Keys, Security and Confusion

My father was pedantic about security – such that he had a plethora of keys, locks, and confusion.   There were keys everywhere. He had bunches of keys.  The bunches of car keys (there were two that I have found) had they car key, and remote – (which hasn’t worked for some years), the key to the steering wheel lock, and other key for something we have not determined.

The house keys were on another bunch – some of them were marked with Dymo.  FSD meant ‘front screen door’, FD was the front door, and BD was the back door.  As well there was a number of other keys for which we have not found doors or locks.

At the front door there was a security screen door (FSD), and a timber door with two locks.  One was the one for FD, but the other did not have a key, and pity help anyone who accidentally turned the knob at the back of the door locking it.  Which is what either he or mum did at one stage, and one can see the scratches where he tried to cut the glass window to get in.  (I’ve never understood why he didn’t just smash the window – if he was going to break it anyway.....)

Also there are keys to each window, and each door.  Some keys are ‘hidden’ on tops of wardrobes – and yes, he locked his wardrobe, though to be fair it was the only way the doors remained shut.  It had no other device to keep the door closed.

In a way it indicates to me the concern for their own security that my parents had.  But they were ‘over the top’ – and it did in the end, risk their own security.

Mum, as her dementia progressed, became increasingly confused – and agitated by it all. Dad on the other hand focussed on their security with a passion and determination that was worrying.  When there was a murder (and I think still unsolved) just a few streets away, he was especially concerned.  There are bolts on gates, padlocks, and yes, of course more keys.

Dad was also ‘tight’ with his money.  The idea of having some locks ‘keyed alike’ would have been a challenge to him.  It cost less to copy a key or keys, than to have some ‘keyed alike’, so that was his choice.

My sister and I, and I am sure others, were concerned should there be a fire.  It would not be easy to unlock all the doors to escape – and I am aware that this has been an issue with other people in such emergencies.

Perhaps we need a government program to assist families, especially older or at risk families or individuals with security. 

Another issue I am aware of is the smoke alarm issue.  Certainly I agree that we should all have them – but I know there are issues, especially as the batteries run down.  So many older or frail people have challenges with them, especially changing the batteries.  You need someone with a ladder, and the ability to climb the ladder to change the battery if it is correctly placed on the ceiling!!!!  So, sometimes, people make bad choices about these alarms – either disconnecting them permanently or not putting new batteries in correctly. I know Dad changed all the batteries in February this year, as all have labels on them, written in his favourite red ink, giving the date the batteries were changed.  I am not sure if this 91 year old was the one that changed the batteries, climbing on a ladder to access the alarms on the ceiling!

So sad.  Can someone invent an easier way to keep these alarms fully operational without risking life and limb?  Can we have a program to assist families to be secure at home, without having bunches of keys?  I would guess that in all there are at least 30 keys in use in my parents unit.  Bizarre!!!

(I must say that in 2008, when my husband was mowing the lawn, someone sneaked into the house, which was not locked, and took phone, wallet, camera etc, he went overboard with security, and I needed two keys to get out of the house!!! I was not happy!!!)

I am finding it interesting looking closer inside cupboards, and inside the life that my parents lived in this unit for so many years.  They refused to accept much advice from their daughters – quite touchy really as the place was really in need of some extra TLC!

Dealing with 'Family Matters'

Since Dad passed away on July 14th, there has been a lot of mail in relation to our father's life, and as my sister not only holds the "Power of Attorney" for our mother but is the local family member.  Mum is certainly not capable of dealing with any of the business side of things.  In fact, she still does not understand that Dad has died.  There are fleeting moments when she can be rational about it, but for the most part, she is just angry with him for not visiting, and she makes up terrible stories about what she suspects he is doing.  Sad.

I am staying in the unit that Mum and Dad have lived in for over 20 years, and cleaning it out.  Mum will never come back here to live, so we must either sell it or rent it. 

