Why We Keep Believing Mom or Dad Will Get Better on Their Own
"Let's just see how things look after Christmas."
It seems like such a reasonable sentence.
Then Christmas becomes Easter.
Easter becomes summer vacation.
Summer becomes Thanksgiving.
Before long, a year has passed, and somehow you're still having the same conversation…
"Let's just give it a little more time."
Every family has a last "normal" holiday.
The strange part is that nobody realizes it's the last one until much later.
One thing I've noticed after talking with so many families is that the story rarely starts with a crisis.
It usually starts with something much smaller.
Something easy to explain away.
It often looks something like this...
Last winter, Dad forgot where he parked his truck at the grocery store. Everyone laughed about it.
A few months later, he missed a doctor's appointment because he wrote the wrong day on the calendar.
By summer, he had two small falls in the backyard. Neither caused a serious injury, so everyone breathed a sigh of relief.
Then came Thanksgiving.
Dad carved the turkey, told the same stories he'd told for years, and beat everyone at cards.
Driving home that night, there was a long silence in the car.
Finally, someone asked the question everyone else had been quietly thinking.
"Did Dad seem a little different to you?"
If that conversation sounds familiar, you're not alone.
Most families don't ignore the warning signs because they don't care.
Quite the opposite.
They notice them.
They talk about them.
They lose sleep over them.
Then something happens that makes everyone believe things might be okay after all.
One good day.
One encouraging doctor's appointment.
One week that feels almost normal.
Hope quietly steps back into the driver's seat.
Very few families wake up one morning and realize it's time to make a major change.
More often, they arrive there one tiny decision at a time.
Because the hardest part of helping an aging parent usually isn't recognizing one dramatic event.
It's recognizing hundreds of small ones.
And that's exactly how our brains are wired.
We Expect Tomorrow to Look a Lot Like Today
Have you ever noticed that you don't see your kids growing?
Everyone else comments on how much taller they've gotten.
You smile and say, "Really? I guess they have."
Then one day they ask to borrow your shoes.
Or you stumble across last year's school picture.
Suddenly you're wondering where the little kid went.
It's not that you weren't paying attention.
You were.
You were just living through the change one ordinary day at a time.
The same thing often happens with aging parents.
Our brains are remarkably good at adapting to gradual change. That's usually a gift.
It keeps us from feeling overwhelmed every time life changes a little.
But it also has a downside.
Instead of stepping back and asking, "What's changing?" we naturally adjust to each new normal.
One forgotten appointment doesn't seem like much.
Neither does getting lost on the way to the grocery store.
Or deciding not to drive after dark.
Or moving from the upstairs bedroom to the recliner because the stairs have become "a little harder."
Each change has a perfectly reasonable explanation.
"Everybody forgets things sometimes."
"The roads are getting busier."
"Those stairs have always been steep."
And maybe every one of those explanations is true.
The challenge isn't that we're making excuses. We're evaluating each moment by itself instead of asking a much bigger question.
Are these isolated moments...
...or are they becoming a pattern?
That's a very different conversation.
One thing I've noticed is that families almost never miss one big change.
They miss a hundred little ones, because no single moment feels important enough to change everything.
Looking back, the pattern feels obvious.
Living through it...
It rarely does.
That's one of the reasons families often feel blindsided.
Not because they ignored what was happening, instead they slowly adapted to it.
Two Siblings Seeing Different Parents
One of the reasons siblings sometimes disagree isn't because one cares more than the other.
They're simply seeing different versions of the same parent.
Imagine two siblings.
Emily lives fifteen minutes away in Castle Rock and her brother, Ryan, lives in Phoenix.
Emily stops by her mom’s house every Tuesday after work and notices unopened mail on the kitchen counter.
A few days later, she notices her asking the same question twice in the same conversation. Also, the laundry has been sitting in the dryer for three days. After she puts the laundry away, she notices the refrigerator is almost empty. She asks her mom, “Why don’t you have any food in here?”
Her mom stares blankly and says, “you know, I’m just bored with food.”
Ryan comes home for Christmas and see the tree is decorated like always, his nieces and nephews are loving that their cousins are in town, and his mom is thrilled that everyone is together. She’s always loved Christmas.
After dinner, they all talk about last year’s Christmas and Christmases from when they were little.
It’s a normal Christmas with mom.
A few days later, Emily is driving Ryan to the airport, Ryan says, "Honestly... I think she's doing pretty well.” He knows his sister has been worried about their mom the last few months, but he has just spent a long weekend with her and it seems normal.
Emily continues driving in silence. She isn't upset with her brother, but she is wondering if they visited the same person.
The truth is...
They didn't.
Ryan saw Mom on one of her best days. Meanwhile, Emily has been watching the ordinary Tuesdays.
No one is wrong in their interpretation of what’s really going on, they're simply seeing different chapters of the same story.
That's why these conversations can become so emotional
One person is remembering who Mom has always been and the other is trying to manage who Mom has become.
Both perspectives come from love.
But only one of them has been there for the ordinary days.
