From Carrying Groceries Home to Fighting for Independence: Watching Mom Change

I'm at the skilled nursing facility, spending a bit of time with Mom. We're outside right now, enjoying some fresh air and talking.

This morning reinforced a decision I made a long time ago: I was right not to pursue a career in healthcare. I don't think I have the personality for it.

And that's not a criticism of people who work in healthcare. Quite the opposite. Watching what the CNAs, nurses, and physical therapists do has given me a greater appreciation for the patience required to do their jobs.

Because it’s an easy patient.

She's difficult. She's demanding. And when she wants something, she makes sure everyone knows it.

I'm pretty much the opposite.

"I Want"

While talking with Mom, I noticed how often she uses those two words: "I want."

She wants to get out of the day room. She doesn't want to spend her time sitting there. She wants to go to the physical therapy gym.

I understand it.

The day room sounds like a prison to her. She's in a facility where other people have schedules, where she depends on staff to help her move around, and where she can't simply get up and do whatever she wants whenever she wants.

And when you think about it, that's a significant loss of independence.

I want things, too. We all do. The difference is that I'm generally more inclined to work around circumstances rather than keep pushing until I get what I want.

Mom has a different approach.

Sometimes I get frustrated with her demands. Then I have to remind myself that she's the one living there. She has to spend her days in that environment. What feels like another complaint to me might represent something much bigger to her.

That doesn't mean we can meet every demand immediately. The staff has other patients to care for, and practical limitations limit what can happen.

But I can understand why Mom wants more control over her day.

The Woman I Remember

What's particularly difficult is remembering the woman Mom used to be.

I remember seeing her carry groceries from Post Avenue in Westbury, New York, to our house. It was only three or four blocks, but she made that trip with the groceries she had purchased for our family.

That was the Mom I knew.

She went out, did what needed to be done, and brought the groceries home.

Today, she's in a skilled nursing facility. Her mobility is limited; she needs help, and she wants to get to the physical therapy gym to get stronger.

It's sad to see that change.

I'm not suggesting that the woman I remember has disappeared. She's still Mom. She still has opinions, preferences, and a very clear idea of what she wants.

But the circumstances of her life have changed dramatically.

The woman who once carried groceries home now has to depend on other people to help her get where she wants to go.

And I imagine that's frustrating for her in ways I can't fully appreciate.

A New Appreciation for Healthcare Workers

This is also why I know I made the right decision not to pursue a healthcare career.

I can help Mom. I can visit, advocate for her, ask questions, and try to help her figure out the next chapter of her life.

But can I handle the demands of patient care all day, every day? That's a different story.

Healthcare workers have to balance compassion with practical realities. They need patience, resilience, and the ability to deal with people who may be frightened, frustrated, demanding, or simply unhappy with their circumstances.

I don't think I could do that job well enough to make it my career.

I have limits, and recognizing them matters.

It also makes me appreciate the people who show up and do this work every day.

What Comes Next?

Mom wants to leave the skilled nursing facility and move into assisted living. I'm continuing to explore options and figure out what might work for her.

But beneath all the complaints about the day room, the food, and getting to physical therapy, I want to see past something.

Mom wants to’.

Mom wants to have some control over her life again.

I want things, too. I want her to be safe. I want her to have the opportunity to regain as much independence as possible. And I want to help her find a living situation where she can have a better quality of life.

Those goals don't always align with what she wants in the moment, and there will undoubtedly be harder conversations.

For now, we're outside together.

I'm listening, thinking, and writing.

And I'm remembering those trips from the grocery store on Post Avenue to our house in Westbury.

Life can change in ways none of us anticipate. Sometimes the hardest part isn't figuring out what to do next. It's accepting how much has changed while still trying to help someone move forward.

That's where I am today: sitting outside with Mom, remembering who she was, seeing who she is now, and hoping for what's possible next.

A Cooler Afternoon with Mom, a Warmer Conversation, and the Ongoing Battle for Boundaries

Today, I'm sitting outside with Mom at the skilled nursing facility. It's about 20 degrees Fahrenheit cooler out here, which makes a huge difference. We're enjoying the fresh air and talking, and I'm doing what I often do: writing as life unfolds around me.

Our conversation has turned to my father, her husband, and what's going on at home.

Sometimes, the conversations you have with your mother aren't just about her recovery or what happens next. They become conversations about the life she's lived, the relationship she's in, and what's missing.