It is interesting 'going through Dad's things.  I think I have written about the way Dad downsized - he certainly did prepare but we are dismayed by what he disposed of, and what he kept.  Some things seem quite bizarre.   The kitchen cupboards are bare.  He kept a couple of saucepans, a meagre supply of crockery and cutlery, and a few miserable items of food in the fridge.

I am amazed at the number of pairs of shoes that he had.  Good quality shoes - I'd love to have had so many.  All of his clothes will be donated to charity - and there are quite a lot to go!

We have received Dad's death certificate and I have made copies for the various organisations that need a copy, and I have a number of people to contact, things to do.

Yesterday I went to the movies.  I've detailed that here.

I am also preparing for the inevitable demise of our mother.  We will be more organised next time.

Old? Me?

Don't we hate the idea of getting old!!!  I am thinking today (with a wry smile on my face) of some of the things my father said.  He was 2 days short of his 92nd, birthday when he died - and had been in an aged care facility for the last few weeks of his life.  Almost one year previously he was in the most difficult situation having to put his wife, our mother, in a nursing home, due to her deteriorating mental state.  At almost 95 she was really having difficulty mentally - forgetting things, being annoyed by things that normally would not bother her, etc. 

I don't know when or if my parents had last visited a nursing home.   I do remember we used to visit Mum's aunts in a nursing home many, many years ago.  I remember it well, but in recent times, I don't recall that they had.  When Mum went into the nursing home, Dad was appalled at so many 'old' people there.  I do think he actually meant old and terribly disabled - as some clearly remained in bed all the time.  Even Mum's room mate sat in a chair all day and never spoke.  She'd look at us with a strange half smile when we spoke.   There was a one legged man who pushed his wheelchair around, and various other men and women in advanced stages of 'decay'.  Dad hated it. 

Mum, however, felt safe and comfortable there.  (Oddly enough only today I have heard of another lady who recently went to a nursing home and feels safe and comfortable there - without being berated by HER husband who could not cope with her dementia.  He'd even hit and bruised her!) 

Dad would never have hurt my mother, and until she went into the home, he was always arguing with her about her mistakes. No wonder she found the nursing home to be some sort of a haven.  Dad did continue to berate her, especially when she got mixed up.  She'd say she visited her mother (but Dad knew that she had died almost 30 years ago) but he would argue with her - telling her she was stupid etc. He never could understand and just let her tell her stories without interrupting or correcting her.  It used to make them both angry, but he couldn't stop.

Dad had meticulously prepared for his demise.  He had a funeral fund - though clearly had no idea how much the modest funeral would cost.  Some things he had done - we knew where he wanted his final service, and we knew the funeral director, and he had had his will done.  Some things though I wish he had told us - his favourite music - (though read the ps for that), and other things that might have helped us in our hours after his death having to come to terms with some decisions.

But he didn't plan to get old, and he hated that his body was showing signs of wear and tear and that nothing seemed to slow down, for him, the ravages of old age.  I think we all are in that position.  From the day we are born we are heading to old age - though some sadly don't make it very far, and others take too long to get there.

And in the nursing home, Dad hated being surrounded by 'old people' as if he was there under some sort of strange guise that made him different from the others.  That he had most of his mental faculties probably did make him different, though in the few short days I was visiting him, I met old blokes learning how to 'surf the net' - so they weren't all mental basket cases.

I had asked Dad about his favourite music just a day or so before he died, and he started singing "Silver Threads and Golden Needles" and he said it was his favourite.  When we checked on the words, we decided it was not suitable for a funeral.    So we had to choose something. 

So some tips about this. 

• Don't wait until you or your relative is on their death bed - make not of some of these things as soon as possible
• Favourite colour
• Favourite music
• Favourite things

Find out what they would like at their final farewell.

Make a collection (or a short Powerpoint presentation) of photos.   Find old photos, and recent ones, and include as many good ones or ones with appropriate family members. (We were busily scanning photos and working on the presentation just hours before the service and had to buy a scanner because no one we knew had one!)

What a week!!!

I will write about preparing for a loved one's funeral - something we can all do, even though there may be no pending death in the family.  There is so little time to do much in the short hectic days after a loved one passes.

