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YOUR RETIREMENT

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RETIREMENT
Helping Your Parent to a New Life
How one family eased mom's transition to a retirement community.

My father wouldn't move to Washington. "I hate D.C.," he said, when I suggested that he and my mother move near me. He had lived there as an ornery adolescent and hadn't been impressed. At 78, he was still ornery.

But my parents knew they would eventually have to move somewhere. They lived 25 miles from Charlottesville, Va., the nearest city. Their home and 30-acre property in the Virginia countryside required upkeep. My father had undergone cancer surgery that affected his speech, and he worried about making himself understood by phone in an emergency. They would certainly move
to town or close to one of their four children . . . someday.

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In procrastinating, my parents were in good company: "Most of us are staunchly independent. We want to stay at home," says Larry Minnix, president of the American Association of Homes and Services for the Aging. "Plus, it's a dang nuisance to move." The average age of people who move to a community that includes care is 78 to 85.

Four years after my parents began the conversation, my mother did move to the D.C. area -- alone. The circumstances that led her there included a devastating heart attack, her children's insistence that she stop driving and, sadly, my father's death. As events unfolded, our family not only confronted a series of financial and logistical decisions but also discovered resources that helped us at each stage. Here's what we learned.

Looking Around

At first, Mom and I, and sometimes Dad, would duck out during my weekend visits to look at retirement communities in Charlottesville. The places we saw represented three models. Independent living provides housing and some services but no health care. Assisted living offers residents help with basics, such as dressing and bathing. Continuing-care retirement communities combine independent housing, assisted living and nursing-home care on one campus.

Assisted living was out. My parents were nowhere near that stage. The continuing-care retirement community was attractive but a little formal for my mother's taste, and the independent-housing prices were high -- currently almost $6,000 a month for a two-bedroom cottage with no deposit and $4,325 a month for the same model with a $270,000 deposit. That left independent living. We warmed to Branchlands, an apartment development with a communal dining room, social activities and bus service to grocery stores, pharmacies and banks. The monthly fee, now $1,500 to $2,500, includes rent, two meals and the other amenities.

Branchlands would mean leaving behind the yardwork, the long drives to doctors and stores, the balky furnace -- and the lavish garden, the glorious views, the delightfully quirky house. Surprisingly, Dad was willing to go for it. Mom said maybe -- but not yet.

Suffering a Health Crisis

My husband, Chris, and I came home from a Friday-night movie to phone messages stacked up like planes on a runway. My 77-year-old mother, so vigorous that she had climbed Old Rag in the Blue Ridge Mountains the previous year, had suffered a massive heart attack. By the time Chris and I arrived at the University of Virginia Medical Center two and a half hours later, the doctor's prognosis couldn't have been bleaker. His exact words: "There is no hope."

He was wrong. My mother survived the night, the week, and bypass surgery 12 days later. My brother and two sisters, who had rushed to Virginia, and I took turns camping in her room in the intensive-care unit. As she inched her way back to life, we realized with joy and trepidation that we would be planning not for her funeral but for her homecoming. Shortly before she was discharged, the doctor said, "This is the time to bring in all the troops."

Talk about feeling daunted. My siblings -- Julie, Genna and Champ -- live respectively in Oregon, North Carolina and California. We all have families and busy lives. Mom was so weak she could barely walk, much less climb stairs, and she was taking 14 medications; a few weeks earlier, she had taken none. Dad wanted to help, but he was undergoing chemo and, frankly, he wasn't much of a nurse.

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