After Dialysis, Assisted Living Tours and Complaints: I Need the Ocean and Bacon

Today was one of those days when my internal battery was already flashing red before I walked through the door.

After dialysis, I toured The Palms, an assisted living facility I'm considering for Mom.

Today's dialysis was a little more difficult than Monday's. By the time everything was finished, I didn't even make it to my recovery meeting.

Instead, I had another mission:

Deliver Mom's dinner.

Ham, grits, and peas.

Gross.

I'm sure someone loves that combination. That someone is not me.

So, after dialysis and touring The Palms, I headed over to the skilled nursing facility with Mom's meal.

And then the complaining began.

Apparently, Everything Is Terrible

It was nonstop.

The food.

Physical therapy.

Nursing.

This.

That.

Something else.

At times, Mom was saying things that, from my perspective, didn't line up with what had actually happened. I've experienced that before with both of my parents, and today I didn't have much energy left to sort through what was accurate, what was frustration, and what might have been something else entirely.

I could feel myself reaching my limit.

That's when H.A.L.T. popped into my head.

Hungry.

Angry.

Lonely.

Tired.

I was feeling three out of the four.

I'll let everyone guess which three.

Actually, don't think about it too hard.

The important part was recognizing what was happening before I allowed myself to get dragged into an argument that wasn't going to accomplish anything.

See You Tomorrow

I finally told Mom I was going to leave and that I'd see her tomorrow.

Tomorrow, I'm touring another assisted living facility.

Her response?

“Don't come.”

My response?

“See you tomorrow.”

At this point, it felt less like a discussion and more like defiance.

Ugh.

Yesterday, I wrote about needing to establish boundaries. Today was another opportunity, actually, to practice one.

I didn't argue.

I didn't address every complaint.

I didn't stay there until I was completely exhausted and angry.

I left.

Sometimes that's the healthiest option available.

I'm Still Doing the Work

The frustrating part is that behind all these conversations, I'm still trying to do what Mom has said she wants.

She wants assisted living.

So I'm touring assisted living facilities.

I'm looking at rooms.

I'm learning about services.

I'm figuring out costs.

I'm asking questions.

I'm trying to imagine what her life might look like in each place.

Then I walk into the skilled nursing facility and hear complaint after complaint about the place she's currently living.

I understand that she's frustrated. She's been through a lot.

But I've been through a few things myself.

Today alone started with dialysis, moved into an assisted living tour, and ended with me delivering ham, grits, and peas while listening to a review of practically every department in the building.

Eventually, the tank is empty.

Mine was empty.

So I went home.

Tomorrow, I'll get up and do it again.

Another facility.

Another tour.

Another visit with Mom, regardless of today's “don't come.”

And hopefully another reminder to myself that I don't have to solve everything in one day.

I Need the Ocean and Bacon

Fortunately, I have something waiting for me at the end of October.

I'm going on a cruise.

And after the last few weeks, I think I've identified exactly what I need:

The ocean and bacon.

Lots of ocean.

An unreasonable amount of bacon.

Maybe I'll sit somewhere, looking out over the water, holding a plate stacked with bacon and doing absolutely nothing for anyone.

No assisted living tours.

No skilled nursing complaints.

No ham, grits, and peas.

No problem-solving.

Just me, the ocean, and enough breakfast meat to concern a cardiologist.

But first, tomorrow.

Another assisted living facility.

Another visit with Mom.

Because even when she says, “Don't come,” sometimes I know what she really needs is for me to keep showing up.

So...

See you tomorrow, Mom.

When Helping Mom Means Setting a Boundary

This afternoon, I got frustrated with Mom.

Really frustrated.

It was lunchtime at the skilled nursing facility, which meant it was also time for one of Mom's favorite activities whenever she's in an institutional setting:

Complaining about the food.

Her favorite word seems to be “terrible.”

She uses it a lot.

More than a lot.

Today, though, the frustration wasn't just about whether lunch deserved another terrible review.

While Mom ate, I stood in the hallway when one of the CNAs approached me. She brought up several concerns.

Mom isn't eating enough. She wants to go to sleep immediately after eating, even though she's been told she needs to remain upright for at least 30 minutes. Her stomach hasn't really settled since her second stroke. She's also frustrated because she says it sometimes takes too long for someone to respond after she pushes the call button.

There may have been a few other things mentioned that I'm forgetting.

I understand the complaints individually.

