Her living conditions had become deplorable. She had lost her dentures and wasn't eating properly. Medications were taken haphazardly if at all. It appeared she was basically sleeping 24/7 and she didn't know if it was day or night when I called.
I hounded her to get a will and POAs drawn up and suggested she move out of the house into an assisted living facility almost to no avail. Then magically, it seemed almost over night, my brother texted me to inform me she had found a place in town and was moving within the week.
Had she never made the initial move, I'm not sure to this day what would have happened. While this move was a game changer, it wasn't long after that things started going south. I discovered payments hadn't been made, she was starting to receive collection notices and she only had a particular amount of money left in her checking account. And she still hadn't finalized the POAs.
After commiserating with a cousin and picking his brain for suggestions of what he and his sister did with their parents, he basically stated, "It's time to put on your big girl panties." I knew he was right, but wondered, "Can I really do this?"
Basically, I felt like I became an overbearing, bossy broad. I have a better word, but can't bring myself to use it! I made an appointment with the lawyer she had originally gone to. It was iffy, but basically he told me that if he felt Mom was capable of understanding what was transpiring he would agree to finalize the paperwork. After all, she had drawn up these papers the year before and nothing was being changed. Also, it was her children who were seeking assistance so they could help her and not a stranger. The day we went, Mom was in top performance and everything went smoothly.
Now we had the means to make decisions for her. Originally, my brother was going to be the Medical POA as he lived in the same town and could take her to doctor appointments, etc. I was to be the Property POA and would pay the bills.
After she moved out of the house, I had the freedom to take all her boxes of documents dating back to approximately 1965. She also had a metal box that she always referred to as her Death Box. We always joked about it, but I must say it came in handy for the most part as it contained information regarding banking accounts, bonds, insurance policies and the like.
At this stage of the game, Mom was able to go with me to a lot of the appointments I had to do. The first thing I did was have her cash a bond that her mother had purchased for her at the time of her birth. This helped get us some money so we could start paying off all the delinquent bills. I also had my name added to her checking account and then created an online account so I could pay bills electronically as I lived 3 hours away from her.
Schmuck is an understatement of how I felt about myself during all of this. I had taken her Death Box, cut up a credit card, eventually took away her checkbook. But I also knew she was now protected and we could make decisions for her.
Over the past 3 years, we have sold her car, had a sale and sold most of her possessions, gave the rest to charity and finally sold her home. All this without her knowledge. Most of this took place after she declined further and had moved into a memory care unit, but it still felt wrong. And mean. And ugly. I guess that's why they call it Tough Love. Not sure if that means tough on the person you're trying to protect or tough on the person doing the protecting. Either way, it's tough.
Guess that's how big girl panties feel.
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