And today, that's where we are.

Another Round with Dad

Last night, my father and I got into it again.

This time, we argued about the outdoor garbage receptacles.

Yes, the garbage cans.

On Thursday, he asked if I had brought the receptacles in from the curb. I answered: Yes, they had been brought in.

Fast-forward to last night.

He asked me the same question again.

My response was straightforward: "I told you yesterday."

He came back with, "I still don't know if they were brought in."

At that point, I gave him my final answer on the subject:

"You can get up and look."

Apparently, that wasn't the response he wanted.

He then told me we needed to be civil.

My response?

"How am I not being civil?"

I'm not refusing to be civil. I'm refusing to be a servant.

There's a difference.

I'm setting boundaries, and apparently, those boundaries aren't sitting well with him.

Show My Belly? No, Just Do the Right Thing.

The conversation continued.

My father asked what he should do. Did I want him to "show his belly"?

For anyone unfamiliar with that expression, he was referring to making himself submissive to me.

My answer was simple.

"No, I want you to do the right thing and give Mom the money she earned."

That's what this is about.

My mother has spent decades working and earning money. I have Power of Attorney over her assets to help manage her finances and arrange for her care. Yet my father has voluntarily declined to share information about her employer's 401(k).

Meanwhile, I'm touring assisted living facilities, trying to figure out what Mom's next chapter might look like and how to pay for it.

This isn't about me wanting control over my father.

It's about making sure Mom's resources can be identified and used appropriately for her care.

I don't need him to be submissive to me. I need him to cooperate in doing what's right for Mom.

Those are two very different things.

Meanwhile, Back at the House...

There's another part of this situation that I can't ignore.

While all this is happening, the clutter at home keeps growing.

I'm talking about junk food, boxes, papers, old medication, and other things creeping into spaces where they don't belong.

It's becoming increasingly difficult to ignore.

I'm starting to wonder whether my father is developing hoarding behaviors. I can't diagnose him, and I don't know what's driving the accumulation, but from where I'm standing, the situation is getting out of control.

Things seem to be spreading everywhere.

And before anyone points fingers, let me acknowledge something: I don't live in the tidiest room myself. I'm not going to pretend my personal space belongs in a home organization magazine.

There's a difference, though, between having a messy room and watching clutter accumulate throughout the living space until it becomes a growing concern.

I'm not claiming to have a perfectly organized home. I'm saying that what I'm seeing is becoming a problem.

I'm planning to take some pictures to share in a future post. I want people to understand what I'm talking about, not just read my description and imagine something different.

I'll be mindful to protect personal information in any pictures I share, especially if medication labels or other private details are visible.

The clutter is another layer of stress in an already difficult situation.

I'm trying to help Mom transition to a more suitable living arrangement while navigating a strained relationship with my father. Meanwhile, the house where we both live is becoming increasingly difficult to deal with.

It's a lot.

Sitting Outside with Mom

And that brings me back to where I am today.

I'm outside with Mom, enjoying the cooler weather and talking.

She's telling me about other people at the facility.

She's noticed couples who are working together in therapy. She's seen partners visiting their loved ones. She's watching people show up for one another during a difficult chapter of life.

And I can't help but notice the contrast she's describing.

Her husband hasn't been showing up for her in that way.

At least, that's how she's experiencing it.

He's not there working alongside her in therapy. He's not visiting her or spending time with her the way she sees other partners do for their loved ones.

Instead, I'm the one making the visits, asking questions, touring facilities, and trying to figure out the next steps.

I'm not looking for a medal. I'm her son.

But I can understand why seeing those other couples might bring up some difficult feelings for her.

When recovering from a serious medical event, notice who's there for you. You notice who makes the effort. You notice the people who sit beside you, encourage you, and help you get through the day.

And sometimes, you notice who's missing.

I don't know everything that's happened throughout their 56 years of marriage. I'm not going to pretend that I do.

But I can see what's happening now, and I can hear what Mom has to say.

Boundaries Aren't the Same as Being Uncivil

My father and I are clearly not on the same page.

He wants us to be civil.

I want us to do what's necessary to help Mom.

Those goals shouldn't be incompatible.

We can disagree without being disrespectful. We can have difficult conversations without turning every question into a power struggle. We can work together on practical matters without one person expecting the other to be at their beck and call.

And we can discuss Mom's finances without turning the conversation into a debate about who is submitting to whom.