The day after my father died, we were still busy advising friends and family, and we had a meeting with the funeral director.  Dad had not wanted to have a church service - he was very supportive of mum's church involvement, but thought it would be hypocritical to have a religious ceremony.  All arrangements were made for a service at Centenial Park - with the Funeral Celebrant from the Funeral Home that dad had listed.  We were so happy with everything with the Celebrant - except one thing.  We certainly underestimated the numbers that would attend the service.  Over the weekend when we further contemplated the numbers, we were scared the small Mawson Chapel would be too small.  But we could not change it.  We had calls from people who had seen the death notice in the paper, with messages of support and advice that they would attend the service.  We had been told that it was a Pennants day at bowls, so though the bowls contingent would not be large.  As it turned out it was not Pennants day, and friends and family came from interstate.  Older folk that we thought might have difficulty attending came - with carers, and the whole event was much much bigger than we imagined.

We had worked out the ceremony with various family members speaking - and I was 'thrown in' at the last minute, though I had written down some things to say.  All of Dad's 4 grandchildren attended and spoke at the service, my son sang "Amazing Grace' and two great grandchildren spoke. 

One thing that we had not contemplated was having to witness that the body was indeed that of our father.  He was done up so well, in his suit, with his glasses on.  While it was emotional to see him like that, he looked peaceful and proud.




Afterwards we met a sea of family and friends, many of whom I did not know or recognise.  Being from interstate I seldom see family members, so to meet up with some I had not set eyes on for some 40 years was extra ordinary.

One woman asked me if I remembered her - but I didn't.  It was my little friend from next door - whom I had not seen since 1963!!!  She had her father had travelled a long way to be there.  I was quite overwhelmed.

We had tea and biscuits at Centennial Park, and some of the close family went to my sister's place and had a few drinks for dad too.

We had told mum about the death of her husband of over 60 years, but made a decision that she should not go to the service.  It was a hard one to make, but we do think we did the wise thing.  She is not exactly grasping the whole situation, and we thought it would be too difficult for her.

The journey nears the end

I returned to Adelaide, where my father's health continued to decline.  He was in a small nursing home, in respite, but with hopes to go to another.  He'd set his heart on this home, but had not put in place the process to get there - in part due to his fear of losing his money, and refusal to accept the consequences of ageing.  But he had done volunteer work there - as a member of the Brighton Lions Club, and was well known in the area.

As a family we found the machinations of dealing with government agencies, nursing homes etc etc to be quite a minefield.  There seemed to be mounds of paperwork to complete, and misinformation from all directions.  We'd get a letter saying "a" would happen, and then a phone call that said that was not the case, but that "b" would occur.  We felt there was hositilities or at least misunderstandings between hospital/nursing homes.  Nothing went smoothly.  I wonder how traumatised people would become dealing with all of this.

Bit by bit - we moved onward through the mire, trying to accept the confusion of it all.  It was not helped by the fact that daughter number one was in Brisbane, daughter number 2 was in Adelaide but worked full time, and found dealing with the bureacracy of it all too much to handle.  And it was.

My mother is in a nursing home, and dealing with her and the issues surrounding father were difficult too.  Should we tell her? What do we tell her?  What will be the consequences of telling her.

It was the day that he died that we had told her that he was sick.  As I write this, we have yet to tell her of his passing.

For the most part everyone we have dealt with in the hospitals has been caring - but the manner that some of the 'admin' people have spoke to us has been somewhat off putting.  I won't go into it right now, but there are a lot of 'assumptions' - resulting in confusion.

One has little choice but to take a deep breath and plunge onward through it all - for the sake of the loved one.

The cost of it all - in money and emotional is high.  But should it be all so traumatic for the family?  Surely not.

The end is nigh.................

I left Adelaide on July 1st - just 10 days ago, knowing that I may not see my father alive.  At the time he was determined to live on, and as he can do, he fought hard, but it is not to be.

I have booked to go back tomorrow morning - and the chances I will be alive are slim.  He has told my sister he is ready to go.  It has been very distressing for her and her daughter and son, and we are all somewhat fragile.

