Mum was 92 when she went into the hospital for the last five weeks of her life. She'd been living independently, with some help from the family, but she was always a strong, independent woman. My father died young at 49, so she spent most of her life without a husband, relying on my sister and me for support. The last couple of years were tough for her. COVID interrupted her independence. She'd been part of a seniors' group in Sydney, going on bus trips and maintaining an active lifestyle. But with the pandemic, she moved to live with my sister on acreage, where she had little to no contact with others. We thought we were doing the right thing, but Mum saw it as restricting her freedom.

In late 2020, we moved Mum to Canberra to be closer to family. Again, she felt confined, believing others were determining her destiny. By October 2021, her health had declined. She had fluid retention affecting her lungs and heart. She was hospitalized, and the heart specialist told us she wouldn't be able to live independently again. Having that conversation with Mum was heart-wrenching. She insisted she would get better, as she always had.

The last five weeks were about ensuring her comfort and family presence. We were honest with her, explaining that her body was failing. At first, she believed she could recover. But as time passed, it became clear she couldn't go home. When she realized this, she turned inward, stopped speaking, and seemed to give up. The final week was incredibly hard, watching her starve herself, but I was grateful for the time spent reassuring her of my love and reminiscing about our lives together.

This story of frailty is common. My sister and I recognised her increasing frailty long before she did. We saw the signs – her falls, her inability to walk well, and her refusal to wear an alarm. It was clear she couldn't maintain her independence.

For those facing similar situations, my advice is to have open conversations about frailty and aging. My mother's passing prompted my family to discuss these topics more openly. On my 70th birthday, my children asked about my feelings on aging, leading to deeper discussions about my future. While my mother wanted to die at home, I've accepted that may not be possible for me. Planning for assisted living or aged care is essential.

Difficult conversations about aging and frailty are crucial. They allow us to plan and understand each other better, making the inevitable transitions smoother. So many of us face this experience, and it's important to approach it with openness and empathy.

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