God's so-called "waiting room" . . .

I now have had four relatives move into retirement homes, only to see three of the four pass away before very long. I don't know what that says about retirement homes, but my personal experiences have helped shape the way I view these "retirement communities." And I don't care how nice or upscale they are. The old people are bored and often cantankerous. And the people who are charged with their care are underpaid, and sadly are often forced to deal with impatience and rude behavior from the very people that they are supposed to be caring for. Meanwhile, the communities themselves charge a lot of money, and make a lot of money, regardless of how long a person lives there. The whole thing is a shady business. But there are few other options, I suppose, when people get to be an age where they can not necessarily take care of all of their own personal needs in their own home.

When my grandfather died, I went to visit my grandmother in her retirement home. She was already suffering from memory loss at that point, but other than that, she was in pretty good shape. I walked around the home. It was certainly a very nice facility. The grounds were immaculate, and all of the staff were friendly. But the doors were locked because some residents (like my grandparents) had a tendency to wander off the grounds to go shopping and the like, even though they no longer had a car. They even placed devices on their ankles that went off when they tried to leave the building. Ultimately, what I saw there I can't even begin to describe. There were a lot of old people just sitting around in chairs and in wheelchairs. They looked (to me, anyway) as though they were just waiting to die.

At the time of my grandfather's memorial service, my grandmother had a slight cough. It didn't seem like much, but my family suggested that she see a doctor about it. Several months later, my grandmother was admitted to the hospital with pneumonia. My mother went to see her, and she passed away with my mother by her side.


Aunt Betty's burial is scheduled for tomorrow, Tuesday. My father and I will not be attending that. The memorial service is on Friday, so he and I (and still possibly Sidney) will be driving down to Virginia on Thursday for that and returning Saturday. I will be sharing a hotel room with my father for the first time since high school. My sister and brother-in-law will also be flying there from Chicago for the memorial service. The whole thing is just a mess. As most deaths are. As time goes on, I become less and less interested in living myself past the age of being able to live independently and take care of myself. After that, you just don't know what's going to happen. And in my limited experience, the odds of living long in a retirement community are not looking very good right now.