Happy Hour with My Dad: A Journey into the Cocktail Hour of Life

By Jan King

Happy Hour with My Dad is the story of bestselling author Jan King’s 94-year-old dad’s transition from living independently in Florida to an assisted living facility in Northern Virginia. As a Baby Boomer with a front row seat, Jan tells you that this journey isn’t The Rocky Horror Picture Show but it’s not exactly On Golden Pond, either. As Jan relates this poignant memoir in her characteristic humorous style, she also offers insights and practical suggestions about coping with the issues of the elderly in her Heads Up sections.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Mar 1, 2014
• ISBN: 9781483521930

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Introduction

I’m a humor writer; in fact you might have heard of me. Among the books of great social significance I’ve penned are Hormones from Hell, It’s A Girl Thing, and When You’re Hot, You’re Hot: How I Laughed My Way Through Menopause. Okay, so they’re not exactly candidates for Oprah’s Book Club, but they’ll make you laugh a lot more than hers. Besides being an author, I’m also the mother of two sons, the sister of two siblings, a grandmother of four grandchildren, and the daughter of a 95-year-old dad. For the past few years, I’ve been on a journey with Dad as he has transitioned from living alone in his own condo (he’s a widower) to an assisted-living facility. And, at some point, I expect he’ll probably progress to full-time nursing care.

This journey can be a difficult one to witnesses, especially because we Baby Boomers are occupying front row seats, watching a drama where our parents are gradually slipping away mentally, physically, or both. Yet, it’s an inevitable journey that we ourselves will be embarking on in the not too distant future. Therefore, during this dress rehearsal, we can learn a lot from traveling right along beside our folks. There are many lessons we’ll be learning —lessons in patience, compassion, and the profound importance of validation and dignity at the end of our roads.

One of the valuable lessons is in learning that humor can be a most useful tool in coping with these difficult times. The old adage, You’d better laugh or else you’re going to cry has never held so much meaning as when you’re dealing with the challenges and heartaches of the last chapters of life.

That being said, my story is a tribute to our aging parents and to all of us grown children and grandchildren who have the good fortune of helping write our loved one’s life script right through to the final chapters.

Preface

On a dark February morning in 2012, the shrill ringing of my telephone abruptly awakened me at 7 a.m. I was surprised to hear my dad’s voice, because it was very unusual for him to call me (it was always the other way around), especially at that hour.

I can’t live by myself one more day, he croaked into my ear in a raspy and dehydrated-sounding voice.

What? I said, filling up with fear. Dad, what’s the matter?

I’m telling you…I’m having a breakdown. One of you kids has got to come here and get me NOW. I’m going to come live with you.

I was totally floored because just six months before when my sister and I tactfully brought up the topic to Dad of him possibly moving into some sort of assisted-living place, he exploded in anger.

Goddammit, leave me alone. I’m not going to talk about this. I’m perfectly okay right here in Florida. Then, he settled down a bit and added with forced politeness, Thank you for your concern, but talk to me in two more years about it. This was not a new scenario. We heard it many times before when we cautiously tried to broach this powder-keg issue.

Okay, Dad. Just calm down a minute, I said, trying to sound calm myself.

Now, he’s really yelling. I can’t calm down! I’m having a friggin’ breakdown!

Oh, oh, this is it. Houston we’ve got a problem, I’m thinking as my heart was racing and my stomach was lodged somewhere in my esophagus. The proverbial handwriting was on the wall and it said, The lease on Dad’s two-year delaying tactic has just expired.

Chapter 1: Transitions

Immediately after getting Dad’s call for help, I notified my sister, Karen, and my brother, Paul. We all agreed that we had to act fast to find a retirement home and move Dad up north with us. Thank God there were three of us to share the tasks and responsibilities of making plans to transition Dad from Florida to Virginia.

My brother, a retired U.S. Navy Captain and the eldest took the helm and outlined a master plan of action within 24 hours.

Karen and I have teased my brother for years about his penchant for planning his whole life out on his computer, but now we were sure grateful for this skill!

