The Executive Director (ED) of the retirement community requested a meeting with my parents. I know she will be informing them they are being transitioned from Independent into Assisted Living. We arrive and are sent back into the conference room. My mom is chattering away, she is nervous. She has no recollection of this meeting room although we have been in here together at least twice before in the past two months. The ED and Manager of Independent Living join us. The ED explains why she called the meeting and informs my parents that in two days, they will be helping them move into their new apartment in Assisted Living. She hands them a copy of the letter detailing this change and the move date.
My mom tells the ED she won’t be moving and challenges her to provide specific incidents as to why this change is being made. The ED agrees to deliver a time line of events later in the day but does detail several recent incidents. My mom refutes each one. Deftly, the ED suggests we go look at the new apartment.
My dad agrees and asks if I will come along. I tell him I will. My mom refuses to go. As we are walking out, I ask my mom if she will join us. She has decided to stop and get some tea instead. The Manager of Independent Living says she will walk down with her once her tea is ready. My dad and I leave with the ED.
We arrive and I can’t bear to watch my dad. It’s a bedroom, living room and kitchenette with one bathroom. It’s the largest of the Assisted Living suites. My parents are both very mobile, which isn’t always the case for those moving in, which is why most Assisted Living units are so small. My parents are having to move from their 3 bedroom, 3 bathroom expansive apartment to this 400 square foot apartment.
My mom arrives and complains about the size, the carpet, the kitchen … the ED does a great job of selling the benefits and the positives.
The walk back to their apartment is quiet. My mom is holding the letter in her hand and no one talks. I am worried about what will happen when we get behind closed doors.
I text my brothers “911” so they know to get to the apartment immediately. I’m going to need some reinforcements. Revealed.