29 Sep 2025
1 Commentyes, please!
Despite the slow but steady creep of Mom’s Alzheimer’s throughout her 70s, she continued to have plenty of good, reasonably clear headed days, and those gave Dad hope and strength as he paddled along with life as usual. He kept their one-bedroom Bronxville co-op neat and tidy. Got dressed up for early mass on Sundays, and helped Mom do the same. Dinner (always at sixish) was a duty Dad took over with special zest, proudly emailing us three kids: tonight was salmon, with mashed potatoes (thanks Bob Evans) and peas and carrots. “Mom said it was the best ever,” he’d write. After dinner, it was time for television (re-runs of MASH or, in season, the Yankees), and early bed.
Even as everything became more difficult for Mom, she proudly fought for normalcy too, and thankfully, my sister, brother and I were able to help Dad shore her up. We managed to get in some visits to family in Ireland, and take little trips to the shore, which had always been a special treat for Mom and Dad after they’d paid off our tuition bills. We had new adventures too. My husband teamed up with me to take them to Mexico one year at Christmas. “I can’t believe we’re going to Chichén Itzá,” I recall a gleeful Mom, ever the history and geography enthusiast, saying as we planned the trip.
Incrementally, we waded further into their lives. We began accompanying Mom and Dad on doctor visits, taking over with questions and follow-up. We started stocking up the fridge, and bringing Mom out on weekend afternoons, so Dad could rest. Still, his emails during our work weeks grew increasingly worrisome. Upon his return from an early morning foray to the laundry room, he found Mom frightened and distraught in the apartment. Though Mom was physically fit, with energy to burn, Dad became frailer and monitored her walks from a park bench. One day she did not come back to him. Thankfully a neighbor recognized Mom, and walked her home. Reality sunk in: never again could Mom be alone. Ever.
Working, attending to our relationships, and feeling the nearness of our sixties, my siblings and I tried putting more supports in place as Mom and Dad hit their eighties: a house cleaning service, outsourced laundry, a volunteer visitor to take Mom for walks, and a once a week helpmate, who could drive for errands, give Dad a break, and so on. None of these attempts at inserting help stuck. “Mom wasn’t in the mood to walk today,” Dad would report, after cancelling the volunteer service. “I don’t need help with the laundry. I already have milk in,” he’d write after cancelling the helpmate. “Please Dad,” we’d write back in love and frustration: “Just say yes.”
After a lifetime proudly centered on independence, saying yes, allowing people in, turns out to be very hard, and in our case, only sheer necessity as Mom declined, and Dad became more and more exhausted, compelled us all to start saying yes with increasing frequency. A big turning point was shifting Mom and Dad to a geriatrics group for their health care. Surprised we’d come as far as we had with no real support strategy in place, we were pointed to a well-established Medicaid advisor in Cortlandt Manor. Getting on a zoom session with her turned out to be life changing. She quickly assessed our situation: though Mom and Dad had worked hard, saved, and lived carefully within their means, privately paying for care over the long term was well out of reach. “Do everything I tell you, and your parents will always have the help they need,” she told us. Her experience and confidence were reassuring. With enormous relief, we immediately got to work with her, and within months, Mom and Dad were qualified for in-home assistance through Medicaid. They were then assigned a home health care agency, assessed, and paired with an aide, originally for a few hours a day, to help with activities of daily living.
Accepting the help remained challenging at the onset. “Why’s she here?” Mom would stage whisper to Dad, referring to the smiling new face in the living room. Treating visits from aides as social calls, Dad snuck in the vacuuming and laundry after they left. “I don’t understand what to do with four hours of help,” he’d say in those early days of adjusting. Looking back, it seems silly that we fretted about how aides would fill their day. It’s been almost five years now, and as Mom and Dad have climbed into their mid-80s, the aides and hours have increased. In fact, just in the nick of time, right before Dad had a hospital stay this year, and again with help from Medicaid Solutions, Mom was qualified for 24/7 help, via the Nursing Home Transition and Diversion (NHTD) waiver.
Though nothing can take away Mom’s Alzheimer’s, or the anxiety, confusion, distress and loss that are its hallmarks, our aides have been invariably kind and trustworthy, as they continue to make life at home viable for Mom and Dad. Most now know Mom’s favorite old Irish tunes by heart, and on her good days, Mom enjoys dancing around the living room to world music with them. Some days, Mom needs help finding the bathroom, but other days, she up and gets herself there, instinctively flipping the hallway light switch on along the way. On hard days, she is terrified of showering, and easily set into anger and tears. Those are gut wrenching times, especially for Dad. Dinner is still at sixish, though, and he’ll set the table no matter what, and serve up ice cream afterwards. Mom never refuses. Comforts of home? Yes, please. Never have they meant more.
- yes, please! - September 29, 2025
October 9, 2025 @ 9:17 am
Love the caring sentiments expressed in this heartwarming essay by Eileen Doyle. And thank god for Medicaid. I shudder to think what America’s hardworking families would do without it.