My Father's Mother, My Father, and Maybe Me

My father took care of his mother, and I took care of him, and maybe someone will take care of me.

By Neil Solomon · 2 min read

My grandmother was in her late eighties and living in Miami. This was the 1980s, before the city became what it is today. I was a boy in New Jersey, living with my mother and my brothers. My parents were divorced, and under joint custody we saw my father on weekends.

I remember my grandmother fondly. She cooked for us, and she did the things grandmothers do.

One weekend I came to my father's apartment and she was there. My father had gone to Miami to bring her north, and she was now living with him. I only saw that she was in the apartment.

Later I learned what had happened. She could no longer take care of herself. In Miami she had almost burned down her apartment. Her neighborhood had also gone downhill, and it was not a secure place for a woman in her eighties on her own. My father decided she should live with him.

She lived with my father until she died. I do not remember those last years well. I do remember that she was not well in her mind in her late eighties.

My father looked after her. He had an apartment, and he made room.

Many years later, I looked after my father. He came to live with us in Mexico, and his mind failed too. My wife and I cared for him until he died.

Now I think about the next turn. My father took care of his mother, and I took care of him, and maybe someone will take care of me.

I do not know who that will be. I do know that I would like to plan for it while I can still make choices. I would like to think through the costs and the choices while I can still make them myself.

I also think about what I want to say to my children, and I would like them to know the choices exist.