Mom died suddenly. She was there, and then she wasn’t. An aortic aneurysm killed her at 45.

Now Dad is 89. He’s not sick and bedridden, but currently, because of a fall, he’s in a skilled nursing center, and there are many things he loves to do that he is not doing.

Perhaps Mom would’ve lived longer if she’d been able to see a doctor. Oh, there was a doctor, but he was on vacation, and she didn’t get around to finding another one. After all, she was 45, exercised and didn’t smoke or drink. Dad sees a lot of nurses and some doctors. There are constant checks of his heart, blood pressure, etc. He sees a speech therapist, occupational therapist, and physical therapist.

There’s a lot of waiting between checks and therapy. The place has activities, and the staff is certainly busy, but it still has a feeling of something lacking, of not enough, of can’t we think of something better?

Everything is designed for things going wrong and budget requirements. The rooms are painted boring colors. Obviously the furniture must be designed for whatever a patient shows up with. And there isn’t enough furniture. Dad’s room isn’t too small, but there’s one chair. Nothing about the room says, “Sit and stay a while.” And sure, some patients have no visitors, but shouldn’t visits be encouraged? If I could sit in that room with a cup of coffee and my laptop, I could stay much longer.

As it is, I visit every day, twice on days I don’t work. Today, I got to sit in on a group exercise activity and his physical therapy. Plus, I met the speech therapist, two nurses, two aids, a nursing student, and even a maintenance guy. I also took his laundry home.

Dad isn’t at death’s door. Of course, he’s 89 and no one knows how much time they have, but as I type this, he seems to have as good a chance to live another decade as to have only ten more days. But these feel like diminished days. Or maybe I’m projecting my own unease (horror?) at the thought of mentally unchallenging days. What if I won’t be able to read good books or write wild stories? What if I too can no longer make things?

Surely, we could create a better way to grow older? What a question to ask now when programs and funds are being slashed and burned at careless and cruel speed.

Dad has about 15 more days in the skilled nursing facility. Then the insurance stops. We’ll see what happens next.