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The ties that bind families (cont.) Closing the distance
Sometimes, it’s the elderly parents who make the sacrifices. Take the Dreschers. Rita, 90, had worked in a tie factory much of her life; Sidney, 91, had been a hatter and a courier on Wall Street. At first they didn’t want to move to Pittsburgh from their four-room apartment in the Bronx. They were getting by on their own, even with Rita’s diabetes. Still, their son Seymour, a history professor at the University of Pittsburgh, worried about how long they would be able to manage with no family nearby. He put their names on the waiting list at the Riverview Apartments for seniors. When an apartment opened up for them, they turned it down. Four years passed. Their neighborhood deteriorated, Sidney was mugged, Rita’s health declined. Most of their old friends were dead, and distance was an increasing worry for Seymour and his wife, Ruth, both in their 60s. "There was only so much we could do from Pittsburgh," said Seymour. "What if there was an emergency? I didn’t want to have to move them in a crisis." Additional urging from a grandson had its effect, and when the Dreschers reached the top of the waiting list again in 1993, they agreed to relocate. "Let’s say they convinced us," said Sidney with a wry smile. It was a traumatic move in some ways. Most Riverview tenants are lifelong Pittsburghers who knew other residents when they arrived. The Dreschers knew only their children. Still, they have adjusted. Their two-room apartment with bath and kitchen is smaller than they were used to, but as much as they need. Family pictures make it homey, and the window has a nice view of a wooded hillside. They enjoy the communal dinner each night and riding the Access van to the shopping district. Sidney attends religious services in the building every day. And, said Rita, "I sure don’t miss cooking." The two generations of Dreschers see each other often. Seymour fills his mother’s syringes, Ruth drives her in-laws to doctor’s appointments and has come to appreciate them in ways that distance didn’t allow. Family reunions are more numerous, not to mention richer, as the grown grandchildren come home for holidays with their own children in tow. Now, the senior Dreschers say, they couldn’t get along without the children. Said Sidney: "They’re keeping us going." Lightening the load Veda Mackowick, 74, made a sacrifice, too. And as with the Dreschers’, it led to a new chapter of her life. Sharp as a tack and full of life, Mackowick agreed to enter the Baptist Home in Mt. Lebanon six years ago. Caring for her in her wheelchair was getting difficult for her children, and it made sense for her to be part of a community instead of sitting home alone. Now she’s not alone unless she wants to be. One of the younger and more able residents, she helps her 90-year-old roommate dress in the mornings, rides the van to South Hills Village mall for lunch with friends, and even has an occasional party in the community room. Still, her daughter, Carol DeAndrea, tears up when she talks about the day her mother agreed to move. Mackowick has multiple sclerosis; she’s been in a wheelchair for 14 years. Her caregiver was her husband, who was blind. They bought a house across the street from DeAndrea in order to be closer. But the day before the closing, Mackowick’s husband died suddenly. She moved in anyway, along with her two youngest sons, in their 20s and single. They had full-time jobs, so a caregiver came in a few days a week and DeAndrea ran over to help on the other days. But with young children at home, she couldn’t spend a lot of time or get her mother out much. Then one son married and moved out. The other’s back was giving out from lifting Mackowick. Once she fell out of her motorized wheelchair. DeAndrea still helped out as much as she could, but it wasn’t enough and the guilt was getting to her. "I felt awful thinking of her sitting there alone and isolated," the daughter said. "She was never very demanding and she never complained. But every time I drove past, I felt guilty about leaving her there. Then I’d get a little resentful about having those feelings, which made me feel even guiltier." There was some resentment, too, toward the two out-of-town siblings. "They helped financially, but their lives were never disrupted. Meanwhile, I always felt pulled in two directions at once." Mackowick could see how her needs were weighing on her children. So when they told her they’d been looking at nursing homes – and after the initial shock wore off — she accepted that it was time. "My kids made the decision for me," she said. "They didn’t insist, but I could see what they were going through. My son had to dress me and lift me. He never showed any resentment — none of my children did — but it was hard on them." DeAndrea calls moving day "one of the hardest days of my life. I still cry about it. It was a gift she gave us, to lighten our loads." Mackowick is more sanguine. "There’s no place like home," she said, "but this is the next best place."
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