The Poor Home

Mom and I have visited the 2 assisted living places I think she might consider, and she told me that Buffalo Hill Terrace is a far cry from the Poor Home back in her day. Old people went to Poor Home to die, she remembered. School children use to visit those folks to sing, or visit, but she said May Day was the best. Her eyes lit up when shared, kids would gather all the wild-flowers they could find, and arrange them in the paper baskets they had fashioned. The story ended when she smiled, saying, Those folk were just delighted when they received their baskets!

Then she asked me if I thought kids did this anymore. We've had the May Day conversation before. I'm sure, because I remember she was sort of disgusted that nothing is really done nowadays. With that in mind, I skirted the May Day issue. But I told her I remembered choir classes, from schools where I taught, often went to assisted living places to sing for the residents. She liked that kids still sang for old people.

We visited the 2nd option, the next day, and she was very taken with the fact they had a house dog. Dexter was a sweet little dog, and it surprised me that she remembered my son's dog had the same name. She agreed that it was homier than the 1st place, but thought the personal space lacked imagination, and let our host know that the colors were all wrong.  She tends to be opinionated.

She asked me if it bothered me that she would have go somewhere like that.....some day. I said it would make me sad because I knew how much she loved her house.  I had told her before, but continued by saying if it turns out I need to help her physically, any more than I already do, it wouldn't be safe for either of us.  She agreed wholeheartedly but she told me if things didn't change; if her health and capabilities remained the same as today, she would be able to stay at home, alone, until she died.  Mom also warned me that when that time came, if she griped, or bitched, we were to just ignore her.

Sure, I thought, easier said than done.