Put them all together, though, and I started getting frustrated.

What Does Mom Actually Want?

We've talked about this before.

Mom doesn't want to go home. She wants to leave skilled nursing and eventually move into an assisted living facility.

I'm touring two assisted living facilities this week to help make that happen.

But I explained something to her again today: moving to another facility won’t necessarily solve everything she doesn't like about this one.

There will still be other residents.

Staff will still care for multiple people.

There will still be menus she doesn't control.

There will still be times when she pushes a call button, and someone doesn't magically materialize next to her bed.

That's part of the compromise that comes with choosing a facility over living at home.

At home, she could have significantly more control over what she eats, when she eats, when she goes to bed, and many of the other things she's frustrated about now.

She doesn't want that option.

I respect that.

But choosing another option means accepting compromises.

And that's where we weren't getting anywhere today.

I'm Not Going to Chase the Impossible

I finally told Mom something that may have sounded harsh.

I'm not going to put in all the work required to find another facility, arrange everything, deal with the finances, move her, and get her settled somewhere else if we're going to repeat the same cycle.

New building.

New room.

New staff.

New food.

Same word:

“Terrible.”

I'm willing to help her find a place where she's safe, comfortable, and treated well.

I'm willing to tour facilities.

I'm willing to ask questions.

I'm willing to work through the financial issues.

I'm willing to help her get where she says she wants to go.

I can’t guarantee she’ll like everything.

No facility can do that.

I Had to Remove Myself

Eventually, I realized the conversation wasn't accomplishing anything.

I was frustrated.

She wasn't changing her position.

I wasn't changing mine.

Continuing the conversation would only make both of us more upset.

So I told her that I needed to remove myself from the situation.

That's a boundary I need right now.

There is a difference between helping someone and taking responsibility for making them happy.

I can help Mom.

I can't manufacture happiness for her.

And I can't keep running from facility to facility looking for a place where absolutely everything will be exactly the way she wants it.

Then There's the Money

There's another practical reality.

Assisted living costs money.

Potentially a lot of money.

If Mom is going to be unhappy regardless of where she lives, I have to ask a difficult question:

Why spend a significant amount of her money changing locations if the result will be the same dissatisfaction?

That's where my mind went today.

If she's going to be unhappy in assisted living and unhappy at home, then financially, being unhappy at home is considerably less expensive.

That doesn't mean I've decided she needs to go home.

It doesn't mean I'm abandoning the search.

I'm still touring the facilities this week.

But I am starting to recognize that finding Mom a new place to live and finding Mom a place where she'll never complain are two completely different assignments.

I can work on the first one.

The second one isn't mine.

Today, I needed to remind myself of that—and walk away before frustration took over the conversation.

Tomorrow is another day.

And apparently, somewhere out there, I still need to find a facility whose food doesn't earn the word “terrible.”

Wish me luck.

Caring for My Mother Without Running the Show

Yesterday, during meditation, I felt a conscious contact with a Power Greater than myself. I felt grounded and right-sized.

Then, before a conversation with another alcoholic, a few questions came up.

Are my motives pure when it comes to my mother? Am I doing God’s will?

Without a doubt, I want my mother to have the best experiences she can with whatever time she has here on Earth before moving on to the next dimension. I want her to have care, comfort, choices, and things to look forward to.

That part is clear to me.

But another question followed: Am I trying to exert my own will? Am I taking control? Is my ego involved?

Apparently, my ego also attended the meditation and hoped nobody would take attendance.

After prayer and discussion, I could acknowledge it: I am trying to run the show.

That is uncomfortable to admit, especially after writing so openly about my frustrations with my father. But if I’m willing to share my anger, I need to be willing to share my self-reflection, too.

I can deeply love my mother and still get caught up in wanting everything done my way. I can have good intentions and become attached to being the person who makes the decisions.

My concern for her is real. So is my responsibility to examine how I act on that concern.

I’ve written about money and control, and how I’ve experienced my father’s responses. Now I need to look at my own desire for control.

Whether my father is trying to run the show, appease his ego, or act from some other motive is not mine to judge. I don’t know everything going on inside him.

I am responsible for my actions.

That gives me plenty to work on without taking on a second job managing his spiritual condition.

For the moment, I’m going to relent. I’m going to loosen my grip on how this has to happen.

My mother has expressed that she wants assisted living. After that, the plan is Thailand with me for the 6+6. As long as her care and those plans are being funded, who manages the finances or makes the payments does not need to be the thing I fight over.

