Pardon me for the pity party here, but it's been an interesting day and one that I would have preferred not to deal with, though not dealing with it would mean one of two things - either my brother had pulled his head out of his ass about ten, twenty years back and actually done something more with his life than seen janitor at WalMart as the pinnacle of a long and undistinguished career of minimum (and sub-minimum) wage jobs, or my folks had indeed died before I could get them moved out here.
What am I talking about, o my three or four consistent readers? Just wait, and ye shall see and hopefully understand.
About a week or two back, my paternal units dropped the bombshell I'd been pretty much urging them to do for the last three or four years, since my father had his heart attack back around 2002, and his heart bypass surgery around 2003, and mother had a BAD case of pneumonia and the osteoporosis she had cultivated diligently for the last few decades (note to young women reading this - smoking and avoiding exercise is an excellent way to set yourself up for this dandy of a disease when you reach dowager age, and though you may think you'll never get there, unless you do something terminally stupid the likelyhood is you'll reach grandmotherly age and probably older, at which point the kewl tatts you got in the 20s will be muddy and indistinguishable from spilled ink on your leathery hide.. and have I mentioned avoiding tanning salons and the like in order to stave off skin cancers 20-30 years down the road? If not, consider yourself so warned) has advanced to the point where her calcium-deficient spinal vertabrae (not that there's any other vertabrae in the body that I'm aware of) started collapsing like a cheap ladder with resultant pain and disability. Yet always they'd demurred actually making the choice to either bail to the locality we're living in and letting me handle getting the estate sale set up and the house on the market, or doing it themselves and then uprooting and transplanting themselves here.
Yea, verily, they FINALLY have decided decided they are going to bail. Kind of. Real Soon Now. They've contacted a real estate agent (and to be honest I think she's blowing smoke up their collective asses with her assessment of the value of the house - a Zillow.com assessment comes in a good 100K less than what she thinks they can sell the house for, and the sale prices for comparable houses in the area aren't exactly in the range she's telling them - but IANA real estate agent, so maybe she knows something about that sort of thing which I do not. In fact, I think it extremely likely - so we'll see) and are starting to see about getting an estate sale done.
Bear in mind my parental units are 86 and 87 respectively, so they've accumulated a good bit of stuff. If the Estate Sale agent takes 20%, they're gonna make out like a damn bandit. But it's not like I can do it for them - I've got a good bit of miscellaneous experience, but estate sales give me the willies. I don't mind garage sales (since they're caused by too much living and a need to clear away old stuff to make room for new in a lot of cases) but going to an estate sale reminds me of a vulture picking at the flesh of a life - all the mementos and accumulated treasures of decades on display for a pittance, and the actual cost of them nowhere near the value of the thing to the person - it rather reeks.
When first discussed a few years back, my folks thought they'd be able to get by with a house, and a caregiver looking in on them every other day or so. However, things have gotten to a point where such a plan is insufficent to cover the needs of the people involved (except that of the caregiver, who would need (it is to be assumed) to both take care of someone and receive money for doing such) because mother's macular degeneration has progressed to the point where she pretty much can't see.
So, we are looking at either independent living facilities, or assisted living facilities in this area. And there, my earnest friends, comes the major suckitude. How do you go about selecting a place where your parents are (it is to be assumed) going to be spending the rest of their lives?
Ah, well. Such is the duty which I must accomplish, and so far I've had an interesting time looking at the assisted/independent living facilities. One of which we visited today seemed like a rather nicely appointed warehouse for the pre-corpse set - nice furnishings... kind of... nice dining room... kind of... but the few people we saw there seemed to have a zombie-like vitality and demeanor that made me want to either run out of there or whale around me with a cricket bat ala Shaun of The Dead. And a more than cursory look at the bookshelves used for decoration revealed old encyclopedias and Readers Digest Condensed book sets. None of which looked read.
Sigh. My father would not like that. He likes a bit of intellectual stimulation, he does.
Scratch that place off the list. It's just... no. I have no doubt that those there rather like it, but as I said it's just a waiting room for the grave.
Another place we visited today seemed a BIT better - at least there was something more on their bookshelves than obsolete encyclopediae and RDCBs. But not all that much. Very nice place, though a trifle on the crowded side. (They have two seatings at dinner. Hmmm.) Other than that, we got a fairly good feeling about the place. Where the first was a D, this was a C+, maybe a B-.
The third place visited (which we actually visited last week, but I've been a bit remiss reporting on that until I got everything properly digested and sorted out) had a LARGE library, with a wide variety of books, and even had things pretty much sorted out on the Dewey Decimal system. The rooms seemed larger, and nicer - though we saw the 'independent living' facility and it had a very nice (if small) kitchenette and a full sized fridge. The others... well, you were doing good to find a place to put a coffeepot on top of the tiny fridge.
The assisted living facilites there, however, left much to be desired re size. The one bedroom AL suite was a tiny thing. But what they call assisted living is darn near bedridden, and although my moter is NOT a happy pain-free camper she's not bedridden. Yet.
Oddly, the cost of this dwelling place is less than the other two by a fair margin. Go figure. Of the three places sampled, I think my folks would be happiest there.
But man, I really, REALLY do not want to have to make this choice. By rights and custom, I understand such a choice devolves down to the oldest son - and I ain't him. My parents are not incapable of making the choice - they're simply just not in a position to do the research necessaary.
I could wish I don't have to do this - but I've got the duty, and will do it as well as I can...
J.