Parents getting old

[lennytheweedwhacker]

Hope they feel better soon

Thanks man.

[Biff Pocoroba]

ER visit with mom; she’s been having some issues lately. Hopefully nothing big picture serious. She’s the other side of 80 and it’s see to see her obviously getting old now.

[wease]

Sorry, biff

[Peeps]

sorry to hear that biff

[tragabigzanda]

There is a wolf in me . . . fangs pointed for tearing gashes . . . a red tongue for raw meat . . . and the hot lapping of blood—I keep this wolf because the wilderness gave it to me and the wilderness will not let it go.

There is a fox in me . . . a silver-gray fox . . . I sniff and guess . . . I pick things out of the wind and air . . . I nose in the dark night and take sleepers and eat them and hide the feathers . . . I circle and loop and double-cross.

There is a hog in me . . . a snout and a belly . . . a machinery for eating and grunting . . . a machinery for sleeping satisfied in the sun—I got this too from the wilderness and the wilderness will not let it go.

There is a fish in me . . . I know I came from salt-blue water-gates . . . I scurried with shoals of herring . . . I blew waterspouts with porpoises . . . before land was . . . before the water went down . . . before Noah . . . before the first chapter of Genesis.

There is a baboon in me . . . clambering-clawed . . . dog-faced . . . yawping a galoot's hunger . . . hairy under the armpits . . . here are the hawk-eyed hankering men . . . here are the blonde and blue-eyed women . . . here they hide curled asleep waiting . . . ready to snarl and kill . . . ready to sing and give milk . . . waiting—I keep the baboon because the wilderness says so.

There is an eagle in me and a mockingbird . . . and the eagle flies among the Rocky Mountains of my dreams and fights among the Sierra crags of what I want . . . and the mockingbird warbles in the early forenoon before the dew is gone, warbles in the underbrush of my Chattanoogas of hope, gushes over the blue Ozark foothills of my wishes—And I got the eagle and the mockingbird from the wilderness.

O, I got a zoo, I got a menagerie, inside my ribs, under my bony head, under my red-valve heart—and I got something else: it is a man-child heart, a woman-child heart: it is a father and mother and lover: it came from God-Knows-Where: it is going to God-Knows-Where—For I am the keeper of the zoo: I say yes and no: I sing and kill and work: I am a pal of the world: I came from the wilderness.

[B]

You should hit up an elder-issue lawyer while your parents are still able to participate. They helped my parents set up a trust for their parents and themselves.

The lawyer also helped my dad decide when to put my mom into a nursing home and where, and how to manage income to get the most out of Medicaid/care.

[tragabigzanda]

There is a wolf in me . . . fangs pointed for tearing gashes . . . a red tongue for raw meat . . . and the hot lapping of blood—I keep this wolf because the wilderness gave it to me and the wilderness will not let it go.

There is a fox in me . . . a silver-gray fox . . . I sniff and guess . . . I pick things out of the wind and air . . . I nose in the dark night and take sleepers and eat them and hide the feathers . . . I circle and loop and double-cross.

There is a hog in me . . . a snout and a belly . . . a machinery for eating and grunting . . . a machinery for sleeping satisfied in the sun—I got this too from the wilderness and the wilderness will not let it go.

There is a fish in me . . . I know I came from salt-blue water-gates . . . I scurried with shoals of herring . . . I blew waterspouts with porpoises . . . before land was . . . before the water went down . . . before Noah . . . before the first chapter of Genesis.

There is a baboon in me . . . clambering-clawed . . . dog-faced . . . yawping a galoot's hunger . . . hairy under the armpits . . . here are the hawk-eyed hankering men . . . here are the blonde and blue-eyed women . . . here they hide curled asleep waiting . . . ready to snarl and kill . . . ready to sing and give milk . . . waiting—I keep the baboon because the wilderness says so.

There is an eagle in me and a mockingbird . . . and the eagle flies among the Rocky Mountains of my dreams and fights among the Sierra crags of what I want . . . and the mockingbird warbles in the early forenoon before the dew is gone, warbles in the underbrush of my Chattanoogas of hope, gushes over the blue Ozark foothills of my wishes—And I got the eagle and the mockingbird from the wilderness.

