How do you balance the truth, the reality of a situation, against a person’s need to maintain their dignity?

Photo by David Monje on Unsplash

July 21, 2019

Today, I realized how many “lasts” my mother has had in the past two months. The deterioration of aging and illness is taking her freedom. It’s visible, day by day. As fast as a sunflower reaches towards the sky, that is how quickly she is bending back towards the earth.

The last time she will drive.

The last time she will shop alone.

The last time she will walk without a walker.

The last time she will shower without help.

I make suggestions about how she can continue to do the things she wants to do. Ways she can modify her behavior but still be able to do everything she has always done. Like go to Walmart. I suggest renting a collapsible wheelchair. She says she will just walk around and when she’s tired, she’ll sit on the benches near the pharmacy.

“But you’re a fall risk,” I say, regretting it the moment it leaves my mouth.

The truth of it is, they almost didn’t let her come directly home because of the fall risk. With her mobility issues, home is not a safe environment right now.

I’m labeling her a “fall risk”. She’s not a fall risk. That’s not a label you can put on a person. She’s rapidly losing her ability to ambulate as she once did. But she is a person. A whole person. She is not defined by the effects of aging. She’s my mom. She’s a whole person. That will never change.

I’m trying to help. I’m trying to troubleshoot. Problem solve. I made a career out of it. I’m not trying to make her life less, take away. I’m trying to help her make the adjustments she needs to experience the fullness of life.

How do you balance the truth, the reality of a situation, against a person’s need to maintain their dignity? I don’t know the answer to that question.