After my son convinced me to move into a nursing home, I wrote him letters every day telling him how much I missed him. He never replied to any of them, until one day, a stranger came to take me home.
When I turned 81, I was diagnosed with osteoporosis, which made it difficult for me to move without assistance. My condition also made it hard for my son, Tyler, and his wife, Macy, to take care of me, so they decided to move me into a nursing home.
“We can’t take care of you all day, Mom,” Tyler told me. “We have work. We’re not caregivers.”
I wondered why he suddenly felt this way toward me, especially since I had always tried to stay out of his way so as not to disrupt his daily routine. I mostly stayed in my room and used a walker to help me whenever I had to move around the house.
“I’ll stay out of your way, I promise. But please, don’t send me to a nursing home. Your father built this house for me, and I’d like to stay here for the rest of my life,” I pleaded with him.
Tyler shrugged, saying that the house my late husband, James, had built was “too big for me.”
“Come on, Mom,” he said. “Let Macy and me have the house! Look how much space there is. We could have a gym and separate offices. There’s plenty of room for renovations.”
At that moment, I realized their decision to move me into a nursing home wasn’t about ensuring I received proper care, but rather about their desire to have the house for themselves. I felt deeply hurt, trying to hold back my tears as I realized that, in a way, Tyler had become a selfish man.
“What did I do wrong?” I asked myself as I walked to my room that night. I thought I had raised a well-mannered son, but it seemed I was mistaken. I never would have expected my son to betray me like this.
With few options, Tyler and Macy took me to a nearby nursing home, where they said the nurses would take care of me around the clock. “Don’t worry, Mom, we’ll visit you as often as we can,” Tyler assured me.
Hearing this, I thought that maybe moving to a nursing home wouldn’t be so bad, as they would still come to see me. What I didn’t know was that Tyler was lying and just wanted to be rid of me.
Each day in the nursing home felt like an eternity. Although the nurses were kind and I enjoyed talking with the other patients, I still missed being with my family. I longed for home, not a place full of strangers.
Without a phone or a tablet, I wrote letters to Tyler every day, asking him to visit or update me on how he was doing. I never received a response or a visit.
After two years in the nursing home, I lost all hope that anyone would come. “Please, take me home,” I prayed every night, but after so much time, I tried to convince myself to stop hoping.
One day, however, I was surprised to learn from my nurse that a man in his forties was at the office asking about me. “Could my son finally be here to visit me?” I asked, quickly grabbing my walker before heading to the entrance.
When I arrived, I had a big smile on my face, thinking it was Tyler. But to my surprise, it was another man I hadn’t seen in years. “Mom!” he exclaimed, giving me a big hug.
“Ron? Is that you, Ron?” I asked.
“It’s me, Mom. How have you been? I’m sorry it took me so long to visit. I just got back from Europe and came straight to your house,” he said.
“My house? Did you see Tyler and Macy there? They put me in a nursing home a few years ago, and I haven’t seen them since,” I revealed.
Ron looked at me with sadness and asked me to sit down. We sat across from each other on the couch, and he began to tell me what had happened in the two years I had been in the nursing home.
“Mom, I’m sorry you have to hear this from me. I thought you already knew,” he began. “Tyler and Macy died in a fire last year… I only found out when I went to their house and saw it abandoned. I decided to check the mailbox to see if I could find any information on where you might be, and I saw all your unread letters,” he explained.
I couldn’t believe what Ron was telling me. Although I harbored resentment toward my son for what he had done, learning about his death still broke my heart. I cried the entire day, mourning both his and Macy’s deaths.
Through all my tears, Ron never left my side. He comforted me and stayed with me in silence until I was ready to talk again.
Ron was a boy I had once brought into my home. He and Tyler had been childhood friends and were inseparable when they were younger.
Unlike Tyler, who had everything he could ever want, Ron grew up in poverty and was raised by his grandmother after his parents died. I treated him like my own son, feeding him, clothing him, and letting him live with us until he left to study in Europe.
After getting a well-paying job in Europe, Ron never returned to the U.S., and over time, we lost contact. I never thought I would see him again, until he showed up at the nursing home.
“Mom,” he said after I finally calmed down. “I don’t think you should be in this nursing home. Will you let me take you home? I’d love to take care of you,” he offered.
I couldn’t help but cry again. My own son had kicked me out of the house, and here was a man willing to take me in, even though he wasn’t my blood relative. “You would really do that for me?”
“Of course, Mom. You don’t need to ask. You raised me to be who I am today. Without you, I’m nothing,” Ron said, hugging me.
That night, Ron helped me pack my things and took me to his new home. There, I discovered that he had a large family who welcomed me with open arms. I spent the remaining years of my life happily, surrounded by people who truly cared for and loved me.
What can we learn from this story?
Respect your elders and never forget what they’ve done for you. Tyler didn’t appreciate his mother despite all the sacrifices she made for him. He didn’t want to take responsibility for caring for her as she aged and chose to send her to a nursing home. Family isn’t always about blood. Ron hadn’t seen her in years, but he never forgot the kindness she showed him when he was younger. In the end, he chose to repay that kindness by taking her in and caring for her for the rest of her life.