O, I got a zoo, I got a menagerie, inside my ribs, under my bony head, under my red-valve heart—and I got something else: it is a man-child heart, a woman-child heart: it is a father and mother and lover: it came from God-Knows-Where: it is going to God-Knows-Where—For I am the keeper of the zoo: I say yes and no: I sing and kill and work: I am a pal of the world: I came from the wilderness.

[tragabigzanda]

There is a wolf in me . . . fangs pointed for tearing gashes . . . a red tongue for raw meat . . . and the hot lapping of blood—I keep this wolf because the wilderness gave it to me and the wilderness will not let it go.

There is a fox in me . . . a silver-gray fox . . . I sniff and guess . . . I pick things out of the wind and air . . . I nose in the dark night and take sleepers and eat them and hide the feathers . . . I circle and loop and double-cross.

There is a hog in me . . . a snout and a belly . . . a machinery for eating and grunting . . . a machinery for sleeping satisfied in the sun—I got this too from the wilderness and the wilderness will not let it go.

There is a fish in me . . . I know I came from salt-blue water-gates . . . I scurried with shoals of herring . . . I blew waterspouts with porpoises . . . before land was . . . before the water went down . . . before Noah . . . before the first chapter of Genesis.

There is a baboon in me . . . clambering-clawed . . . dog-faced . . . yawping a galoot's hunger . . . hairy under the armpits . . . here are the hawk-eyed hankering men . . . here are the blonde and blue-eyed women . . . here they hide curled asleep waiting . . . ready to snarl and kill . . . ready to sing and give milk . . . waiting—I keep the baboon because the wilderness says so.

There is an eagle in me and a mockingbird . . . and the eagle flies among the Rocky Mountains of my dreams and fights among the Sierra crags of what I want . . . and the mockingbird warbles in the early forenoon before the dew is gone, warbles in the underbrush of my Chattanoogas of hope, gushes over the blue Ozark foothills of my wishes—And I got the eagle and the mockingbird from the wilderness.

O, I got a zoo, I got a menagerie, inside my ribs, under my bony head, under my red-valve heart—and I got something else: it is a man-child heart, a woman-child heart: it is a father and mother and lover: it came from God-Knows-Where: it is going to God-Knows-Where—For I am the keeper of the zoo: I say yes and no: I sing and kill and work: I am a pal of the world: I came from the wilderness.

[bart]

you’re a springing POA

[B]

All of this is pretty easy when your parents are healthy and participating.

My dad would gladly draft a springing POA.

He and my mom were very clear about being put in a home when they're a burden. A year into Mom's disease and it was "don't ever make me go to a home!"

If you can talk to your parents about this now, do it. At least ask them what they imagine.

[tragabigzanda]

There is a wolf in me . . . fangs pointed for tearing gashes . . . a red tongue for raw meat . . . and the hot lapping of blood—I keep this wolf because the wilderness gave it to me and the wilderness will not let it go.

There is a fox in me . . . a silver-gray fox . . . I sniff and guess . . . I pick things out of the wind and air . . . I nose in the dark night and take sleepers and eat them and hide the feathers . . . I circle and loop and double-cross.

There is a hog in me . . . a snout and a belly . . . a machinery for eating and grunting . . . a machinery for sleeping satisfied in the sun—I got this too from the wilderness and the wilderness will not let it go.

There is a fish in me . . . I know I came from salt-blue water-gates . . . I scurried with shoals of herring . . . I blew waterspouts with porpoises . . . before land was . . . before the water went down . . . before Noah . . . before the first chapter of Genesis.

There is a baboon in me . . . clambering-clawed . . . dog-faced . . . yawping a galoot's hunger . . . hairy under the armpits . . . here are the hawk-eyed hankering men . . . here are the blonde and blue-eyed women . . . here they hide curled asleep waiting . . . ready to snarl and kill . . . ready to sing and give milk . . . waiting—I keep the baboon because the wilderness says so.

There is an eagle in me and a mockingbird . . . and the eagle flies among the Rocky Mountains of my dreams and fights among the Sierra crags of what I want . . . and the mockingbird warbles in the early forenoon before the dew is gone, warbles in the underbrush of my Chattanoogas of hope, gushes over the blue Ozark foothills of my wishes—And I got the eagle and the mockingbird from the wilderness.