I'm not asking my father to show his belly.

I'm asking him to help resolve the financial questions standing between Mom and the care she wants.

I'm also trying to establish boundaries around what I'm willing to do, how I'm willing to be treated, and how much energy I can devote to these ongoing conflicts.

I have dialysis. I have my own health to manage. I have recovery meetings, responsibilities, and a life outside the skilled nursing facility.

I cannot spend every day fighting battles that cooperation could resolve.

And I don't want to.

What Happens Next?

For now, I'll keep moving forward.

I'll continue exploring assisted living options for Mom. I'll continue trying to understand her financial resources. I'll continue visiting her and listening to what she has to say.

And I'll continue setting boundaries when conversations with my father become unproductive.

The situation at home is another concern I'll have to address, especially as the clutter continues to spread.

I don't have all the answers.

I don't know how this will ultimately play out.

But sitting outside with Mom today, listening to her talk about the couples she sees working together, has given me something to think about.

Sometimes, support isn't complicated.

It's showing up.

It's sitting beside someone.

It's helping them take the next step, even when that step is difficult.

And sometimes, it's doing the work that needs to be done without expecting applause.

That's what I'm trying to do for Mom.

As for the garbage cans, I think we've established that my father can check them himself.

I'm her son, not his servant.

Mom Is Making Progress—and Apparently I’m Her Husband Now

This morning after dialysis, I went to visit Mom at the skilled nursing facility.

When I got to her room, she wasn't there.

That's actually a good thing.

She was doing rehab.

I was told that Mom is making progress, which was great to hear. She still needs someone blocking her left leg because it continues to buckle, but progress is progress.

After everything that's happened, I'll take it.

Eventually, Mom made her way back to the room.

And that's when today's visit took a turn I wasn't prepared for.

There's a New Roommate

Mom got a new roommate on Saturday.

Her previous roommate, Jenny, left last Monday. I don't know the name of the new roommate yet, but I do know that she broke her hip, had surgery, and is now there recovering.

The new roommate came into the room while I was there.

There was some banter.

I'm not particularly good at banter, but I participated.

She mentioned that she's also hard of hearing, so apparently Mom and her new roommate already have something in common.

Everything was going fine.

Normal conversation.

Normal skilled nursing facility visit.

And then she looked at us and asked a question:

“Is that your husband?”

Excuse me?

I'm sorry.

What?

GROSS!!!!

I believe there are moments in life when the human brain protects itself by temporarily refusing to process information.

This was one of those moments.

Of all the possible relationships she could have guessed...

Son?

Nephew?

Relative?

Friend?

Random bald guy who wandered into the wrong room after dialysis?

Nope.

Husband.

I guess...Good for Mom?

Once I recovered from the initial trauma, I had another thought.

I guess that's a compliment to Mom?

Maybe?

Apparently, she looks young enough to be my husband.

Good for her.

Unfortunately, that means the other half of the equation is that I apparently look old enough to be married to my mother.

Not good for me.

I'm choosing to focus on Mom's rehab progress instead.

She's working.

She's improving.

Her left leg still needs support, but she's moving in the right direction.

She has a new roommate.

And apparently, sometime between dialysis and walking into the skilled nursing facility, I aged several decades.

Anyway, I'll be back.

I need a few minutes to clean the vomit out of my mouth.

Then maybe I'll introduce myself properly to the new roommate.

“Hi. I'm Niel. Her SON.”

Let's make sure we've got that established early.

Touring The Bridge: A Smaller Community and an Unexpected Cookie Inheritance

Today started with taking a car in for routine service, followed by a stop at Sam’s Club, and then another assisted living tour for Mom.

This time, I visited The Bridge in North Charleston.

It’s a smaller community with 65 residents, arranged in a square around an open courtyard. I liked the layout, and my overall impression was more positive than at The Palms.

The hallways were wide, the dining area felt intimate, and the residences seemed well laid out. They weren’t too big, but they had plenty of storage.

After a stop at Sam’s Club, I was especially prepared to appreciate storage. Buying in bulk can make a person look at cabinets differently.

As I walked through, I tried to picture Mom settling into one of the rooms. Where would her things go? Would the space feel comfortable? Could I imagine her heading to a meal and recognizing the people around her?

The smaller community appealed to me. I could picture her getting familiar with the place and finding her people over time.

The location also comes with some recognizable landmarks: Waffle House, Zaxby’s, and Trident Hospital.

