In March, the trees bare and the ground sodden, we tour nursing homes. My mother and I have come to call them care centers like the glossy brochures instruct. We have read the reviews online and we start with the best of the best. We wind our way through the “campuses” of independent and assisted living condos. A friend of my mother's who resides in one of these communities says it is a great place to live—movie nights and margarita Mondays. But that is not what we are looking for. After passing the new construction, we make our way to what is almost always the oldest building on campus. We learn that there is a code we must enter or a button we must push to be let into these buildings. Otherwise an alarm will sound. These are the long-term care facilities.
At each place we tour, a kind woman...
