser member) with an office down the hall from her apartment. It gave her (and me) great comfort. We hired private caregivers for companionship but in less than a year the dementia had progressed, and her doctors recommended moving mom to a board and care. The last eight months of my mother’s life were spent in hospice care at a beautiful board and care with caregivers that adored her, and she adored them too. She received the attention she craved, and both the care givers and hospice team provided her with loving care throughout her last moments. My mom called me her angel, yet she was truly my angel. By caring for my mom, I learned about loving without expectations and gained compassion that could only be achieved through this precious life experience.

In loving memory of Miriam Oberman.