I hope they find many more years of peace and happiness there, It can be great for them if they try to make the best of it.
I had a very similar situation several years ago, at 92 and a widow Mom was very independent, she elected to live alone in HER house until her death. All was great at first then one night two black men broke in while she was in bed and stole everything of value, she was deaf but knew they were there and could do nothing about it, My brother replaced everything that was taken and for over two months he would hide in his SUV and have his wife drive him over to Mom’s house, she would open the garage doors and drive in closing the doors behind her, he would spend the night hoping the thieves would come back. About six weeks after he stopped going they did come back, Mom had a .38 that I had gave her but was afraid to use it, they told her to stay in bed or they would kill her, they then went through the house and took everything they wanted. Two weeks later, against her will my brother; sister and I moved her into an assisted living facility. At first she didn’t like it, but after a while started to really enjoy being there, there were lots of activities that she participated in. On her way down to a dance one evening she elected to take the stairs rather than the elevator, she slipped and fell breaking her hip; she was hospitalized for two weeks and then went to a nursing home because they couldn’t care for her at the assisted living facility. She told my brother she was not going to stay there, he tried to convince her to stay until he completed a room he was preparing for her at his place, she told him No. Less than a week later on the 22 December 2002, she died; the doctor said she just gave up.
We buried her on December 26, 2002; she had turned 94 on December 7.
This was a real eye opener for me for several reasons, First, I went through life dreading to see Christmas come, I tolerated it for the sake of my children but never really liked the season, I never knew why. Standing in the cemetery at Mom’s funeral I looked over at my Fathers grave and it struck me like a lighten bolt, he passed away on December 19, 1949, I was nine years old. I knew this was the date he died, but it never dawned on me that this was the reason I disliked the season, I think the thought of that sad Christmas spoiled them for many years.
