Five years

My life is very different from what it was five years ago. Both parents have passed away. I no longer have the job I worked at for 16 years. I no longer have the apartment I lived in 13 years. At 63 I'm now a first-time homeowner. I'm living on Social Security and my IRA. There's no way of knowing if it will be enough to last another 2 or 3 decades (I hope and expect to live that long).

About five years ago, when he was 85, my dad began experiencing some pretty severe back pain. He was the strongest person I ever knew and never complained about anything so it must have been bad to make him go see a doctor. The doctor told him it was just arthritis. He had had arthritis for years and said it was worse than that. He finally went to a different doctor for a second opinion. In October 2015 the tests showed he had cancer on his spine. It started as lung cancer but had spread. At age 85 there was little hope that treatment could accomplish much so he made the decision to forego that and chose palliative care at home.

At the time he and my mom were living about 25 miles south of Albuquerque. My brothers and I live on the north side of the metropolitan area. My parents wanted to be closer to doctors' offices and to us so that as my dad got worse we could do the driving for him and my mom. Since I was single and a renter I was the most logical choice to act as caregiver. We found a 3 bedroom apartment; I moved out of my apt. and moved in with my parents in December 2015. Over the next six months my dad got weaker and the pain got worse. He went from oxycodone to morphine to fentanyl patches and to hospice care (still at home). I watched him take his last breath on May 2 2016.

My mom and I kept the apartment. I hadn't realized that dementia was setting in but my dad knew. He had said that his biggest worry was that Mom would be okay. My brothers and I assured him that we would take care of her. With a lot of help from one brother in particular (he was retired and came over every single day) over the next three years we did whatever needed to be done. Repeated conversations, uncharacteristic bouts of depression and paranoia, asking where the bathroom was several times a day and where her bedroom was at night etc. etc.

In February 2017 my employer announced that they had been bought out by a larger company and were moving the whole operation to Wisconsin. I was a lab technician doing R&D and quality control testing. I had started out years before as a machine operator. I had intended to work a few more years and build up my IRA but I didn't want to move back to Wisconsin. I lived there for 10 years; went to high school and college there. I've seen and shoveled enough snow to last a lifetime. I like living in the desert.

Albuquerque has a lot of micro-breweries and we had got into the habit of visiting one each month for a beer and a meal. My mom really enjoyed that and we would tease her by pushing the empty beer glasses to her side of the table, then posting a picture on facebook. She just laughed and loved hearing the comments from relatives.

Mom kept a notepad by her chair to jot things down and one day she asked what it was the doctor said she had. I spelled 'dementia' for her while she wrote it down. A few days later she was making a shopping list on the same pad and wrote 'beef' for ground beef. Then she looked at the notepad and said "Beef dementia? That's not right." We had a good laugh over that one.

One night she woke up and wandered outside (in January) looking for the bathroom. She got lost and banged on a neighbor's door at 2 am. They called the police. I was awakened at 2:30 by a flashlight in the hall and a loud voice saying "Police department! Anybody home?" We had a talk after that and agreed that she needed more care than I could provide. She went into a memory care facility in April 2019. She loved it and everyone there was fantastic.

Then one night in early June she got up to use the bathroom, fell and broke her hip. She had surgery but never really got over it and passed away on June 14 2019. At least it was peaceful and she wasn't in pain.

I couldn't afford that big apartment by myself so after settling Mom's affairs, late last summer I started looking for a new place. I had inherited a little money- not a lot but enough for a down payment on a house. And that's how I ended up being a first-time homeowner at the age of 63.

Typing this up hasn't been easy but it feels good getting it all out.