O, I got a zoo, I got a menagerie, inside my ribs, under my bony head, under my red-valve heart—and I got something else: it is a man-child heart, a woman-child heart: it is a father and mother and lover: it came from God-Knows-Where: it is going to God-Knows-Where—For I am the keeper of the zoo: I say yes and no: I sing and kill and work: I am a pal of the world: I came from the wilderness.

[B]

Well that's just personal dynamics. As long as you know what they want, you can bring everything back to that.

[Higgs]

All of this is pretty easy when your parents are healthy and participating.

My dad would gladly draft a springing POA.

He and my mom were very clear about being put in a home when they're a burden. A year into Mom's disease and it was "don't ever make me go to a home!"

If you can talk to your parents about this now, do it. At least ask them what they imagine.

This scares me for me. I'm the wrong side of 50 nowadays (barely but still...) and I've always thought that I'd try to be as little burden as possible. Bit I saw my dad and I'm fiercely independent ("I pay the bloody mortgage!“) and I'm scared that when it hits me I too will be fooled into believing that I'm OK. Like Carl Spackler, I hope above hope that I too will receive total consciousness when I'm (approaching) my death bed.

[spike]

All of this is pretty easy when your parents are healthy and participating.

My dad would gladly draft a springing POA.

He and my mom were very clear about being put in a home when they're a burden. A year into Mom's disease and it was "don't ever make me go to a home!"

If you can talk to your parents about this now, do it. At least ask them what they imagine.

I haven’t been directly involved in any estate planning with either parent, but my dad halfway set up some stuff before he passed, and my mom and stepdad set things up a few years ago. As B said, definitely good for parents to set things up and to talk to their kids about it even though it’s not the most fun topic. Good on ya trag.

[Bammer]

You should hit up an elder-issue lawyer while your parents are still able to participate. They helped my parents set up a trust for their parents and themselves.

The lawyer also helped my dad decide when to put my mom into a nursing home and where, and how to manage income to get the most out of Medicaid/care.

Spoiler: show

[Higgs]

I was certain that spoiler was gonna be Bam offering his 'no law degree but extensive private litigation experience' for competitive below market rates.

[spike]

My stepdad’s home health aide - who he and my mom both love - has been diagnosed with cervical cancer.

[Rangi Guy]

Went up north and spent a couple of nights with my parents before going camping. Was all good, but out of the blue my mum tells me that she doesn't think my dad will see next Christmas

[Peeps]

sorry to hear that rangi. hopefully its because he keeps leaving the seat up

[wease]

Last weekend I rode with Mema and Papa Wease to the youngest Weaseling’s cheer competition. We started talking about movies and shows we were watching and Papa Wease mentions he liked the latest Mission: Impossible movie. Then he made the comment along the lines of “you’ll never see it, tho.” So I responded by asking him why I’d never see it. And he tells me that sometime in the past, I told him I’d NEVER watch a Tom Cruise movie and I hated him. Now, Scientology notwithstanding, I’ve been a Cruise fan for a long, long time. Not many flicks of his that I haven’t liked. I even liked Far and Away for Christ’s sake. So I ask him what the fuck he’s talking about, I’ve always liked him. That’s when the shit hits the fan. He starts screaming “YOU SAT THERE AND TOLD ME YOU COULDN’T STAND HIM AND WOULD NEVER WATCH ANOTHER ONE OF HIS MOVIES AS LONG AS YOU LIVED!!!!!” And I’m just stunned. A) that he has this idea that I hate Cruise and B) that Papa Wease is getting so upset about me disagreeing with him. So I tell him, no, “you’re incorrect” and listed some of my favorite movies by Cruise, and again, the screaming that I hate him and will never watch one of his movies. I’m just in shock and awe. Then, I’m sure to diffuse the situation, Mema Wease volunteers that it was actually HER that said she didn’t like Cruise. Which I don’t believe and for a moment, I’m not sure Papa believes it either. But then he accepts it and the whole event is over.
I think what is so troubling for me is not the exchange itself, but what could be causing it. Papa Wease’s mom, my grandmother, had dementia. She passed away with it a few years back. And when she started slipping, he would tell me how her behaviors and memories would be altered. And I’m starting to get worried that interactions like this may be indicative of those changes starting in him.