God's Waiting Room

The Globe and Mail has an article on the suffering of depression by seniors in old age homes:

http://www.theglobeandmail.com/life/health/depression-common-in-seniors-facilities-study-finds/article1576466/

The comments are really interesting as most people seem to have a "no shit, Sherlock" approach to the facts; of course, a number of seniors are depressed in senior care facilities: they are waiting to die. There can be any number of euphemistic names for senior homes but they are still waiting rooms and those who live in them, no matter how well-intentioned family members are, know they have been removed from the everyday value of existence and put in a storage facility. It doesn't matter what your life is like if you are the one choosing to live it; I think it becomes a whole other ball game, if a person must live according to another's schedules and rules. Who wants to do that?

The matriarch's expectations drive me crazy but, at least, she has them and every morning gets up with a smile on her face; I know she has periods of depression. She gets very sad when people don't phone her. However, she still likes going out to eat weekly ( even if I am sick of going with her)and getting her nails or her hair done and still goes to the blood clinic to get her poke. She has a life; I, personally, think it would be more valuable if she chose to do something rather than wait for me to encourage her to go out, go for a drive, put on her television, listen to the radio but I do think there is some salvation in the fact she is living her life. I may not agree with her always sitting up in her room but she does have the right to make a choice. Maybe homes can not offer seniors that idea of choice: they can offer platitudes and activities to take up time, but they cannot offer the freedom of individual responsibility and the right to make individual choice. How could they? They are group facilities.

I don't know the best way to die; my friend's grandmother, a little younger than the matriarch, is dying; she is refusing solid foods and subsisting on liquids. However, her body has still, yet, to fail; I imagine the agony of that. The matriarch can still annoy me because she is still an individual human being and I still see her that way, the whole family sees her as a participant, not a burden (yes, I know I have made comments to the contrary, let me have my moment). I imagine what I want...when I am old, I don't want to wear purple or red hats or belong to book clubs. I don't want to go out for lunch all the time, or to be prodded and poked and take innumerable pills. I don't want discounts on trips and daily adventures to the local casino. I don't know what I want. But, when I am old, I like to think I would want the freedom to go to the library and the museum and the corner store and the ability to chat with friends and help my grandchildren. I hope to still be around people who like me or make the effort to pretend. I hope to bake cookies for my neighbours and breads for my husband and I hope to be able to look in the mirror and still like what I see. I hope I will still have hope.