Just Another Day in the Retirement Home: A Journey of the Heart

By Janet Fraser

"Just Another Day in the Retirement Home" is a memoir about an eight year journey experienced by Janet Fraser, whose aging parents were living their final years in a retirement home. It is a poignant journey of the heart, from the first realization that life is about to change when the roles of parent and child are reversed, through the confusion of navigating the health care system, to the progression of dementia and all the adjustments and surprises that happen along the way. It is about loss and grief, yet it is a story of love, joy, resilience and gratitude. It is about life with all the tears and laughter, and what truly matters at the end of life. This is a love story about an elderly couple who are committed to staying together always, even as their abilities and memories are declining. The life lessons that Janet learns through this experience are invaluable -- the greatest lesson being compassion. As Janet watches the lives of her beloved parents unravel and their memories fade, she also watches her grandchildren as they discover the world-- building memories and reaching for the stars. The experience of being both daughter and grandmother brings home the message that being the link between the past and the future is a privilege and an honour. This is, after all, the circle of life.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Tellwell Talent
• Release date: May 9, 2019
• ISBN: 9780228803553

Janet Fraser

Janet Fraser is a first-time author with a background in nursing. She earned her RN, Bachelor of Science degree in Nursing as well as a Bachelor of Arts degree in Psychology from McMaster University in Hamilton, Ontario. Since retiring from many years as a Public Health Nurse for the City of Hamilton, she spends much of her time advocating for health services in the community and visiting the elderly with her dog, Katie. Although Janet's work as a Registered Nurse was primarily with children and youth, her experience as a client advocate led her to the role of advocate for her aging parents in the retirement home. This experience—as a daughter, rather than a nurse—inspired Janet to write this memoir.Janet enjoys an active lifestyle with her husband, Jim. She enjoys hiking, cycling, sailing, skiing, and swimming, and is a passionate organic gardener. Janet is also an advocate for the environment, and hopes to leave a healthier, greener world for her two children, three step-children and eleven grandchildren.Janet lives with her husband, Jim, and her dog, Katie, in Hamilton, Ontario.

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Just Another Day in the Retirement Home

Copyright © 2019 by Janet V. Fraser

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law.

The stories in this book reflect the author’s recollection of events. Some names, locations, and identifying characteristics have been changed to protect the privacy of those depicted. Dialogue has been recreated from memory.

Tellwell Talent

www.tellwell.ca

ISBN

978-0-2288-0354-6 (Paperback)

978-0-2288-0355-3 (eBook)

Introduction

We all have a story to tell. In fact, over a lifetime, we all have many stories to tell. My parents’ lives were ordinary and yet, looking back, in many ways their lives were extraordinary. Perhaps all of us have extraordinary stories to tell about our ordinary lives.

Growing up in the fifties with parents who lived through the experience of immigrating to Canada, The Great Depression, and World War II, was common in those days and the stories I heard about their childhood was just part of everyday conversation. My grandparents’ stories of life in The Old Country, spoken in broken English, were mostly unnoticed by me, when I was a child. I was, like most children, just anxious to go out to play with my friends, rather than listen to these tales. Little did I know how quickly I too would grow old, and long to hear more about my grandparents’ early years in Canada and in The Old Country.

As I grew older my parents grew very old and it was then that I realized what remarkable parents they had been. I was handed the gift of time with the two of them as they reached their final years of life. I had time to appreciate who they were and who they had been. This remarkable gift was given to me during the eight years that I visited them in the retirement home where they lived.

Watching parents grow old is an ordinary thing to write a story about. It is an experience millions of people go through. For me, it was a poignant journey of the heart. I believe that writing about it will help others navigate through this uncharted territory. As we ourselves age we have a duty to bridge the past and the future.

Janet Fraser

2019

Dedicated to

My children, my grandchildren

and to their grandchildren

Part 1

The Roots

of a

Family Tree

For those to whom much is given, much is required.

- Luke 12:48

The Roots of

a Family Tree

It has been said that The roots of a family tree begin with the love of two hearts. The story of my parents is a love story. I never realized this until they grew very old.

Being somebody’s daughter is something that I always took for granted. I had been a daughter my entire life, until very recently. Being somebody’s daughter was part of my identity. I was a daughter, a little sister, and a granddaughter before I became anything else—a friend, a wife, a mother, a nurse, and now a grandmother. As long as I was someone’s daughter, I still felt young, even when in my sixties. Only now can I look back and reflect on what a privilege it was to be Jim and Vi’s daughter. I was loved.

When I was still a teen, I volunteered in a hospital. One day, an elderly gentleman whom I was assisting smiled at me and said, I can tell that you have been loved very much.

I only smiled and replied, Well, I suppose I am. I was thinking, How would he know? It was only a few years later, in my work with emotionally disturbed children, that I realized that not all children are loved in the way that I was. Being raised by loving parents meant that I would have much to give. It seemed natural that I became a health professional.

Being loved did not mean that we had a lot of material possessions. When I was very small, my parents lived in a tiny pebble-dash house on a quiet little street in St. Catharines. There were other tiny houses in the neighbourhood. They were known as war-time houses. Milk was still delivered by a horse-drawn wagon. We, the children in the neighbourhood, had enough of everything we needed—room to play outdoors, clean clothes that hung on the line, mothers who were there for us, and fathers who went to work each day – most of them with lunch buckets. There were schools we could walk to, supper cooking on the stove, and everyone’s mom looked out for us. We felt safe and happy. Life was good! World War II was over, and we were the post-war babies. Our parents were full of hope for a future of peace and prosperity.

