Yesterday 96-year-old Mrs. Z. went to the hospital in an ambulance. Her back was so sore she could barely walk; her eyes, so dim she could hardly see; her appetite, so sparse she scarcely ate. She'd been living rather capably on her own since her husband died in the 70's. That is until the last year. The people she had come to rely on to buy things for her, take her places and help her read labels had each been telling her about senior's residences. When I foolishly mentioned "nursing home," I think she wanted to kill me.
Her main objection to such places, "I would die there."
She was right of course.