Yesterday I learned a woman from my childhood neighborhood moved into the room next to mom's. Growing up, Marietta and Dave, plus their sons, lived three houses up the street from us. I remember Marietta being a prolific reader with a messy house. And, at one time, she was also a talented cake decorator with a thriving home business. As gifts, Marietta did my high school graduation and wedding cakes.
Another thing I remember about Marietta was that she was always extremely overweight. I can't remember ever seeing her in anything but a muumuu because that's all that would cover her. Apparently, she never won the "battle of the bulge" because obesity finally landed her in Bethesda.
From my view point, the best way to be in a nursing home is as a dementia patient. Mom has no idea where she is or how awful the situation. But Marietta's mind is sharp, even at 82 years of age, so she is painfully aware of the nightmare she's now living.
For me, Marietta's move has made mom's situation even more bizarre. As my sister-in-law said, "let's just hope the spouses don't move into the 'new' neighborhood, too!"