When Is It Time to Consider Moving Mom (cont.)
After a second midnight call from the police, the sergeant tells my sister: "You all need to do something about your mom." But what?
Mom is frightened by what she senses is happening to her. On some level, she realizes she's losing her ability to think and reason. But right now, she's afraid of what might happen to her. She's afraid she'll be taken from her home and placed in a nursing home.
A trip to the Doctor confirms what we suspected.
"Your mother is very charming," the young doctor says. "She even flirted with me. But she really doesn't know what's going on." She couldn't tell time or count change. She didn't know who the president was. She didn't know what day it was.
The doctor prescribes an anti-psychotic drug to help with the voices in her head. He checks her into a psychiatric ward for four days, primarily to give you time to figure out what to do.
"She can't live alone," he says. "She needs 24-hour care."
24-hour care in her home would cost between $15 - $20/hr. Prohibitive for most families.
If the person does not have a guardian, they can fire the people who are hired to care for them. Someone with dementia, for safety considerations, in-home care is not always a good choice. The elder can leave when the caregiver is asleep, call the authorities and report incidents that are not really happening. Even friends and family have demented seniors acting out irrationally and throwing caregiver clothes out and yelling, "Get your —- out of here!" When family members assume the role of caregiver, they are mentally and physically affected by the emotional interaction of someone with dementia who is acting out and constantly repeating the same conversation. Very stressful.
Finally and with great difficulty, legal action may needs to be taken. For the safety of your loved one, you might need a lawyer, take her to court and have them declared incompetent. The conversation goes like this:
"You're doing the right thing," the lawyer says.
Maybe, but we feel terrible. Every rivalry you had with your brothers and sisters, every argument you had with your parents, every effort you ever made to become independent can be put to the test once your parents become old and sick.
You find yourself arguing with your siblings, arguing with your spouse, arguing with your parents, arguing with yourself.
This is the reality of how very hard the struggle can be – the good news is that by finding the right place for your loved one to live, their quality of life will be good, they will be cared for, and you can be the sons and daughter, not the caregiver. You can create and enjoy the memories and share the joy at the end of life.
Call Kathy first –let her free service help you find the best place for
your loved one.
Stuck on a Family Hamster Wheel, Mile After Mile, Year After Year
Movie Review of “The Savages” (cont.)
By MANOHLA DARGIS |
Published: November 28, 2007
The hands that rock the cradle sometimes tip it over. Watching “The Savages,” Tamara Jenkins’s beautifully nuanced tragicomedy about two floundering souls, you have to wonder if those hands didn’t also knock that cradle clear across the nursery, sending both Savage children into perpetual free-fall.
Certainly Jon Savage, the angry lump played by a brilliant — oh, let’s just cut to it — the brilliant Philip Seymour Hoffman, looks like a man who’s taken as much abuse as he likes to deliver. One night, Jon, a college professor who lives and teaches in Buffalo, is awakened from a deep sleep (Ms. Jenkins has a nice way with metaphor) to discover that his father, Lenny (a fine Philip Bosco), has gone around the bend and has begun finger-painting with his feces. The bearer of these unfortunate tidings is Jon’s younger sister, Wendy (Laura Linney, sharp and vanity free), a self-professed playwright whose greatest, perhaps only creation is the closely nurtured story of wounded narcissism and family wrongs unwinding in her head.
They mess you up, your mum and dad, Philip Larkin more or less wrote, which, though it provides steadfast inspiration for poets of all disciplines, has emerged as one of the banes of American independent cinema. At first glance “The Savages,” which had its premiere in January at the Sundance Film Festival, looks like another one of those dreaded indie encounter sessions in which everyone cracks wise and weary on the bumpy road to self-actualization. Ms. Jenkins, whose gifted first feature, “Slums of Beverly Hills,” fired up movie screens and critics nearly a decade ago, seems incapable of such falsity. I bet she knows the rest of Larkin’s poem, namely, “They fill you with the faults they had/And add some extra, just for you.”
Ms. Jenkins never explains how or why or even if Lenny filled Jon and Wendy with his faults, and what caused his wife, their mother, to run away. She omits the talk-show psychology and instead lets the clues seep through the realistic-sounding snippets and strings of dialogue, through sentences (not speeches), questions (not confessions) and silences as lived in as the story’s recognizably real and revelatory spaces. In Wendy and Jon’s separate if similarly cluttered homes, you can almost see the layers of aspiration and disappointment that have accumulated alongside the dust and the books; in Lenny’s sterile house in Sun City, Ariz., you see a man who has not only wiped away his past, but has also erased part of his own self.
In their dyspeptic, quarrelsome fashion, the Savages are blissfully neurotic, often very funny variations on J. M. Barrie’s fictional offspring, John and Wendy Darling, those charmed, magical storybook children. (In their moments of terrifying mutual dependency they can also recall the brother and sister in Jean Cocteau and Jean-Pierre Melville’s “Enfants Terribles.”) If Ms. Jenkins’s middle-age characters have never grown up, in spirit and mind if not in body, it isn’t because they flew off to Neverland in a cloud of fairy dust, but because they did not and could not leave. Yet if Jon and Wendy have stayed locked inside, Ms. Jenkins also suggests — through an image of flight of surprising force and beauty — that some children find other means of escape, including their imaginations.
Ms. Jenkins doesn’t imply that all that pain is a worthwhile price to pay for imagination, but she acknowledges the paradoxical truth that suffering can also be a source of inspiration, a way out of the childhood room we sometimes call the past. For Jon, who is writing a book on Brecht, and his playwright sister, life has become something of a performance. Both were probably given a role to play a long time ago — superior brother, resentful sister — and now act out their parts to perfection. (Jon, who clings to Brecht as if to a baby blanket, is something of a walking alienation effect. ) Jean Renoir once asked, Where does theater end and life begin? Ms. Jenkins seems to answer that question reasonably by saying there is no separation.
It would give away too much to reveal what happens to these distinctly nondarling siblings, whose outbursts and moments of hilarious, often voluble cruelty border on the shrill and the unspeakable. Ms. Jenkins has a gift for family brutality, but she herself isn’t a savage talent. There isn’t a single moment of emotional guff or sentimentality in “The Savages,” a film that caused me to periodically wince, but also left me with a sense of acute pleasure, even joy. It’s the pleasure of a true-to-life tale told by a director and actors who’ve sunk so deep into their movie together you wonder how they ever surfaced.
You live with Jon and Wendy Savage gratefully, even when they can’t always do the same.
