Mother's New Roommate

I hated having to put my mother in a nursing home. I couldn’t take care of her alone, however, and Mom needed round-the-clock professional care. She had many disabilities because of her age, which included advanced osteoarthritis, advanced glaucoma, and senile dementia, which caused her to be paranoid and suspicious of the motives of almost everyone. She also had to live in a wheelchair.

It broke my heart every time I visited Mom and she would wail, “I want to go home!  Why can’t I go live in my own home—maybe hire someone to come in for a few hours each day? Why can’t you take care of me?”

Although I answered these questions frequently, it never registered. And I’d leave feeling guilty and frustrated.

Mom was still not accepting her situation when her first roommate moved in. Ruth was a cheerful little old lady who had lost one leg. A Christian like Mom, Ruth brought her Bible and Sunday school manual with her.

“Oh, this is wonderful!” I thought. “Now Mom will have a friend and companion to keep her company.”

For a short while Ruth and Mom got along quite well. Ruth’s son and his wife visited frequently and when they brought Ruth a corn-dog or some other culinary treat, they often would bring one for Mom too. 

But Ruth was hard of hearing (as was my mother), and I think this inability to communicate caused misunderstandings. She also was in the beginning stage of Alzheimer’s. When she would wake several times during the night needing a bedpan, instead of pushing the nurses’ button she would cry out loudly, demanding help. Thus she regularly woke up my mother, who thought Ruth expected her to come help in spite of her inability to do so.

Mom became suspicious of everything Ruth did, telling me every time I visited of the things Ruth had done “to aggravate” her. In turn, Ruth and her son became aware of Mom’s antagonistic attitude, so the administrator moved Ruth to another room.

In defense of my mom, she was one of the sweetest Christian ladies who ever lived when she wasn’t paranoid. She was dearly loved by her children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren, as well as all the members of our church. I tried to remind myself of this truth when I got upset with her: This was not my beloved Mom speaking; this was the psychological problem afflicted on her by her advancing old age.

I began praying fervently that the Lord would give Mom a roommate who would not offend her in spite of her problems. Mom herself had one specification. She grew up feeling prejudiced against black people, even though she loved the black Christians who came to hold services at the nursing home. But now, in her psychological state, she had one major fear: “What if they give me a black roommate?”

“Oh, Mom, don’t worry about it,” I consoled her. “I’m asking the Lord to give you just the right roommate—and I know He will.”

When I went in to visit Mom late one afternoon, I found she had moved her wheelchair over to where a new roommate sat in her wheelchair, hooked up to a breathing machine. The two were talking in a friendly fashion.

Mom’s new roommate, Reetha, was black—a sweet little gray-haired Christian lady. How happy I was that Mom seemed to accept her.

Reetha could hear fairly well, so the communication between the two of them was better than it had been with Mom's first roommate. Also, there was something about Reetha—her sweet humble way combined with the fact that, because of her breathing machine, she had to stay in her place most of the time (thus she didn’t regularly bump into the end of my mother’s bed when Mom was napping).

Although my mother was still suspicious of almost everyone else in the nursing home, she accepted dear Reetha!

I believe the Lord led me to start holding a “Mini Prayer and Praise” time with “the girls” which also contributed to this continued acceptance. Each time I visited, we all lifted our hands to heaven together and with faces glowing sang, “Let’s Just Praise the Lord.”

After singing, I would pray with and for them, always including: “Lord, help Mom and Reetha to be a comfort and encouragement to one another.” I think this reminded Mom of the attitude she always had in the past, to be kind and helpful to others; and in this instance, she realized she could be a special blessing to her roommate.

I would close with a “mini-sermon,” a Bible verse that might be particularly meaningful or helpful to these precious ladies. After that, I would do something to leave both ladies laughing at me when I left—which was therapy in itself. Praise, Scripture, prayer, and humor can lift up any Christian.

My mother lived at that nursing home for four-and-a-half years before the Lord took her home at nearly 97 years old. I know I will see her in Heaven some day—and Reetha too!