The only signs of the holiday are the skeleton staffs at both the hospital and care facility. My mother was released today, and in very high spirits, grateful to be home and in her own bed. Even with the constant ring of the phone and doorbell she was able to sleep, utterly exhausted from the experience. My father had a restless, sleepless night and I'm very conflicted about leaving him at CareOne. I'm witnessing the other side of the increased lifespan Americans boast about, and it's not pretty. It's hard not to bump into thoughts about my own demise. What is it like to depend on others for all of your basic needs? What happens when the one in need isn't a family member, or a loved one, but an aging stranger in a facility where you work? Sometimes I wonder why some of the people I've encountered have chosen this profession since they answer the call bell with disdain and disinterest. Although my father willingly allows others to come to his aid, he's also told me he's embarrassed. I fell asleep reading, as far off fireworks were booming in the darkened night.
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