My daughter and her children are still going to Adelaide on Thursday, but he has asked that the children not see him.  He wants them to remember him in the 'good times.'

We are of the opinion not to tell my mother - whose dementia is such that she is unaware of what is going on outside the walls of her haven - the nursing home.

She does not even comment on not seeing her husband of over 60 years - she thinks he comes every two or three days, and now it is more like four weeks since he has seen her.  Even when we visit, she is wonderful, but she forgets we came, soon after.  It is hard for everyone but she is doing well physically, and we may not tell her anything of the events.

I think too of the fact that as one of the last of a large family - he is the 'last one standing' so to speak - and even cousins are too fragile health wise to attend his farewell - his funeral.  His friends have passed too.  There are few left.  Strange really, and that his wife will not be there either.

He's lived a long and fruitful life, but it is almost over.

Mixed Emotions

We are so proud of our parents (my sister and I) as they have had (until recent times) a good long life.  Certainly had its challenges at times, but they are stoic and determined and have done pretty well.

But in their declining years, the challenges really make life difficult.  Mum is physically fit, but dementia has claimed her.  She now lives in a nursing home, completely happy as all is done for her, and she lives our days out doing very little, but considering herself very busy working for the government.  She told me a few days ago that she was at the races at nearby Seacliff racetrack (there may have been a racetrack there, but it would have been 70 years ago), and that she was telling someone (her grand daughter) that she was pregnant. (We've had a good laugh at that - even she thought it was funny.)

Dad on the other hand, who was until a few weeks ago living in their unit right next door to the nursing home, was mentally alert, but physically going down hill.  He's weathered cancer and complications from the medication, but in the end it was more depression, and his heart that made it impossible to continue living at home.

He has had several 'heart attacks' and is clearly depressed - and other than make him as comfortable as possible, there is little else that can be done.  He is 92 in a couple of weeks time.

He has been in and out of hospital for the last three weeks and keen to go to a nursing home - though not to the one where mother is.  There was a vacant bed next to mum, but we knew that constant bickering would get them both 'down'.  Dad always argues with mum - as he contradicts her, and tell her that the stories she relates are not true.  Result?  Massive tension between the two.

While many who know dad consider that mentally he is ok - well, he is to some degree, and you can have a more sensible conversation with him, than with mum, but he repeats himself over and over and over, and is in denial about his situation.  Despite the advice he's been given he can never allow mum to talk about the fantasy life she is living.  The disputes are uncomfortable to witness.

His preferred aged care home has no vacancy, and he had to be discharged from the hospital, so after much 'mucking around' we found a bed for him, quite close to where he has lived most of his life, and consequently not far from his shrinking circle of friends.

When I saw it the other day I saw quite a few reasonable alert people around, and was assured that the were some guys who were mentally alert, but he's already depressed about the place.  He saw all the 'oldies' sitting in their wheelchairs watching television, and he and my sister have agreed that it is not suitable for him.

OMG!  As one that has been frequently in these places as a visitor and as an aged care trainer in the past, I saw the establishment as one of the best I have seen.  It was relatively new, open and clean and surrounded by gardens.

All Dad and my sister have seen is the old people - and dad doesn't want to associate with them.  In fact he doesn't have to but he might be there for several weeks, or even months until there is a vacancy.

The reality is that dad is declining, and fairly fast if he does not manage to 'pull himself out of it' - and the depression is what is causing the problem. 

He cannot accept that his longevity, along with his health issues, renders him pretty much like the others in such places.  He sees himself (and it is not snobbery as such) as being better than the others.  He doesn't see the old man that he is.

Well, I am back in Brisbane.  I did all I could do in the five days I had in Adelaide, and I'd love to have done more but it was a rush to do everything as it was.

I am sure the fear of his days ending sometime soon, is what is behind the depression, and he worries about our mother, who is incredibly comfortable where she is.  Family members will continue to keep visiting them. 

We will try to do the best for them both.  It is hard on everyone - and especially them, although mum worries not about it.  Dad is (and always has been) the worrier.