Back in June my mom took a bad spill and broke her ankle in three places. She was wheelchair-bound for several weeks. No weight at all on that ankle. She is not a young woman. My dad is not a young man, and while he could do a lot of caretaking she needed, he couldn’t do all.
So my brother called their house of worship and made arrangements for meals to be delivered twice a week. My folks eat like birds, so these meals lasted several days (and we froze portions, too). My sibs and I, along with my children, nieces, and nephew, started a Parent Patrol, and took turns going to my folks house every day to make sure they had a hot meal and everything was okay (my dad really can’t manage hot meals, but he can do cereal and sandwiches). One or more persons was on hand every single day to feed them and clean up afterward, plus deal with other stuff, if only to keep Mom company while Dad puttered around outdoors.
Whenever I was there and the meals were delivered, my parents’ friends continually commented on how wonderful it was that we were all taking care of our parents. Which confused me. I mean, what were we supposed to do? Put rocks in their pockets and toss them in the creek?