We walked in and saw “Main Street.” Oldies music was playing and black-and-white family photos were hanging on the walls. The facility had different neighborhoods branching off of Main Street. Each had its own wing, based on the level of dementia. There was one large area, as if on a movie set, and three different hallways branching off with keycoded doors to separate wings. The “neighborhood” for Mom, of course, would be the lockdown neighborhood, but at least it didn’t feel like she was trapped in a place with no windows, and she could visit Main Street and still be safe. The idea was genius. Dad and I loved the way it felt—until we walked around Mom’s potential living quarters.
Our tour guide entered the code, and as we stepped through we saw a large trash can filled to the brim. Straight past the trash bin were two couches and a few chairs. On one couch, a lady was sound asleep with her walker next to her, and on the other was a man sitting and talking to himself. Beside him, another man, sitting straight up, was fast asleep with his chin to his chest. No helpers were around. Just a quiet room with three residents in their eighties either asleep or babbling.
As we walked by the kitchen area, we saw a few people sitting at a table with their snacks. We waved at them, but none raised their hands in reply. Sitting there in their wheelchairs, their faces appeared vacant, as if they were placed there without knowing why.
The rooms were clean and new but small. One lady sitting outside an empty room was staring at a wall. Our tour guide said hello but the woman stared blankly as if she hadn’t heard a sound or even seen us.
I hardly heard anything else our tour guide said. Dumbfounded, once again I couldn’t believe we were walking around these places thinking Mom could live in one. No friends, no one her age, no activities, and a lot of mental illness. What if Mom just sat and stared and slept?
Dad and I were taken into a conference room after the tour, and we had a few minutes to ourselves.
“I don’t know, Sarah. Seems like another no. I just don’t think I can do it. Not here.” Dad was waiting for my feedback. I knew he was making a statement, but by the look on his face, it was also a question.
“I agree. I thought this would be it, honestly, with the Sweet Shoppe, the barbershop and salon, and jukebox and fun music. But clearly she would be the youngest one here, with most people way past her stage. Mom will need more interaction and activities. She has to stay busy and feel like she is doing something. This isn’t it. I don’t see it either, Dad. I’m sorry.”
Dad quickly canceled the interview, “Thank you for your time. We have another appointment, but I will take the folder and materials home to look it over and get back with you soon.”
Alrighty then, God. One more stop today.
• • •
“WELL, DAD. THOUGH YOU’VE BEEN to this one, I haven’t seen it. All I can say is I’ve heard great things about it. It’s newer, and I know you’re concerned about their level of experience, but let’s just go in with an open mind. You can do this. God has a plan for Mom. We just need to be patient and keep following His lead.”
“I know,” replied Dad. “The last time I saw it a year and a half ago, it was under construction. At least now I can see the memory-care building. Who knows? I did reluctantly put a deposit down. I knew there was already a wait list and that a deposit would give us first priority, so we’ll see. Maybe this will be the one. I just don’t know anymore.”
“It sure would be convenient, wouldn’t it? It’s literally five minutes from our houses. Almost too good to be true,” I said.
We both smiled, even though it was all we could do to take another tour.
After parking in front, we walked into the new covered entryway of The Tradition. The automatic glass doors opened to reveal four white leather chairs around a coffee table, on which sat a beautiful arrangement of fresh flowers in a blue and white vase. Crossing the foyer, we walked toward a warm fireplace trimmed in white wood. Windows on each side faced a lovely courtyard with Japanese maple trees, flowers, green grass, and a fountain. Like the other place, the lovely outdoor area was refreshing and inviting. An antique grandfather clock, similar to the one we had while I was growing up, ticked away against the wall. We instantly felt a warmth and strange familiarity in these surroundings. It felt like I was in a home. God’s home.
We sat down in a room with a pot of purple hydrangeas, my favorite flowers, on the side table. Looking down the hallway, we could see more windows overlooking the fountain and lawn, and we noticed benches for the residents’ use.