Karen is a retired pharmacist, so it made sense that she would handle Dad’s medical concerns. She began by calling Dad’s family practitioner in Boca Raton, asking if he could see Dad immediately, explaining he was in crisis. Since I’m the natural schmoozer and people-person, my first task was to call Bob and Claire Duffy, Dad’s best friends in Boca Raton, and request they take him to Dr. Lopez’s office that afternoon.

The Duffy’s have been a wonderful support system for my dad over the years, especially since my mother died. Claire has taken over Mom’s duties, reminding Dad of his doctor’s appointments, driving him to events, inviting him for holiday dinners, and picking him up for their Friday night Elks’ Club dances.

The three of us sat on pins and needles all day long waiting for any news. The Duffys finally called us around dinnertime and said that Dr. Lopez felt that in his present state of agitation, Dad was unable to care for himself. He had Dad transported by ambulance from his office to a hospital for an initial evaluation. The next day, the hospital called and reported that Dad was being given fluids for dehydration and was undergoing some generalized tests to rule out the possibility of any underlying disease causing his agitation and confusion. The hospital couldn’t hold him for more than 48 hours, so the following day Dad was transferred to an interim- care facility in Boca Raton. Luckily, he was able to stay there for a few weeks which gave us the time we needed to find a good retirement home and plan the strategy for his move up here.

Whew! Anxiety? Tell me about it. So much to do, so little time!

Heads Up: It’s so important to have some sort of master plan formulated for your loved ones’ transition long before they’ll actually need it. Waiting until a crisis, like we did, forces your hand and makes it that much harder for everyone concerned. Most retirement homes have waiting lists and many are quite costly. Therefore, it’s wise to do your investigative work while you’re not under the pressure of time and financial constraints. Even if your folks are resisting your efforts, go ahead and check out several facilities anyway. Make a flexible plan and try to get them to at least get on the list of one of these homes. It will save money and a lot of wear and tear when the time comes.

We agreed that it was a must for Dad’s retirement home to be close enough to Karen and me so that we could visit regularly. Paul lives farther away near Annapolis, so we were all in agreement it was better for Dad to be closer to his two daughters. We saw no sense in moving him to Virginia then having him living an hour or more away from us.

Even though we were terribly pressed for time, we got lucky! My brother found an excellent retirement home called Vinson Hall in McLean, Virginia, located about 10 minutes away from where both Karen and I live. Besides offering residences for both independent and assisted living, Vinson Hall offers full-time nursing care rehabilitation facilities, and a memory unit for those with Alzheimer’s or more advanced dementias.

Vinson Hall, officially called the Navy Marine Coast Guard Residence Foundation, was established as a not for profit in 1961 by the Naval Officers’ Wives Club of Washington, D.C. It was originally a residence for retired military men and their spouses, but in later years non-military folks were welcomed as well. We were overjoyed to learn that Vinson Hall had an available room for Dad, and he would be accepted after his medical records were reviewed.

My first task was to visit the admissions director, find out what medical information was required, and fax it to Dad’s physicians in Florida. While I was at Vinson Hall, I took a tour of the facility and checked out a few of the available apartments in assisted living.

Because Paul was by far the more fiscally qualified and experienced sibling, he delegated the job of sorting through and managing Dad’s finances to himself. Dad worked for the IRS all his life, so fortunately his record keeping was in a class by itself. You could ask Dad to find check #1478 that he wrote in September 1978, and he’d tell you it was for a pair of $14.98 Ked’s sneakers he bought at K-Mart. He could locate it within nanoseconds in one of the many log books he kept piled on the floor in his study. My brother’s initial task was to drive to Dad’s condo in Connecticut, bring back his valuable papers, some of his clothes, and anything else he would need in his new digs in Virginia. Paul also lined up real estate agents in both Connecticut and Florida to start the prep-work necessary to put both condos on the market.

OMG--what a relief! I can tell you one thing -- if this job was left to up to me, Dad would be lucky to be living in a tent.

Karen volunteered for the monumental task of physically moving Dad from Florida to Virginia. After consulting with his doctors, she decided that driving him back was the most expedient and safest way. At this point, we all