Here’s what you need to know about your elderly parents and finances. Since we all have aging parents, there’s lots we need to know in order to help them “grow old gracefully.” Today I’m going to concentrate on one area of this topic: elderly parents and finances. Watching your mother and father age can be
For years, I had no idea what was wrong with my mother. That she’d been diagnosed with a mental illness: manic-depression (Known today as Bipolar Disorder.). Ashamed of her condition, Mom told no one. My father stayed silent on the topic as well, not clueing my brothers and me in on her condition. No doubt
By Jennifer Norstrom Silbert Exactly one year ago tonight, my brothers, their wives, and I were standing vigil over my dad’s hospice bed at my parents’ home in Wisconsin. We expected, but didn’t know for sure, that Dad wouldn’t make it through the night. His cancer had roared back into his life just three weeks
‘-Less than 24 hours home from vacation, I reach for my phone. To call my mother to say I’m back, that I’ll visit soon. Then I remember, she’s no longer here. -Flying back east from our Arizona Fiesta Bowl adventure, I check my phone calendar. “Order flowers for Mom’s January 15th birthday.” Throat tight, I delete
by Cole Bozic I didn’t know that on February 1, 2017 my career trajectory would change and shove me into the world of wills and trusts and estates. And maybe I didn’t really understand how the events of that day would effect my decisions until much, much later. You see, On February 1, 2017, my
Twenty-one days ago, my mother passed away. The moment was beautiful—peaceful and holy— and I am so thankful I was with her. Mom’s death served as the final exam for a course I’ve been taking for at least a year now, Death 102: When the end is near (or here). Below, you’ll find my notes from the
One day during my lunch hour in downtown Cincinnati—I lived and worked there in the 80’s—as I walked toward Fountain Square, two gals came at me, arm in arm. The younger woman’s grin was the spitting image of her mom’s. When I stepped in front of them, they stopped walking and talking, their limbs suddenly stiff, their eyes
I’ve come a long way, baby. From being the scarediest of cats about so many things. High bridges, for instance. And death. For the longest time, my parents sheltered my brothers and me from post-mortem matters. It wasn’t until the eighth grade that I attended a funeral, my paternal grandfather’s. In the back of the
“Something’s wrong—changed—with your dad,” Tony Bear said. “He’s not as social as he used to be. Not as talkative. And when you ask him a question, he does this thing where he turns it around and asks you the question.” I’m embarrassed to say, it was my husband—not me, not my mother—who first recognized my father’s cognitive
The Inciting Incident One evening during July 2015, my guys and I returned from a parade downtown to find three messages on the answering machine. They all said the same thing: My mother had fallen at home and been transported to the hospital in her town, 45 minutes away. I packed a bag and drove