Fast forward to 1963. My parents, who would have been in their thirties, moved to a bungalow with an attached garage; it was their dream home. This was also a caring and friendly neighbourhood with children my own age. It was a neighbourhood with more brief cases than lunch buckets, but my dad still carried his lunch bucket with pride. Our little three year old neighbour asked my dad, What kind of brief case is that you have? Dad responded with a chuckle and a twinkle in his eye, Well son, this is the very best kind of briefcase of all, because you can put a thermos and a sandwich inside of it! We grew to know and care for one another’s families.

Being loved did not mean that we were not guided and disciplined. Our parents had high expectations of us, school work was a priority, and politeness and respect mattered. We were expected to work for what we needed, pay our own way, be generous and kind to others, and do the right thing, even when nobody was watching.

My sister, Karen, and I were the first generation to be born in Canada. Our grandparents wanted a better life for their young families and immigrated in the 1920s when our parents were very young. They escaped poverty and hopelessness and found their heaven on earth in the Niagara Peninsula. They found rich, fertile soil and an ideal climate for growing fruit and vegetables to feed a family throughout the year. Gardens were lush, and fruit cellars were filled with homemade jams and canned goods. Healthy food was the ultimate goal. Having a warm and caring family home was all that mattered, no matter how humble.

Mom and Dad’s home was always a welcoming place to return to after I had left the nest. There were family gatherings and delicious meals. The scent of Mom’s Hungarian cooking or Dad’s homemade bread filled the air. It was a happy place to bring my children, dogs, and eventually grandchildren to play in Dad’s mini-orchard and pick vegetables from the garden.

Forty-five years later, they still lived in that same dream house in that same friendly neighbourhood. I never noticed that they were growing old. Old age is an insidious intruder. I never realized that our relationship was about to change. The time had come that they would need me more than they ever had in their lives. It was time to give back.

It is said that For those to whom much is given, much is required. (Luke 12:48)

That is where my story begins…

Lost in the Dark:

The First Clue

I have your parents, the police officer said on the phone.

My heart was racing. Were they in an accident? They had left our home after a lovely family dinner over an hour ago. The trip from our rural country home to St. Catharines was only a fifty-minute drive. They should have been home by now.

They are fine, he continued. Don’t worry, they are just lost.

How could they be lost? I thought. They had been here so many times over the past decade! I asked, Where are they?

He reassured me, In the Foodland parking lot in Cayuga. They did not remember your address, but your mother had your phone number. They were in a parking lot in Cayuga, five minutes away, scared and lost!

My husband, Jim, drove to the Foodland and had my parents follow him back to our house, and then we drove to theirs with my dad following.

How could they be lost? I kept thinking in disbelief. My mom had been trying to tell me over the past months that Dad was getting forgetful and getting lost now and then, even close to home. I hadn’t noticed. He seemed perfectly fine, and as competent as ever. I was disturbed. They were in their early eighties and still seemed so young in many ways. They were fit and still managed to look after their home. They were able to look after themselves. At least I thought they were managing well.

It had been dark, so perhaps he just took a wrong turn, missed a sign, and went in a large circle. In fact, that is exactly what he had done, even though my mom had told him he had turned the wrong way.

After this incident, Jim and I decided we would pick them up and bring them home when there were any family gatherings out of town. Mom and Dad were perfectly competent and independent enough to drive locally in their familiar territory. We also started to visit more frequently and offered to help around the house or yard. We would always get the same reply when we offered: We can manage. You kids are busy. We are fine.

We brought them information on retirement homes, Adult-Lifestyle communities, and condominiums and suggested we have a look together just in case they decided the house was too much to manage, but they were not interested.

One day I said to my father, Dad, don’t wait for a crisis. He became defensive and said, "I’m not going anywhere. I am going to wait for a crisis!"

The Birthday Party:

She Wore High Heels

In early July of 2008, there was a birthday party for our little granddaughter, Avenue, who was turning one. Her party was early in the month because Rob, my son, (her daddy), would be in China for the Beijing Olympics to work as a cameraman when she actually turned one later in July. Everyone in the family was invited. She was the third great-grandchild for my parents and the first great-granddaughter. It was a joyful family gathering with four generations!

Mom always dressed up for a party. She wore a lovely two-piece light green suit and she looked trim and smart and very pretty for her 82 years. She wore high heels, usually sandals, when she went out. I always thought she looked pretty, even when I was very little. To me she was the most beautiful mother on earth! She was friendly and very social, and proud of her family. Dad wore a sports jacket, as he always did when there was a special occasion. They made a handsome couple.

Little did we know that by the time Avenue’s actual birthday arrived, Mom would be lying in a hospital bed, barely able to speak, and making little sense when she did. She was barely eating, incontinent, and had not walked in several days. I asked one of the nurses if there were any plans to get her up to try to walk. The nurse replied, Maybe if you could bring in her walker…

Walker? I thought. Mom had never used a walker or needed one. She had a perky little walk. She was fit and strong.

She has never had a walker, I said to the nurse. She can walk as well as you or me. She wears high heels when she goes out.

The nurse looked somewhat puzzled and replied that it is common for families to be in denial. Your mother has dementia, she said.

"She does not have dementia, I said defensively. She was perfectly fine a few days ago."

This was only the beginning of an eight-year journey for our family. We would learn to navigate