It was with great sadness I learned late Thursday my only surviving uncle (I'll refer to him as "Uncle Bob") was assigned to a state nursing home. He had stayed at his own home with Life Alert for several years until that was no longer an option. Then his children could no longer keep him at their house any longer. He had fallen several months ago and hurt himself. He accidentally set a toaster on fire in April. And, as with many his age (84), he has to wear adult diapers. Uncle Bob told me around Christmas he would rather die at home than go to a nursing home to die. He referred to the nursing home as a "death house." I didn't know what to say. I didn't know what to say because he is right. A nursing home is where children leave their elderly parents because they either no longer can or, in some cases, even want to care for them.

I'm going to go out to the nursing home to visit Uncle Bob today, once I have confirmation he has been settled into a room. My understanding is that he will have to share the room with someone. I know that isn't going to work out. It doesn't seem fitting that a man who survived the invasion of Normandy, in WWII, has to go out this way. I think the same can be said of anyone, not just those who served so gallantly in defense of this nation. I know I will be there someday. Like Uncle Bob, I would rather die at home with my faithful companion, my beagle, Ralph, at my side. But, I know I won't have that choice. Apparently, neither does Uncle Bob.