I open the door to step back into the room, and he is already asleep again. Sitting in the chair by his bed. The effort to get dressed and move to the chair was too much. He is spent. His lungs are filled with fluid, and he no longer has the physical strength to cough it up. They are giving him medicine designed to help, and he tries, but he just can't get it out anymore.
If you haven't already, now's the time to help your child start to learn how to budget and manage their money. It doesn't matter how much or how little you have; teaching them how to live within their means is an invaluable skill.
My bliss is different from my mom's. I don't have a bucket list and I don't have a manic need to rush out and make grand plans. What does feel compelling and urgent is that I embrace what is, that I don't worry so much, that I stay present and grateful.
I arrive to find my mother in a state of high anxiety. My parents' home sold within weeks of listing it on the market and they are completely unprepared. My mother is intent on getting rid of everything she owns; if I'd shown up any later, my parents might be sleeping on Tatami mats.
There may very well be 31 years worth of flavors in ice cream land -- Jamaican Me Crazy, anyone? -- but, to ward off diabetes, lactose intolerance, and clichéd husband jokes, here's just a taste.
There's this hopeful part of me that imagines her embracing her new exercise routine, doing more and more laps each day, getting so strong that she's even able to cast her walker aside in favor of a cane.
As I drove along the highway, I noticed it was what my mom likes to call, 'A blue, white and green day.' That epitomizes Florida to her. Vibrant blue sky. White puffy clouds. Luscious green foliage. My dad had spent nearly 12 years here living out his retirement dream. Until the hell that is dementia entered our lives.
I am a proud member of the sandwich generation. Sociologist Dorothy A. Miller coined the term in 1981 to classify people who care for their aging parent(s) while helping to support their own children.
Originally I was going to title this 'Kidnapping My Elderly Parents.' I was just desperate enough to try that if I couldn't get them to budge.
Memory is tricky, even people without Alzheimer's forget where they put their keys or why they went upstairs. Was I looking for something in the bedroom? Yes, that's right, I need a sweater.
They gave us a list. To make preparing easier, it read. It included all the basics. Practical things: furniture, linens, toiletries, and clothing. Under each category there were specific items listed. We were pressed for time. Rushed.
To recruit and retain the best people for the job, companies need to catch up with the changing realities of today's workforce.
My 13-year-old daughter recently tried on the wedding dress in the photo, which was worn by both my wife and mother-in-law. As she twirled, three generations danced.
While cost will likely remain as a top tier issue in delivering long-term care, quality from the person's perspective matters, regardless of who pays for the care
I learned compassion. I learned that you cannot do life alone. I learned that pain is part of life and it cracks you open in ways that make you a more compassionate person. I learned that the obstacles on the path ARE the path.
There are many words we could pull out of our hats to describe a woman over 50 with kids who still need her (whether they're living at home or not) AND parents who need her, too, sometimes even more.