I had agreed to meet my grandmother early for Tuesday-night dinner. She expected a crowd of people to line up and wanted to make sure we got a good table. The food at the retirement community was usually underwhelming, and it was not a holiday or special occasion, so what could cause everyone to rush to dinner on a random Tuesday?

Snickers Salad!

What on Earth? And do I want to know!

When I arrived, the usual small group of regular early arrivals were huddled together as usual, chatting and waiting impatiently for a meal that would start in 1 1/2 hours. However, unlike a normal Tuesday night, the crowd was bigger and there was a line of walkers and wheelchairs. Everyone was waiting at 3:30 in the afternoon to claim their seats in the large dining room. The French doors were were not open but servers could be seen setting up for the meal inside and the line of residents seemed happy. Laughing and talking was all around. My grandmother could never miss a party!

The posted menu was a mystery to me. The menu’s Salad/Appetizer choices confirmed that I had not misunderstood what Grandmother had told me on the phone: Chicken Soup or Snickers Salad. The remaining courses were not memorable, the main dish doesn’t really matter when you get to start with a Snicker’s Salad. I puzzled over this first course as I chatted with Grandmother and her friends. Was it a green salad that had some sort of sweet topping to make it taste like a Snickers bar? Peanut clusters, figs, raisins, or some other sweet thing? That did not sound like something that would bring people out early to line up for dinner. So, of course I had to order it.

As the servers brought the first course, I quickly learned that Snickers Salad had no place in the salad category. It was literally Snickers candy bars, chopped up and mixed with whipped cream (or maybe marshmallow fluff?) and, for some reason, halved green grapes. This was served in a glass goblet often used for an ice cream sundae.

A later Google search opened my eyes to this apparent retro Midwestern delicacy. Snickers Salad has been featured in the holy grail that is Southern Living and in, I’m sure, innumerable parish cookbooks next to recipes for Jell-O salad and ambrosia salad. I’ve now seen recipes featuring grapes and apples (perhaps helping it earn the title of salad?) and everything from whipped cream, marshmallow fluff, and vanilla pudding holding the candy bar chunks and fruit together.

Snickers Salad made my teeth hurt just looking at it. I am not a health fanatic – I honestly believe Nerd Gummy Clusters are the best new candy in the last 20 years and usually have some in my gigantic bag. But, this was a “salad” made with so much sugar that I could not believe it was being served in a retirement home. These people did not need this kind of sugar rush to start off a meal. How did they avoid diabetic incidents? Who thought of adding this to the menu?

When I stopped obsessing over the image of trays full of Snickers Salad being served to an entire dining room of senior citizens, I looked around. Everyone was digging in. People were smiling. It was an entirely different place this particular Tuesday night – not even the grumpiest of the old people was complaining about the food. Most of the people around the room were in their 80s or 90s. So, what the hell, right? Eat what you like and enjoy your evening! I finally just said “F&ck it” and ate my own Snickers Salad.

Our dinner was a blast. Good conversation and good people. I laughed all the way home as I relayed the recipe for Snicker’s Salad to my sister and then my best friend over the phone. We discussed how ridiculous it is that a retirement home that was centered around the health and wellbeing of its residents would serve Snickers Salad.

But then I started to think that through. What should our role be when our loved ones get older? I know we want them to live healthy lives, but in trying to keep them safe are we missing the point?

I tend to focus on protecting the safety and health of my grandmother, doing what it takes to extend life. But is this the right tendency? We cannot expect that our loved ones would consent to being wrapped in bubble wrap and made to stay safely seated in their carefully planned rooms all day long. Yes, this would avoid the dreaded fall – but it would also be a pretty miserable existence.

At this point, I had been locked in what felt like combat for over a year with my grandmother. As I was trying to do what is best for her, she was mounting a furious resistance at every turn. I can now clearly see where my teenage daughter got her sass and her obstinance – girl can argue about the sky being blue (and, let’s get real, I may also have an argumentative streak). It all came to a head with a decision to move her to assisted living after a stroke, but it was about so much more than that. I had taken control of scheduling for doctor’s appointments and blood tests, taken over decision making with respect to medications and pill burden, required her to use a walker when she was at home and begged her to use it when she went out (even though she ignored me), encouraged sensible tennis shoes (which she refused to wear), and tried to make her apartment safer by bolting things to walls, taping down rugs, and eliminating things that could cause trips and falls. I had even moved many of her precious and valuable things to my home, not because I want them, but because her door was unlocked most of the time and I didn’t want things to get broken, misplaced or stolen.

Grandmother was 93 years old. For goodness sake, would a Snickers Salad for dinner or an extra glass of wine really make any difference at this point? And if she wants to spend a ridiculous amount of money ordering jewelry from QVC, why shouldn’t she? Why shouldn’t she do whatever makes her happiest and most comfortable?

Those were the easy ones, but the tougher one was that she wanted to live on her own, without constant intrusions by well-meaning nurses or caregivers, even though her strength, her health, and her memory were beginning to fail her? Was that a risk I should stand aside and let her choose? In trying to do what was best for her, had I crossed a line into taking away things that made life worth living for her? Would she have a happier and better life if I just let her do whatever she wanted?

I am quite sure that this isn’t a binary decision. There is a sliding scale when it comes to independence in old age. Should I let her forget, or sometimes remember too often, to take the blood thinner and blood pressure medications that are keeping her heart beating? Probably not. Should I let her decorate her apartment for Halloween in August, buy every sweatshirt in that country clothing catalog, keep her thermostat at approximately hellfire temperature, and watch crazy Mexican soap operas all day without a word? Probably.

I was navigating through these questions when, out of the blue, my Grandmother informed me that she had decided to move to Florida to be closer to my Dad and his family. I instantly knew that I could not stop her. My feelings were hurt; hearing her tell me that she just needed to be closer to family when I thought I was her family. I had put her needs above everyone else’s and spent more time with her than with my own children and husband for the past year.

Putting my feelings aside, I also knew that the move was a horrible decision. My father had no idea what he was signing up for and a poor history of taking care of others, he is not a natural caregiver. Even in assisted living, which is so helpful, there is still a lot to do every day; doctor’s appointments, medical tests, insurance claims, shopping for groceries and personal needs, remote controls and telephones, dinners and visits, and on and on. I would like to think that I have learned a few things, and that I do a good job, but in this moment I could only give her the pros and cons of a move and new life in Florida.

I believe that, in addition to seeing her son more often, Grandmother saw this as an opportunity to make her own decisions and to get out of the assisted living efficiency unit that I had selected in her retirement community while she was incapacitated by the stroke. But in her hasty quest for independence and her old life, she was overlooking important things. This move was going to be into a similar type of assisted living unit, not into an independent apartment or condo as she hoped. She also would be moving to a new state, far away from her doctors, friends, neighbors, and local family. She has lived in her small midwestern town for most of her adult life and knows all of the people around her. Her history and her memories happened there. Just driving through town reminds her of stories from the past that are dear to her (I cherish those drives and the stories that come with them). She also has lived in this particular retirement community for more than ten years. So many people care about her, want to spend time with her, and have worked to make her life full and happy. While Florida boasts a wide variety of retirement communities to choose from, there is not one near my Father that will have the personal relationship with my grandmother that her current retirement community has.

But, in the end, I cannot control this decision. She has her own ideas and her own plans. I have no choice but to say “f&ck it” and stand aside as she makes her own choice to give it a try. And, I will miss her dearly.