The resources need to be there. The bills need to be paid. My mother’s wishes need to remain part of the decisions about her life.

I can do my part: show up, listen, help with arrangements, ask questions, and follow through on my responsibilities.

Then I need to let God control the result.

I would love to report that I have mastered this and will never mentally grab the steering wheel again. Unfortunately, I know the driver.

This will take practice. More prayer. More honest conversations. More willingness to pause when I start confusing helping with directing every detail.

My boundaries with my father remain.

I have identified what I will accept in that relationship and what I won’t tolerate. Letting go of an outcome doesn’t erase those boundaries. I am still responsible for how I participate, what I agree to, and when I need to step back.

I won’t let fear of people or economic insecurity make those decisions for me. When fear shows up, I can bring it into prayer and talk about it honestly instead of giving it control over my behavior.

Today, I feel clearer about where my work is.

I love my mother. I want to help her have a life she enjoys. I can act with care and hold my boundaries while leaving room for things to happen without my direction.

I’ll do my part—and keep practicing the part where I let go.

The Power of Attorney Is Signed: Welcome to My Real-Life Version of The Traitors

Well, we have an update.

If you read my previous post about caring for my mother, money, control, and family boundaries, you know we’ve had some difficult conversations about what happens next.

My mother has made her wishes known. I’ve been working on making sure those wishes are heard and respected.

Now, there’s a new development:

I have a signed South Carolina Power of Attorney.

Yep.

The paperwork is signed.

The next step?

I need to give my father a copy.

And then we see what happens.

Previously, on NielFlamm.com...

In the last episode, my father and I had some very different views about my mother's money and how it should be used for her care.

When I asked about accessing information concerning money she had earned and saved, I heard:

“I’ll think about it.”

Later, I heard:

“Prove it.”

Well, I didn't exactly set out to turn this into a cliffhanger, but here we are.

The Power of Attorney is signed.

Now comes the part where I hand him a copy.

Cue dramatic music.

This Isn't 90 Day Fiancé

I've been trying to figure out exactly what kind of reality show my life has become.

It's definitely not 90 Day Fiancé.

Nobody is getting a rose, so The Bachelor is out.

I'm thinking we're getting closer to a real-life version of The Traitors.

We've got family.

We've got money.

We've got disagreements.

We've got questions about who controls what.

We've got people wondering what someone else will do next.

And we've got me standing in the middle of it thinking:

How did I get cast in this show?

Unfortunately, unlike reality television, nobody yells “CUT!” and sends everyone back to their trailers.

This is real life.

What Happens Next?

That's the interesting part.

I don't know.

I'm going to give my father Power of Attorney and see what happens next.

Maybe the document changes the conversation.

Maybe it doesn't.

Let’s move forward with figuring out my mother's finances and how her resources can support the care she wants.

Maybe we're headed for another episode.

Whatever happens, my objective remains the same: listen to my mother and advocate for what she wants.

The Power of Attorney isn't the finish line. It's another step in a much bigger process.

Stay Tuned

So that's today's update.

South Carolina Power of Attorney: signed.

Copy for Dad: next.

Dad's reaction: TBD.

And apparently, that's my teaser for the next episode.

Keep coming back to NielFlamm.com/blog because I have a feeling this story isn't finished.

Forget 90 Day Fiancé.

Forget The Bachelor.

Welcome to my real-life version of The Traitors.

Except there's no cash prize at the end.

Just family, paperwork, boundaries, and hopefully doing what's best for Mom.

Stay tuned.

Caring for My Mother: Money, Control, and Family Boundaries

There is another side to the story I shared about visiting my mother. If I’m going to be transparent about the coffee, the conversations, and the importance of showing up, I need to be honest about the harder part, too.

My mother is in a skilled nursing facility after two strokes in three months. She wants to move into assisted living. Eventually, when she’s mobile enough, the plan is to get her to Thailand.

She has also made something else clear: she does not want to return to Rivertowne to live with her husband, my father.

That is a difficult sentence to write. It is also necessary to understand what’s happening.

The Cost of Care

Assisted living is expensive. The places I’m looking at start around $6,000 a month for somewhere “nice.” We are not talking about the Four Seasons. At that price, though, I wouldn’t mind a mint on the pillow.

When my mother was in the hospital and expressed that she didn’t want to return home, my father’s first response was:

“Who is going to pay for it?”

