How Do I Find a Home for My Mom?
Shopping for an Assisted Living Facility
By Kim Brant-Lucich, co-author of “Survival Guide to Caring for Aging Parents”
There comes a time when every adult caring for an elderly parent starts asking the question none of us want to ask: is it time to put mom in a “home”? Maybe your question is broader — “How do I choose the right living arrangement for my aging parent?” Or maybe you’ve already answered that one, and you’re stuck on the next: “How do I actually find an assisted living facility?” I was in the second camp. I knew assisted living was right for my mother. She didn’t need nursing home care, and a group home wouldn’t have given her the social environment she needed to thrive. Chapter 7 of our book, Survival Guide to Caring for Aging Parents, walks through the full range of living scenarios. In this article, I want to share my personal story about the search I went through for my mother, along with some guidance on how to pick the best option for yours.
My Personal Journey
My mother was fiercely self-sufficient. For years, she insisted assisted living was for “old people.” Even at 95, she didn’t count herself among them. Mentally, she was sharp as ever — she didn’t need anyone spoon-feeding her, watching food dribble down her chin. But physically, her limitations were impossible to ignore. She walked hunched over, likely a lasting effect of back surgery two decades earlier. Neuropathy in her hands made it hard to grip things — getting a lid off a jar was practically a wrestling match. She used a walker to get around, even inside her own home. She resisted the idea of assisted living with everything she had, and honestly, I resisted pushing the issue too — her sharp mind and the steep cost of assisted living both gave me pause. Given her limited resources, I knew I’d be the one underwriting whatever we chose. For a while, this arrangement worked. Until it didn’t.
When she was 95, the falls started. She’d insist she was fine, then I’d get a midnight call: “I just fell. I’m fine, but I can’t get up.” One night, the local fire department called instead of her — she’d dialed 911, then refused to let them break down her door, so they called me next. My husband and I threw on clothes and made the twenty-minute drive to her apartment at midnight. Standing there, I knew: this was it. I couldn’t keep sleeping with one eye open, waiting for the call where twenty minutes would be too long. In a stroke, minutes matter. My mother needed to be somewhere she’d have help getting around, wouldn’t need to cook for herself, and had clinicians on hand if something worse happened.
So I told her: “It’s time to move to assisted living.” She fought me, of course, saying, “I can’t.” I asked if it was the money. It was. I told her not to worry about that part. When an emergency forces the decision, you don’t get the luxury of shopping around — but I’d been lucky enough to have some lead time, and I’d been quietly planning for this moment for a while. At a social gathering, I’d met a woman named Bonnie whose entire job was helping families place their parents in facilities. I told her what I needed: the right geography (close to me, close to my mother’s doctors, close to a good hospital), and a budget I could actually sustain. I was working full-time and doing well, but every dollar I spent on her care was a dollar not going toward my own retirement. Bonnie came back quickly with a shortlist — facilities, contacts, her candid take on each one. Ironically, one of them was the very place my mother had moved her own mother into, twenty years earlier. It had been renovated since, and it seemed perfect. That was the first place we toured.
My mother and I visited together, had lunch in the dining room (no charge), and she got to meet a few other residents over a genuinely good meal. Best of all, the facility let her move in on a trial basis — no furniture to haul, no apartment to empty yet. Just a suitcase of clothes and toiletries while she tried it on for size. The timing worked out, too: we had a trip planned in a couple of weeks, and I’d been dreading the idea of canceling it so we wouldn’t be far from her. This way, she could settle in, and we could handle the “real” move — furniture, logistics, the whole business of closing out her apartment — once we were back.
At first, we signed her up for help getting to the dining room and some assistance with bathing. I told myself this was temporary, that she’d want to do these things herself once she’d adjusted. I was wrong. Once the help was there, she loved it. I suspect that’s the rule, not the exception. So let me turn my story into something useful for you. Here’s what I’d tell you to look for.
Finding the Perfect Assisted Living
☐ Be honest about what your parent actually needs. Mobility, mental acuity, and medical care needs all point toward different kinds of facilities — assisted living, memory care, a group home, or a nursing home. Most facilities have minimum mobility requirements (can your parent get in and out of a chair, or walk a few steps with a cane or walker?), so ask upfront before you fall in love with a place that won’t take her.
☐ Set your budget before you start touring. Assisted living is almost always paid out of pocket — Medicare typically won’t cover room and board, though it may help with specific medical services. Know the number before you start, or you’ll fall for the nicest lobby instead of the right fit.
☐ Ask about the full continuum of care. Some facilities offer independent living, assisted living, memory care, and nursing care all under one roof — sometimes called “aging in place.” If your parent is likely to need more care down the road, a facility that can grow with their needs means one less traumatic move later.
☐ If memory loss is part of the picture, look specifically at memory care. It costs more, quality varies wildly, and some units are “locked down” for residents’ safety. Visit with clear eyes — these units can feel a little bleak, so weigh comfort and safety carefully.
☐ Find out if the facility accepts Medicaid. Even if your parent doesn’t need it now, needs and finances both tend to shift over time. Knowing whether Medicaid is an option later can save you a scramble. Most facilities are happy to assist you with the application process. It may ease your financial burden, but it’s also revenue for the facility.
☐ Tour in person, and eat the meal. A dining room tells you a lot. Meet a few residents if you can. It’s the fastest way to get a real read on the atmosphere, not just the marketing brochure.
☐ Ask about a trial stay. If your parent is on the fence, some facilities will let him or her move in short-term with just a suitcase before committing to the full move — furniture, apartment closeout, and all. It buys everyone time to adjust without the pressure of an irreversible decision.
☐ Get the full menu of add-on costs in writing. Bathing, toileting, medication management, laundry, hair appointments — these charges pile up fast, and needs escalate quicker than you’d expect. Budget as if your parent will eventually need most of them, because she probably will.
☐ Think about language and communication. If your parent is hard of hearing or has a strong preference for a particular language, make sure the caregivers and staff she’ll interact with daily can actually communicate with her clearly.
☐ Check quality ratings and ask for references. Not all facilities — or even all rooms in the same facility — are created equal. Do the homework before you sign anything.
☐ Involve your parent in the process, if she’s able. Let her tour, weigh in, and have a say. A decision made with her, not just for her, tends to land a lot easier.
☐ Consider a placement agency if you want help narrowing the field. A good placement specialist, like my Bonnie, can save you enormous time. Although many of these specialists are compensated by the facilities they place residents in, the industry is highly regulated, so they are generally incentivized to put you into the best place that will result in a happy customer and word of mouth for their services.
Bringing Her Home
Looking back, the hardest part was never the logistics. It was the moment I had to look my mother in the eye and tell her that her life, as she knew it, was about to change. No checklist makes that conversation painless. I wish I had shopped a little sooner - before that final fall when the fire department was told not to break down her door. While my mother was still self-sufficient, I had a little time to determine the budget, the tours, and the trial stay so that I wasn’t scrambling. We were ready. When I ended up needing to move my mother to a nursing home later, that was a far more difficult conversation, and the topic for a separate blog.
My mother never once, in the time that followed, asked to go back to her apartment. She made friends at her dining room table. She let people help her, and eventually, she let herself enjoy being helped. If you’re standing where I stood — staring at a parent who insists she’s fine, waiting for the phone call that tells you otherwise — know that the guilt you feel is not a signal that you’re doing something wrong. It’s a signal that you love her. Do the research, trust what you find, and give yourself permission to make the call before an emergency makes it for you. You are not giving up on your mother’s independence. You are protecting it, in the only way that’s left when the falls start adding up. That’s not failure. That’s love, with a floor plan.