Town of Mercy

Retirement is never easy

Retirement isn't easy.

A nursing home placement for my father was the most difficult decision I've ever had to make. As much as possible, I tried to postpone the inevitable, but my father's health had been steadily deteriorating since the death of my mother a few years ago. After growing up in farm country and having to spend one night in a "old people's home," he was a stubborn, fiercely independent individual who spoke with a special kind of anger that I rarely had the opportunity to see.

If I had asked him that forbidden question, he would have responded in his usual grouchy voice "no way!", before spitting his saliva on the ground in front of me.

In the past, Dad has had episodes of chest tightness and anxiety, but it was his most recent hospitalization that convinced him to change his mind. I was in the middle of my shift when I received the call from my boss. My boss was gracious enough to allow me to clock out early, and I made it to work in just 20 minutes flat thanks to my frantic driving down the highway.

There was a visit from the hospital's social worker, who explained to us how we could get help for dad at home. Not the one I was used to seeing when my dad came to visit, but she seemed friendly enough. Even though he was having difficulty breathing due to a nasal cannula tube in his nose, dad managed to blurt out his usual response.

"There is no way..." We were both surprised by what my father had to say when he came back and spoke for a second time. It was as if someone had flipped a switch.

"I don't want to return to my old life..." We were in disbelief, to say the least. In the midst of his two-year battle with me over receiving any assistance, this man suddenly declared he was giving up.

Dad continued by saying that the most recent incident had opened his eyes. Eventually, though, he had to admit, with tears welling up in his eyes, that he was lonely above all else. He'd been drinking and spending time with all of his tractors to try to make up for the void left by his mother's death. It wasn't until the end that he realized just how lonely he had become. As a man's man, I understood how difficult it must have been for him to share all of this with me. The social worker at the hospital gave us a brochure for a new establishment that had recently opened in a town i had never heard of.

Mercy Brown Retirement Center "

"It's better than living at home."

The slogan surprised me a little. It was a pretty bold statement, but the images in the brochure were stunning. When I showed my father, he was incredulous. Before saying anything, he just stood there staring at it. He spoke to us once more, this time without swearing.

"Ok..."

Smiling and offering a silent thanks to the social worker. An admissions representative promised to get to work on setting up a tour and starting the paperwork as soon as possible. 

While my father rested, I continued my research on the brochure. The address was unfamiliar to me because it was located in an area on Google maps that almost looked choppy. That's when I realized there was nothing around there I'd ever noticed before. The fact that I, a big history buff, had gone through life without knowing about a town not too far me that it might as well have been in my backyard, was even more surprising to me. Large expanse of green on the map was all that could be seen. Even when zoomed in

I knew my father would be extremely resistant to the idea of being relocated to a new town. When my mother was in a nursing home, we had done it for her as a family tradition. When I first moved to the neighborhood, it was the only place that accepted admissions, but I always dreaded going there. Upon entering, the place smelled like feces, the staff was uninterested in anything other than yelling and playing on their phones, and my mom was always depressed. We had no choice but to move her out of the house because she had been diagnosed with dementia and the two of them couldn't make it work. It seemed like she didn't even recognize us at times.