I understand that hearing your spouse doesn’t want to live with you can hurt. I’m divorced. I received my own invitation to leave the home, and I left. I didn’t return. I understand that conversation carries feelings.

But my mother still needs care. Her wishes still deserve to be heard.

During a trip to Costco, before all of this, my mother told me she had a 401(k) through her employer. She gave me a rough idea of the balance during a conversation about things involving my father that were upsetting her.

Apparently, a Costco trip can include bulk groceries and information that becomes very important later.

When my father balked at assisted living, I remembered that account. My mother had worked and saved money over time. I wanted to explore using those savings for her care.

I asked him for the information to start that process.

His response was:

“I’ll think about it.”

Money and Control

I’ve heard stories about families coming apart over money. About a parent needing care and the conversations turning into arguments over accounts, expenses, and who gets to decide.

Now I’m experiencing that family strife myself.

From where I stand, this is all about money and control.

My mother has expressed where she wants to live and what she wants her next chapter to look like. Yet my conversations with my father keep coming back to whether money will be made available and who gets the final say.

When I hear “I’ll think about it” in response to a request for information about her savings, I hear him positioning himself as the person who decides whether her wishes can move forward.

That is why this feels like more than a disagreement about an expensive facility. Access to money affects my mother’s choices. Whoever controls that access has enormous influence over where she can go and how she can live.

I understand that $6,000 a month requires planning. I’m willing to work through the costs, the account details, and the practical questions.

What I’m struggling with is having to argue for taking my mother’s wishes seriously in the first place.

Taking Responsibility for Her Wishes

As of today, I am officially my mother’s power of attorney. I am also her designated proxy.

I let my younger brothers know my intentions because I wanted them informed. They know the plan: assisted living, then Thailand when Mom is mobile enough.

I want my mother’s wishes to guide the decisions about her care. There are details to work through, but I don’t want her voice getting lost in arguments about money or what someone else prefers.

Yesterday, my father began what I experienced as a negotiation over her care.

I told him I didn’t see this as a negotiation. I was talking about money my mother had earned and saved, and using it to care for her.

His response was:

“Prove it.”

Those two words changed how I saw him.

I was trying to move a conversation about my mother’s care forward. Instead, I felt pulled into a contest over authority and control.

My mother is recovering from two strokes. She has enough work ahead of her without her wishes becoming another thing she has to fight for.

What This Has Brought Up for Me

In that moment, I lost respect for my father.

I can acknowledge that he helped give me life, taught me things, and supported me at different points. Those parts of our history exist.

So does the pain I carry from childhood into adulthood. This crisis has brought some of that pain back to the surface. His responses now are affecting a relationship that already has a complicated history.

Hearing “I’ll think about it,” followed by “prove it,” while trying to help my mother get the care she wants has left me angry, hurt, and deeply disappointed.

I have been passionate in these conversations. My mother’s care and happiness matter to me, and I haven’t had many quiet feelings about either.

I also still live in the house my parents co-own. I go back there after visiting my mother, attending recovery meetings, going to dialysis, watching a movie, and doing the other things that make up my life.

My routine hasn’t changed much.

My connection with my father has.

Since hearing “I’ll think about it,” I’ve had less to say. I’ve been less engaged. I’m trying to live in that space while being honest about what I feel and what I can give.

I Still Believe in Showing Up

I meant what I wrote in my earlier post.

I believe in visiting people in hospitals and skilled nursing facilities. I believe in calling, listening, and making time for people, especially older people who may have fewer opportunities for connection.

I believe God created us to be in community with one another. We need people. We need conversation, care, and the experience of knowing someone remembered us.

I also have limits.

I cannot do all the work of maintaining a relationship. I cannot create mutual care by myself. And I have to be able to sleep at night with the choices I make about who receives my time and energy.

Right now, I am showing up for my mother, listening to what she wants, and working toward her next step. I’m also continuing my recovery, taking care of my health, and figuring out what boundaries I need with my father.

None of that feels particularly tidy.

But it is open and transparent.

I’ve heard how money can divide a family. Experiencing it myself has made me painfully aware of how closely money and control can become connected—and how much damage that can do when someone needs care.

Time is the one resource I know I will never get back. I want to spend mine helping my mother live the life she is asking for, while taking care of the life I’m responsible for, too.

Today, I want my mother to know that I hear her—and that I’m taking her wishes seriously.