When life becomes one room

But in this instance its more like a place at the same table. "Residents do get territorial about their dining place ", we are told. Our guide is frank likable and sympathetic, but also businesslike. I nearly fall off the chair when she tells us about the bond.

How can people who lack resources afford this cost? The deposit eventually returns to the estate but for many it must mean that family homes have to be sold. I glaze over when she explains how deals may be struck for payment of a partial deposit

Both nursing homes are pleasant if hotel like. Welcome to the Hotel California, such a lovely place. But its temporary air is ominous. After all, in the metaphorical twilight home, it is futile; to 'try to find the passage back to the place you were before'. So although 'you can check out any time you like, you can never really leave'.

This 'hotel' has long carpeted corridors with closed doors and names or smiling elderly faces to aid recognition. In that way it reminds me of kindergarten coat hooks with symbols and pictures that children can latch onto. Sonja has a rose .David has a car.

I call in on my aunt Hanni with her smiling picture on the wall beside her door. She seems to recognise me as though it is no way odd, that I have suddenly turned up after an absence of thirty years. I ask her if she likes it here. Its just a room one room , where I wait. Its very boring here but I am waiting till God decides what he wants to do with me. She laughs impishly. Remembering my father she offers to summon him up to talk to me. She remembers her husband less charitably. Saying she doesn't talk to him anymore.

People with dementia often seek a home they can't retrieve or reclaim, and people that they cannot recognise. As we walk around the corridors a woman calls to me "come here" she shouts stretching out her arms ."Come here' Later I say. "I will come later' Another hovers concerned at the information desk, the self appointed assistant cruising behind her walking frame. The human bell that you don't have to ring ,for attention. Can I help you, she inquires? She has lovely deep dark eyes, and calls to the manager. "These people need help". It is touching and melancholic.

I have heard that in dementia people become more like themselves, and I can see this emerging in my elderly relatives. Unlike novelist Patrick White's observation of the achievement of sameness as the faces smudge with time.

The third establishment we unanimously agree to flee. It has that unmistakeable old folk's home aura and scent suggestive of incontinence. The vast open dining room is as comfortless and empty as a cold old dance hall.

When I get back to the relative 'richness' of my mother's apartment, surrounded by her old photos and her tapestries ,and her accumulated bric a brac, the contrast is powerful. Most elderly people prefer to retain as much independence and to remain at home as long as possible. So could there be other ways to support them in this? Would this be the true meaning of aging in place? If we honour the principals of respect and dignity, then right to choose becomes paramount. Choice is so important at every level , even when it comes to the events of daily life. It is tempting to take over all aspects of the aged person's life, as though they are now a child, intending it to be for his or her own good. Research shows improved outcomes in states of mind and reduction of depression with humanising approaches to aged care.

The person is still there somewhere, despite not being able to remember your name, or what he ate for breakfast.