A lovely woman, Janet, a few years younger than my mom, came out of her office.
“Hello, Mr. Bearden. Hello, Sarah. It is so wonderful to see you again, David, and to meet you, Sarah. Please, let’s sit over here for a few minutes and go over our plan for today, then see if you have any questions. I know this is very tough for the both of you. Please know how sorry I am for all you are going through, and if there is anything I can do for you or your family, don’t hesitate to call. I also love to pray, so I would be honored if you would like me to pray about anything.”
I couldn’t explain the look in Janet’s eyes, but I felt the presence of the Holy Spirit. Her skin glowed, her smile was joyful, and her voice was tender and soft. She had compassion, and she really cared about us and our situation. This was not just a business transaction for us: We were heartbroken, and she empathized with us. Her eyes never drifted away when we spoke. She listened, didn’t take notes, and spoke the truth. She was gentle, kindhearted, and exuded love. She brought peace to our broken hearts.
I immediately started crying. “I’m so sorry, Daddy. I’m sorry, Janet. I’m so tired, but I already love this place. Thank you for taking the time to meet with us. I can’t explain it, but this place feels like home. It has felt so comfortable since we first came through that front door.”
I wiped the tears from my cheeks. “I love the way it’s decorated. It looks like a place Mom would live. The blue and white lamps, the traditional mahogany chairs and the formal side tables remind me of my childhood home. The colors are so soft and calming. The yellows and greens—she loves that soft green. Her home in Houston and now her home in Dallas have that same green. Even the curtains over there on that window look like Mom. Don’t you think, Dad?”
“She would love the way it’s decorated, that’s for sure. It really does remind me of her.”
Janet, gracious and speaking softly and kindly, gave us a tour of the entire facility. It had a physical therapy room on the first floor, and to the left was a hallway leading to the first-floor assisted-living area. There were four floors in all, three for assisted living and the fourth for memory care.
Down another hallway, there was another sitting area with two couches, a coffee table, brightly lit lamps and another fireplace with a large mantel. There were picture books to look at and an arrangement of square tables covered with puzzle boxes, cards, and games.
They even had a private “family” dining room with a round antique table and ten chairs painted a soft mint green. I felt like I was stepping into my mom’s old dining room in Houston.
With my mouth open and eyes wide, I turned to Dad and shook my head in astonishment. He smiled. “I know, Sarah. This is so her! Mom would love it here.”
Trying not to get his hopes up, he looked at Janet, “Would Becky be allowed to use this dining room? Could we bring our family here to eat? I already know now by looking at other places she will be on the memory-care floor, so what is the rule or procedure for memory-care residents? Are they allowed down here?”
“Yes, absolutely,” she said. “We do it all the time. We just have a caretaker bring her down here whenever you request it. And if you want to have your family here for dinner, you just call me, and we mark it on the master calendar. As a matter of fact, we have a resident here whose family uses it once a month for dinners, so we welcome that.”
Dad turned to me. “I really like this place. That is good news.”
Janet walked us to the
main downstairs dining room. It was fully staffed and seated about 150 people. The staff all had smiles on their faces, were professionally dressed, and knew the residents by name.
I noticed one man pouring ice water.
“Hello, John! How are you today? Would you like your favorite peach tea this afternoon?”
He knew exactly what John wanted. Janet hugged several people on our tour, calling each of them by name. There was movement and activity, people coming and going. Nobody was asleep on a couch. And there were windows everywhere.
Janet guided us to another area and told us about their happy hour. “We have a piano player come every Wednesday at 4:00 p.m. Our residents love him. Your mom is always welcome down here, as long as a caretaker or a family member accompanies her. Some of our assisted-living residents drink wine, but many of our residents drink nonalcoholic wine without knowing it. Their families tell us beforehand, and we get to know each person individually so that we are sure about their beverages. I don’t know if that has been a struggle for Rebecca or not, but some of them can go through a drinking phase.”
