Settle Down

My father-in-law is settling into his Foster Home. We are slowly making progress at decorating his modest room even though I believe the interior design of his space is more for our serenity than for his. Just as when my own father was in a care facility, I find myself surfing over the photographs we strategically placed, moving them an inch or so during each visit. I need the constant reminder of family, of the person who they used to be, of the past where we didn't have to make the hard choices. My husband and I are entering discussions about our golden years. It makes me queasy to think of myself at the mercy of strange people, and worse, unable to remember their names. That's why we hang pictures, decorate the room for Christmas, and buy clothes we like to see them wear. It's a humanizing response. I need some sense of the recognizable as I am sitting on a twin-size hospital bed, searching for conversation, glancing at the clock. It doesn't come easy, this new demand to be the one in charge, the parent child roles reversed. You have to give up the right to receive a straight answer, the right to decline an otherwise inconvenient visit, the right to expect things to change. But to see him settling, accepting his new surrounding in his own fashion is comforting. For that I am thankful.