Moving on

There comes a time in almost everyone’s life when a home becomes just another house, writes RAY MELDRUM.

Mum will be 99 this year. She lived in the same bungalow in Andersons Bay in Dunedin from 1948 to July 2022.

Dad died in 1987, so she lived alone for 35 years. She coped magnificently while continuing to delight in everything about her married life. The only concessions to her independence were Meals on Wheels and once a week a woman to do the vacuum cleaning. Mum has always referred to this as doing the "luxing", named after the Electrolux, even though the model for the past decade or more has been a Mitsubishi. Mum said the woman was hopeless. Of course.

At the annual get-together with my Dunedin cousins we talk briefly about our ailments. We're all on medication of some sort. Mum is on none.

In July, she got the flu, had a fall, a neighbour saw her on the floor and phoned the police and she ended up in hospital. She was lucky, because early the following morning, the hospital declared a code black, which meant no new patients could be admitted, no matter what.

Mum underwent a clinical assessment and it was decided she could not go back home. When the woman phoned me to talk about financial arrangements, I was so confused I half expected to be declared similarly unfit for independent living.

After a week in hospital, Mum shifted into a retirement home in St Kilda. She is the most recent and oldest of 29 residents.

At first, she was confused but she adjusted and now thrives. She loves the staff, loves the food, loves everything. She is as perky and quick-witted as ever. She has taken up knitting again. She keeps saying she feels a fraud because she isn't sick.

The decision was made to sell the family home so Mum could pay her way until the state takes over and covers the costs of care. My nephew and his partner live along the road in Musselburgh and have long been Mum's amazing minders. This hasn't been too much of a burden as Mum has always valued being as self-reliant as possible.