The large workshop located at the back of the property was where Dad had enjoyed the best days of his life. Now he would dream of the things he had made there; he visualized his tools, the workbench, the chair he sat in when friends would come to visit and look at the wonderful things he made. He would have been so rejuvinated at being able to go out to the workshop, maybe stand at the workbench and do a few of the things he could still do. It would have provided him stimulation, occupation, made him feel like a normal person for a while. But to get out there would have required opening a door in the wall of the den, building a ramp down to the ground and then a walk way to the door of the workshop. Actually this would have been a very simple thing to do – but it would have upset the house and so it was not done. The doorways were not widened either because that would have upset the house and so Dad couldn’t get into any rooms other than his bedroom and the kitchen and living room. The bathroom was off limits unless he walked and that was difficult for him. So Mother had him use a commode. This was humiliating for him but he had no choice, she was in charge of his care and claimed she didn’t mind.

They had arranged for a nurse to come in the morning to help Dad get up, dress and to the table. At night he came to help him undress and into bed. Every few days he was given a bath and once a week a physical therapist came in to work with him. Every six weeks he went back to the hospital to give mother respite from his care and during that time he was given a full battery of tests, all the therapy he needed and counsel. However the therapy stopped when he went home; it was just so much easier for Dad to sit at the kitchen table keeping Mother company while she puttered around with her cooking. I bought them a small tv to mount on the wall so they could watch their soaps; Dad had a small radio by his side and he read the paper, read his books – and sat there all day.

As time went on Dad because less and less fun to be around. He had always been a man of humour and people were attracted to him for his wonderful stories and his gentle, elegant manner. He spent more and more time alone as his mood darkened and he was depressed much of the time. He was ashamed to be seen in a wheelchair so refused to be taken for rides around the neighbourhood. His life had become reduced to 2 rooms and what he could see out the window. Mother had refused to allow them to take part in any stroke counseling so they never knew how much help and support was available to them. Dad could have learned this feeling of helpless despair was natural for someone in his condition. that there was hope and things they could do to make their lives easier.

It broke my heart to visit my parents and see Dad deteriorating. I tried everything I could think of; the medic alert for when Mom had to leave him alone to go shopping, a reclining chair so he could relax and watch tv in the living room. I tried to move furniture around so he could get around in his wheelchair; I moved stuff off the shelves near where he sat so there would be room there for his books and his cup of coffee. Nothing worked. By the time my plane had left the ground the medic alert had been cancelled, the recliner was used for something else, the shelves were jammed with trinkets again and the little table of nick nacks was back against the wall where the wheelchair would hit it. So I gave up.

This went on for 7 years and in 1998 my Dad decided he had had enough; he died in his sleep one night in August. He had been running a high temperature but Mother had decided it would go away, she could take care of it herself. When she wakened to find him cold beside her she refused to believe it and waited, as she had when she first saw his stroke symptoms. When they finally took Dad away that morning something broke in my mother and she could no longer create her own reality as she had done for so many years. Two months after he was buried she was diagnosed with 4th stage ovarian cancer and was gone 6 months later.

I have written of many other aspects here of how to address aging. This has been a very personal exercise. It has been so very clear to me how different my parent’s lives could have been; how much happier, lighter, joyful those last years could have been for them. Instead they were burdened, isolated, fearful and defensive. Fear and suspicion were what had moved and controlled my mother all her life and that affected very negatively how they lived their final years together.

I live in California and am an only child; my parents lived in Winnipeg, Canada in the family home where the Depression mentality was in full bloom. They kept everything ‘in case they may need it someday’ and it was all there, occupying two floors. For years I visited every 6 months and tried to encourage a sorting of their things. I talked with retirement facilities and condo sellers and presented them with housing options that I would help them move to. I implored the people who helped with Dad’s care and with other trusted friends to encourage them to downsize. We believed it would enhance their last years with new freedom and stimulation which might even extend their lives. Mother resisted moving – anything. And Dad had no power and thus no choice.

After my dad’s passing, Mother’s life became very constricted. This woman who was never without her makeup on by 9am each morning was now found in her robe at 5pm, sleeping most of the time. Her last months were spent alone except for a few friends who made daily visits to check on her or take her for appointments. When I saw her just 2 months before her death she still refused to even discuss what would be done with their goods, still in total denial that she wouldn’t be around forever. And so nothing was done until after her funeral.

I had to put their home on the market very quickly in order to benefit from the brief summer window in the real estate market in Winnipeg. Very little in real estate happens between October and May due to cold and snow. Returning from mother’s funeral, the family and friends met at the house and we began the process. The instructions were simple: take anything you want or can use; invite friends to come to the house and take what they want. Anything left unclaimed would be removed and donated to the Salvation Army three days later.

We discovered a trunk in the basment with beautiful clothes that had never been worn; linens that were wedding gifts to my parents 50 years before. Shelves and shelves of preserves, enough canned and frozen food to support a family of 4 for a year. Appliances packed away on shelves in plastic bags, closets jammed, rooms jammed, garage jammed. Everything was saved – now it was being hauled off indiscriminately by strangers. By the end of the week things unclaimed were in black plastic bags and stacked in the large 2 car garage that used to house my father’s beloved workshop. Stacked 2-3 bags high. It took a large semi to haul everything to the Salvation Army depot.

This was the most painful experience I can remember. There was absolutely nothing else I could do. There was no time to try to anticipate whom my parents wanted their goods to go to; little was claimed by the relatives, most went to shelters, strangers; the rest was hauled away. My parents would have been absolutely appalled! I was so angry at having been put in this position by them that it took a long time for me to be able to grieve for them. I felt this showed a horrible lack of responsibility and unrealistic assumption; that someone else would take care of this for them and of course that one was me.

The contractors started work the day after the final black bag was removed. The house took three months to get it ready to list for sale. The day after it went on the market it sold with a full price offer and a young family moved into my parent’s home. I fulfilled my obligation but I will never forget the lesson that was learned.

Thus my advice to folks who want to behave with responsibility and respect for their family – don’t do to your children what my parents did to me. Downsize to smaller living space while you are able to make good decisions. Take with you only what you need, want or love and pass the rest on to someone else. Discuss whom should receive your treasures when you no longer can use them and have a plan for the rest. Don’t assume someone else will take care of this responsibility for you – that is unfair and unkind.