Dad and I laughed, as she had disarmed us. “Oh, man, have we ever! We have a few stories, that’s for sure. She would definitely be the nonalcoholic resident,” Dad said with a look of pure relief.
Janet led us down the next hallway. “This is our salon. We have a nail station, and we have a lady who comes to do hair. Many of our residents have standing appointments for nails and hair and things like that. It’s our goal to maintain their dignity.”
Sharing another glance with Dad, I grabbed his hand and squeezed it. “She can always have her hair done, Daddy. Mom would want that. And just think: no nail polish remover in sight. She can’t swallow it or ruin her fresh manicures.”
“Boy, that’s the truth. Yes, she would be in here each week, Janet. We would want that for her,” Dad said. When Mom was first diagnosed, Dad had promised he would never let her lose her dignity. To the best of his ability, he would do everything to take care of her, to honor and protect her.
Janet smiled broadly. “May I take you upstairs to memory care now? I know it’s not easy, but I hope you go up there knowing she does have this downstairs as well, so please do keep that in mind. There is no doubt Rebecca would be our youngest resident on memory care, so again, I know this is not easy as you look around at the residents. Let me assure you, however, that we have wonderful caretakers. They love our residents with all their hearts, and they really do take amazing care of each one. I go up there all of the time. It’s our desire to know every single resident in this building, regardless of what floor they live on.”
Janet took us up the elevator to the fourth floor. We stepped out into a tiny hallway where a receptionist sat behind a desk. A few steps to the right was a door with a keypad and a small window that looked into a living area with couches and chairs.
“Anyone who comes to the fourth floor must have a code. Once you open the door, you have about ten seconds to come through and shut it behind you or an alarm goes off. This keeps the residents from trying to sneak out or escape. So if it goes off because we didn’t make it through in time, you will know why.”
I loved Janet. She explained everything. She was very thoughtful, careful to not mislead us or leave out any information that might be important.
Walking into the memory-care floor, I heard someone say, “Come on, Renee, you can do it!”
Music was playing. Then I heard some caretakers yell, “Yay, Renee! You did it!”
“What is going on over there?” I asked.
“It sounds like they are doing a craft or ‘bowling’—something fun. But let’s go see. They do a great job keeping the residents busy up here, but they also give them the freedom to opt out if they want to. It’s important to us and the caretakers that we don’t make anyone do anything they don’t want to do. We want to give them a sense of freedom in their decisions, if that makes sense.”
As we walked in that direction, she showed us a large calendar hanging on the wall.
“This is the activities calendar. They switch it out every month, but you can take a picture of it or look at it at any time to see what they will be doing each day, and to see what outings are scheduled. They do take them out once or twice a month on a small bus to get shakes, burgers, ice cream. The residents love it!”
She can get out in a car? Go get a burger? A shake? With caretakers and be safe? Amazing!
“Hello, sweet Judy.” Janet gave her a hug. “How are you today? You look so beautiful in your purple.”
“Ohhh, thank you so much! You are so nice!”
Judy was wearing a purple silk top, and her hair was clean and styled so beautifully. She wore glasses and had on light pink lipstick. Her nails were a soft pink as well. She looked as if she had just left the salon downstairs. I was impressed with how “put together” she looked, especially at her age. She must have been in her mid-eighties.
Janet went to the next person. “Good afternoon, Lucy. I see you look happy today.”
“Teehee! Thank you! I am,” responded Lucy.
Janet walked us over to the kitchen area where much of the action was taking place. A caretaker named Louie was dressed in a cowboy hat with a fake snap gun around his waist. He called himself Billy Bob.
“Howdy, everyone! I’m Billy Bob. And today, we are going to bowl! Who wants to bowl?”
