senior-spectrum.com - joyce christensen

In this first installment, Christensen introduces us to her mother, Thelma Price, and begins to chronicle their two-decade struggle with health problems, con artists, nursing home negligence and other obstacles.

"My main goal in putting the story together is to educate people and help them not make as many mistakes as I did," Christensen says.

-- David Kline, editor

It's November 2002, and another chapter of my life is beginning. I spent the past 15 years being a caregiver to my mom. She lived in SunBridge Brittany Care Center for the last 18 months of her life, and died at age 90.

Each day, I counted my blessings having had her with me for so many wonderful years. Even though Mom's frail body was completely paralyzed, she continued teaching me lessons about life, and the challenges older people face.

She communicated with me through her eyes. Somehow, I think I could always feel what she needed. I learned to be more tolerant and to enjoy each day one step at a time. Mom and I developed a deep understanding of each other as we adapted to a new phase of life.

As I visited Mom each day at the nursing home, I discovered that many of the patients had no visitors, and everyone needs to feel loved. I always found time to share my hugs and smiles with newfound elder friends. I made that part of my daily job -- or perhaps I should say my pleasure.

Life definitely was not at all like I visualized years ago. I thought Mom would continue to surprise me with one of her famous butterscotch pies, or join me for lunch at a favorite restaurant. I knew we would always plan holidays together, and she would continue to have the cleanest house this side of the Mississippi. Things sure do have a strange way of changing.

Let me share with you a 20-year journey with Mom.

We have not always been close. My dad died at age 40 after a two-year battle with cancer. Mom was 38. She raised three daughters as a single parent. She was a tough taskmaster, determined that her daughters would be perfect.
Heaven knows she tried.

Ginger, my youngest sister, committed suicide at age 30 due to a misdiagnosed mental condition. Mom was in her mid 50s, and was slow to recover from the shock of my sister leaving us. After months of trying to understand losing a daughter to suicide, she pulled through the tragedy and found peace in her life.

Mom was full of energy as she moved into her 60s. She enjoyed being a grandmother, and took pride in her home. Slowly, the family scattered to areas where job opportunities beckoned. My sister moved to Illinois, where she and her family still reside. My children both moved to Oregon. Now it was just "Mom and me."

Even though Mom was healthy, I worried about her living alone. I always made time to visit her three to four times a week. Often she would say, "I miss you, Joyce. I wish you weren't so busy." I couldn't understand what more she expected of me.

One day she asked if she could work in my dress shop so she could be with people and make new friends. Mom needed to gain back her self-esteem and feel needed. Why hadn't I thought of that? What a great opportunity for me to be with her almost every day, and keep her busy. She became the manager of my dress shop, "Fashions By Joyce."

The job gave her lots of responsibility and prestige. It was a win-win situation from the beginning. My clients loved her spunk and enthusiasm. She also became a confidant and second mother to the 150 models in my agency. Life was good, and I had peace of mind.

I closed the modeling agency in 1979. It was time to do something my husband wanted to do -- owning a modeling agency did not fulfill his dreams. He liked the wide open spaces where he could fish and hunt, and not be confined to a business office. The oil business was booming. My husband, Chris, and I moved to Wyoming.

We lived an adventuresome lifestyle for the next 15 years. I opened another modeling and talent agency, and balanced my time so I could travel with my husband in several states for his job.

Every year, our vacations included a trip home to the Sacramento area to visit Mom, who turned 70, and Chris' dad who in his early 80s. We noticed changes each time we went home. We knew the time was not far off -- we would need to live closer to them.

When the oil business in Wyoming went downhill, we started singing, "California Here We Come." It was time to take care of our parents.

Chris's dad, now 87, asked us to stay with him for a few months until we decided where to buy a home. "A few months" ended up being 7 years. Each time we told Dad we needed to move, tears welled up in his eyes. He would always say, "Please stay a few more months -- I love having you with me." He made it impossible to say no. Mom still lived in her mobile home in Folsom, a 20-minute drive from Dad's home.

I developed and directed a children's television show that required 60 hours a week. I juggled my time to visit Mom three times a week. I again found a job for her, this time working on the TV set. She loved it. The 30 children actors working with me adopted a new grandmother, and we settled into a busy routine filled with fun and happiness.

As I reflect on my journey through years of change with Mom, keep in mind, many experiences I share could effect your life someday. Perhaps you have an elderly parent. Maybe you are heading into your senior years and know you will be faced with challenging decisions regarding your own future. I hope that by sharing my story, I can save you from making a few of the mistakes I made along the way.

I'm sure you've heard the expression, "If only I knew then what I know now." Truer words were never spoken.

Next week: Mom fights to retain her independence as health problems begin to jeopardize her safety.