My mom has always been the rock of our family, the most loving and loyal person I know, and she and I have always been close. In 2018 she had a major brain bleed. I was on my way to work with Renee and our two oldest children when everything changed.
We spent a lot of time at the hospital. She survived, but she could no longer communicate the way she had before. What struck me was that she was still there. I could see her inside the shell her condition created, her love and her personality and what she was trying to say, and I could often understand her when other people could not. Without ever planning for it, I became one of her voices.
My dad’s life changed just as much. My mom had always taken care of him, and at first he was worried he would not be able to care for her. He proved himself wrong. He became her rock and her primary caregiver, and he has been by her side ever since. Watching how he has cared for her gave me an enormous amount of respect for him. My siblings and I all have strong personalities, and we reacted differently at first, but over time we figured out where each of us could help. My part became navigating the system around my parents.
One experience changed how I saw all of it. After a later stroke, my mom was in the hospital and wanted to go home. As the youngest, I had taken on the job of saying what she wanted when she could not say it herself. I did my best to tell the staff we wanted to bring her home. That is when we learned that something as simple as leaving the hospital could have real consequences for her insurance coverage. The hospital had procedures to follow, and suddenly we were facing decisions about coverage that we did not understand. That was the moment it hit me: we needed to learn how this entire system worked.
So I did. Medicare, Medicaid, insurance, appointments, records, providers, what was covered, and what could affect coverage later. I did not have anyone who could simply explain it, so I became that person for my parents. I was added to their insurance so I could get records, make appointments, and help manage their care. It was hard, and not just because of the paperwork. There were a lot of nights when I tried to come to terms with our family’s new reality.
My parents had been snowbirds for more than a decade, traveling between Minnesota and Arizona, and my dad kept bringing my mom to Phoenix. She was later diagnosed with dementia and approved for hospice, first in Arizona and then in Minnesota once we were able to get them home.
One morning a hospice nurse sat with my dad, three of my siblings, and me to explain where things stood and what the options were. My mom was asleep on the couch beside us. Together we decided to shift the focus of her care toward comfort. There was something surreal about making that decision a few feet from the person we were making it for. It was heartbreaking.
This has been one of the hardest things I have gone through with someone I love, and it changed how I think about aging and caregiving. I do not believe families should have to become experts in senior care, Medicare, Medicaid, insurance, and hospice at the exact moment someone they love needs them most.
If CasperCare had existed when we needed it, I wish someone could have explained the process and shown us our options. That is the kind of help I want CasperCare to provide, so a son can spend more time being a son and a family can spend more of the time they still have together.