One Good Day Can Change Everything... Even When Nothing Has Changed
If you've spent any time helping an aging parent, you've probably experienced something like this:
Mom has a rough week.
She forgets two appointments.
She leaves the stove on.
She seems unusually confused when you visit.
You drive home thinking,
"I think we need to have a serious conversation."
Then...
The following weekend she's back to herself.
She makes dinner for the neighbors
She even beats them at Scrabble.
You visit with your kids and she tells stories about you as a child everyone laughs until they cry.
Driving home this time, you find yourself thinking something completely different.
"Maybe I overreacted."
One good day has an amazing ability to erase five difficult ones. That’s not because the difficult days didn't happen, but because hope is incredibly persuasive.
We all want to believe
the hard season has passed.
That Mom just had an off week.
That Dad was simply tired.
That the medication finally kicked in.
Sometimes those things are true, but,more often than not, they aren't.
It’s hard, the issues that affect older adults don't move in a straight line.
There are wonderful days.
Frustrating days.
Weeks where everything seems normal.
Afternoons where nothing does.
That's why one good day shouldn't become the deciding factor, neither should one bad day.
The better question when you’re evaluating things is…
"What's the overall direction?"
Patterns almost always tell a more honest story than moments.
That doesn't mean you stop hoping. It does mean hope shouldn't be making the decisions by itself.
Hope isn't the enemy, it works best when it's standing beside honesty.
Those two things can exist together.
You can hope Mom continues doing well...
...while also paying attention if the pattern changes.
That's not pessimism - That's love.
It Was Never Just About the House
It’s never really about the house - it’s what the house represents
If you've ever found yourself standing in your parents' kitchen thinking,
"I can't imagine them living anywhere else,"
You're probably not thinking about the kitchen…
You're thinking about birthday cakes.
Christmas mornings.
The smell of Thanksgiving dinner.
The pencil marks on the pantry door showing how tall everyone was.
You're remembering a lifetime.
That's why this decision feels so heavy.
It was never just about the house.
Sometimes the hardest part of this journey isn't accepting that Mom or Dad needs more help. It's accepting that life has entered a new chapter.
And that's okay. Every family eventually reaches one.
The Goal Was Never to Predict the Future
Families think their job is to predict the future. It isn't.
In reality, it’s not part of the job whatsoever. I’d love to have a crystal ball, but it would only be for fun. What I’d really like is the freedom to stop trying to predict the future and just accept it .
So many families are really searching for exactly that.
They don't just want to know whether Mom should continue staying home and aging in place or whether Dad would be happier in assisted living.
They also want someone to tell them exactly what's going to happen over the next two years.
Will Mom fall again?
Will Dad's memory get worse?
Will home care be enough?
Will they regret moving too soon?
Will they regret waiting too long?
Those are fair questions, but they're also questions nobody can answer with certainty- and that's okay.
The goal was never to predict the future, it’s simply to make today's best decision with today's information.
For those of us who’ve lived this, you felt like it wasn’t enough.
If you are one of those who a currently living this, you will want to do more.
For those who aren’t quite experiencing this, it’s coming and you’ll struggle with the same things….
What is actually certain is simply know that every important decision in life is made with love and kindness.
Of course, none of us knows exactly what tomorrow holds. For now, we make the best decision we can.
Then we pay attention.
We adjust.
We keep loving the people in front of us.
Helping an aging parent works the same way.
Sometimes today's best decision is to continue aging in place with a little more support.
Sometimes it's exploring independent living.
Sometimes it's time for assisted living
Sometimes, you’re mom or dad needs memory care.
You have to accept that none of those decisions has to be permanent.
They can be revisited as circumstances change and, as many aging experts point out, the right plan today may not be the right plan a year.
Everything changes:
For your mom or dad, it may be health, mobility, or just memory challenges, or
Maybe you change and need more support, less time worrying about the house, or maybe just some time
Life evolves naturally over time and needs naturally evolve over time and don’t be stuck as it evolves. Maybe, instead of asking…
"What's the perfect decision?"
The right question is
"Given what we know today, what's the most loving decision we can make?"
That's a question you can answer and if new information comes tomorrow - You'll answer it again.
It’s not because you failed, but it’s cecause life changed.
One day, you'll stop wondering whether you made the perfect decision and instead, you’ll remember…
laughing when your mom requested hospice at the casino,
the way your dad said bat-trees,
Broncos game day,
Talking Cardinal baseball, and, most of all,
visiting somewhere that was always safe
That’s when you'll realize the decision was never really about the house.
It wasn't about selling,
keeping it,
renting it, or
waiting.
Nor was it ever about aging in place,
Assisted living
Independent Living, or
Memory care communities, .
It’s always about giving someone who taught you what love is to start a new chapter with the safest, fullest, and most meaningful life possible for the whatever season they’re in in life.
If that's the question guiding your family...
You're already asking the right one.
You don’t have to do this alone
Whatever stage you’re in with your mom or dad, I’d love to be a resource or connect you with someone who can be. Feel free to contact me…