I know Trident from having a stent put in and undergoing my retinal surgery involving a silicone bubble. So I’m already familiar with the area, although I would welcome future trips with fewer procedures and more time visiting Mom.

The Bridge is farther from home than the other places I’ve toured. That’s something to consider, especially since I’ll probably make most of the trips while Mom gets settled.

Fortunately, I like to drive.

If she ends up there, I expect I’ll be going back and forth while she develops a routine and gets to know people. I want her to have support during that adjustment, while also having the opportunity to build a life in the community.

And yes, I brought food.

At this point, leaving an assisted living tour without a to-go box would feel like skipping part of the inspection.

I took two lunches: collard greens, Brussels sprouts, mac and cheese, and a chicken thigh.

I’m generally not a dark-meat person. The chicken thigh was okay. The rest was great.

The vegetables had made a much better impression on me this time. After my recent disagreement with peas, I was glad to restore diplomatic relations with the side dishes.

I also received two bags of cookies.

Mom doesn’t want hers.

I respect her right to decide what to do with her own food, especially when those decisions create an unexpected cookie inheritance.

The food matters, of course, but I also left thinking about the size of the community, the dining area, and how well the rooms used their space. I liked a lot about this visit.

I’m still comparing options. A good first impression gives me something to work with, and I want to keep considering what would suit Mom’s needs and preferences over time.

I have at least one more community to tour in a few weeks.

For now, The Bridge gave me another option I feel good about exploring—and more to share with Mom and the family as we work through this together.

Today’s errands covered car maintenance, bulk shopping, assisted living, and lunch.

The cookies were an unplanned development. I’m handling it.

Touring The Palms: Nice Grounds, Friendly People, and Unfortunately, Peas

After dialysis today, I toured The Palms as I continue looking at assisted living options for Mom.

Dialysis followed by a facility tour makes for a full day, but I’m learning something useful at each stop. Seeing these places in person gives me a better sense of what daily life might look like for her—and what the differences are beyond the monthly price.

The Palms is in a building that’s about 50 years old and is being renovated. I learned the HVAC system was recently updated and needed adjustments to work properly.

I appreciate hearing about those details. Renovations are part of the picture, and I want to understand both what’s already been done and what’s still being worked on.

Compared with Somerby, The Palms didn’t feel as open and airy to me. It has a different atmosphere, and I noticed that as I walked through the common areas and rooms.

But I also noticed friendly staff and people who seemed happy.

That was only my impression during one visit, but it matters to me. I’m trying to imagine Mom living somewhere, spending time with people, asking for help, and finding a routine. A place's feel includes the people in it.

The grounds were another positive. There were trees, shaded paths, and places to sit outside. After recently spending time outdoors with Mom at the skilled nursing facility, I could appreciate having pleasant outdoor space available.

Then came the food.

You knew I was getting there.

In my opinion, the meal wasn’t as good as what I brought back from Somerby. And there were peas mixed with the corn and carrots.

Peas.

The corn and carrots had been doing perfectly well without that kind of interference.

I understand some people enjoy peas. I respect their right to be wrong at lunch.

My personal vegetable grievances aside, food is still an important part of this search. Mom has made her opinions about facility meals very clear, and I want to pay attention to what she might actually enjoy eating.

One meal gives me a sample, and this sample didn’t impress me as much as Somerby’s did.

The Palms does have another meaningful difference: it costs less per month.

That deserves consideration. These are substantial ongoing expenses, and I’m trying to weigh the cost alongside the setting, the people, the food, and how well a place could meet Mom’s needs.

So my impression today was mixed, with some real positives. The building is older and undergoing updates. The interior felt less open than Somerby. I preferred Somerby’s food. But the staff was friendly, the people I saw seemed happy, the grounds were nice, and the monthly cost was lower.

I’m glad I went.

I’ve also been sharing my thoughts with my brothers and their wives, and posting pictures in a shared Google Drive so everyone can see what I’m seeing. I want them included as we think through the options for Mom. The photos give us something concrete to discuss, and their perspectives help me consider things I might have missed. My opinion of peas, however, is already firmly established.

Each tour is helping me figure out which questions to ask and which details I want to bring back to Mom. I want her involved in thinking about where she could feel comfortable and what matters most to her.

Tomorrow, I tour another place.

I’ll keep asking questions, looking around, and tasting the food.

And quietly hoping the vegetables have made better decisions.