Having the energy of a ten-year-old, he was actually sweating from working so hard. As he pushed wheelchairs out one after the other, the patients rolled big plastic beach balls into large bowling pins, knocking them over. Every time someone would knock a pin over, all of the caretakers would yell, “Yayyy!”
Dancing, entertainment, arts and crafts, and other activities like bowling all seemed to happen in the dining room, and there was something for everyone.
The kitchen was beautiful. It had a long countertop and a large stainless-steel refrigerator and sink that were clean and shiny.
Janet showed us the empty bedrooms. They had fairly spacious floor plans with high ceilings in all the apartments. The closets were roomy, and there were individually controlled air conditioning units with thermal windows throughout. The bathrooms had raised vanities and walk-in showers with a seat.
Only four rooms were available, but since Dad had placed a deposit over a year ago, he could have first pick if he placed Mom here. Two of the rooms were on the small side, and one was larger but overlooked a construction site. The last room overlooked a beautiful courtyard with trees and a fountain. It was a closed-in view, in that she couldn’t see buildings outside except for the other balconies that also faced the courtyard.
Janet looked at Dad. “What are you thinking, David? Do you like the rooms? Does any room stand out for you?”
“Well, yes. This one. The other is a little larger, but not that much larger. And honestly, Rebecca loves to look out a window, and this by far has the best view. I think I would pick the one with the best view before considering size. What do you think, Sarah?”
“I’m in complete agreement. I don’t know how much space she really needs, and when Mom looks out and sees a fountain and flowers and trees, I think it will bring her a sense of peace. I’m with you.”
Janet showed us the other three hallways. Each room had a shadow box hanging outside of the door or to the right of the doorjamb. She explained we could fill the shadow box with pictures and memorabilia, or whatever the family felt would make the resident feel loved and at home. There were four sitting areas, two of which had televisions, and a large patio outside that had several round iron tables with chairs and flowered cushions. The patio was safe because it had a large glass window that would not allow residents to walk to the edge, but it was large enough to make them feel like they were outside.
Janet entered the code as we exited the fourth floor, and I left with mixed thoughts. One: Is this the place You have for Mom, God? It’s beautiful. And two: I can’t imagine Mom living here and not in her home. Are we r
eally at this point, Lord?
Then I heard Janet say, “It’s like a home in a way, right? I hope you feel that, because that is everything the owner intended this to be. A home outside of home for all who live here.”
Okay, God. Maybe this is Your place for her, and maybe it’s not a place. Maybe it can be a home.
WE FOLLOWED JANET DOWNSTAIRS. AT the reception desk, Dad turned to her and said, “As you know, I’ve already filled out some paperwork and I placed a deposit a year and a half ago. What do I do now? If I do this, can I hold the room I like for her?”
She told him he needed to fill out a few forms for that specific room, sign a contract, and then decide when he wanted to move her. A social worker, other caretakers, and Janet would work with us on the logistics of getting her there and what was to come.
He would sign a few forms? Sign a contract? That’s it? Is he doing this?
Dad and I got in the car and headed home.
“Are you going to do it?” I asked. “You sound like this is it.”
“I loved that place. I haven’t seen anything like it, and I haven’t heard of anything better. It just feels right for Mom. If there are only four rooms left, I think I need to at least hold the one I like for Mom and pray about it for twenty-four hours. I guess this is probably it, honey.”
“Okay, Dad. I trust you, but I’m scared. This is all so crazy.”
“I know. I just have to remind myself how hard it’s been. I’ve got to get some help.”
“I know, Daddy. And I’ve been praying. It’s just that when you pray for so long, for years, then all of a sudden it feels like overnight help comes—you almost aren’t prepared for it. It’s unexpected.” I took a breath. “When would you do this?”
“I don’t know, but I can’t hold out too much longer. And Sarah, I don’t think I can do it. I don’t think I can place her myself. You may have to help me. I’m not sure I can take her and leave her. I don’t think I’m strong enough to do that.”
Broken Beauty Page 15
