Old Age and Death and Dying

Ready for an uplifting post?  Then don't read this one ; )

"A test of a people is how it behaves toward the old.  It is easy to love children.  Even tyrants and dictators make a point of being fond of children.  But the affection and care for the old, the incurable, the helpless are the true gold mines of a culture." 

~Abraham J. Heschel~

We've been dealing with some aging parent issues around my home. My mother-in-law will be 91 next month, and my father-in-law just turned 87.  My father in law has been having some dementia issues for a few years now, moodiness, anger issues, confusion. He's been in and out of hospital's and nursing homes, and it seems like it may finally be time for him to permanently leave his home. 

I have dealt with this before. Three of my grandparents ended up in nursing homes before they died. My maternal grandmother, (Nanny) had breast cancer that metastasized to her bones. She got to the point where she just couldn't be cared for in her home anymore. She went down hill pretty quickly after being moved into the nursing home. I suppose you lose your will to live a lot quicker when you realize you no longer have anything to live for. She was trapped in a bed, away from her family. We visited her, but how often can you really spend at the nursing home when you have a job and your own life to live? (and being 21, I felt my life was very important).  My mom was an only child and had big issues with her mom. My parents were on vacation in Florida when my grandmother died and my mom refused to come home. She said the service could wait until after her vacation. So my sister and I made all the arrangements. I had just turned 22 four days after her death, and my sister was 26. We arranged for her cremation, and arranged a service with the cemetery and the priest. Thankfully my grandmother already had a burial spot bought and paid for. But we still had to wait two weeks to have her service, because that is when my parents would be home.  Nanny died February 15, 1990.

My grandmother left behind her husband Harry, my step-grandfather, but really the only grandfather I had ever known. He fared pretty well for awhile, but then he too needed to go into a nursing home because he just couldn't live on his own anymore. My mom certainly wasn't going to move him in with her, she already had my paternal grandfather, Pa, living with her and my dad.  He had moved in when I was a sophomore in high school.  

In 1991, a year after my grandmother died, my parents moved from IL to TN. My mother decided she was not going to take my grandfathers with her, so they were both left behind, in IL, in nursing homes.  And then my mom pretty much never looked back. My dad was complicit in this too, he was just usually in the background of everything my mom did, which is why I keep putting this on her.

So it fell upon my sister and I to visit our grandfathers and make sure they had the things they needed. I tried to get out to see them weekly. The nursing home was about 1/2 an hour from me, but it was over an hour for my sister. It was rough going to the home every week. I was in my early twenties, when it seems you are the most alive. And every week I had to go and sit with those on deaths door. Pa was never overly happy to see us. I sensed he realized it was out of a sense of duty, not that we really wanted to be there. He was a pretty angry man, had a rough life and carried that with him.  I can't recall him ever being really happy.  But my sister and I would go anyway, we would sit with him and watch TV, or while he ate his lunch. Make sure he was being treated well, and then we'd leave. It was always so depressing. A lot of the people there never had anyone visit. They were just left there. My sister and I would talk to some of these other residents if we were in the community room. They seemed to appreciate having someone other than nurses aides to talk with.

A few times Pa needed to go to the hospital for a feeding tube because he started having trouble eating. The nursing home would transport him there and then call my sister to let her know. ( She being the oldest was the one left in charge).  They were never able to keep the tube in him, he always managed to pull it out. He had a DNR (Do Not Resuscitate) on his chart, but a feeding tube isn't the same as not resuscitating. My mother also had a signed living will from Pa, and she had his medical power of attorney, so eventually she decided to just stop all means of nourishment. She was still in TN by the way, calling the shots. So even though my sister and I were there, actually caring for him, my mom got to have the final say in how he should die. 

Harry (my maternal step-grandfather) managed to hang on until 1995. He lived in that nursing home for 4 years. The first few years he did pretty well. He had a TV, he could watch the baseball games. He was asked to be on a major league team right after high school, but his father wouldn't let him go.  Harry never had any kids of his own, his only other relatives were his sister who was older than him and still lived back east. My Nanny was Harry's life. When my parents were transferred to IL with my dads job, Nanny and Harry moved out a year later. So our family was all Harry had. But Harry wasn't my moms real dad, and she didn't particularly care about him once she moved to TN. Harry had done a lot for me growing up. I was only 10 years old when Nanny and Harry moved to IL. He drove me places, I used to hang out at their apartment, and he taught me to drive. So I felt I owed it to Harry to visit him as much as I could. He died 3 weeks after my eldest daughter was born in 1995. My parents came back to IL and we had a small service for him at the cemetery and a small luncheon afterwards. All of that was at the insistence of my sister and I. Harry had a burial plot next to my grandmother (they both wanted to be cremated) and if it had been up to my mom, we would have just passed his ashes off to the cemetery and had him buried. But I remember that service and the luncheon. And I am glad we paid him the respect he deserved. My mom had a marker placed on her mothers grave after she died, but she never got one for Harry. She kept telling me she didn't have the money. In 1997 I received a settlement for a back injury. One of the first things I spent money on was a marker for Harry's grave.

So why I am writing all this down? Well, for one, grandchildren shouldn't have to deal with taking care of their grandparents when able bodied children are alive. My parents both completely shirked their duties as children. I realize both had crappy childhoods and had serious issues with their parents.  But they were never not on speaking terms with them, we always had them in our lives.  You just don't abandon your parents in the end.  It was really stressful for my sister and I to have to make sure our grandfathers were taken care of. We were just starting our own lives, by the time Harry died we both had small children.  It was a heavy burden. I don't regret all that we did , but I still think the responsibility should have been on my parents.

Back when all this was going on I often thought how it would be for my parents. Would I have to put them in a nursing home and watch them deteriorate too? As fate would have it, my dad died at 56 of pancreatic cancer and my mom would die 6 years later of internal bleeding at 62. Has it spared me the pain my husband now has to go through? I don't know. Death is death no matter when it happens. I was devastated when my mom died, it was quick and unexpected. I had 6 months from diagnosis to death with my dad. A little time to prepare and say goodbye, but it was still very, very hard. But my parents will be forever young in my memory. I didn't have to watch them lose their faculties and their minds. I didn't have to worry about the care they might be receiving by others in a home. Death is death, whether young or old and it is painful for children to watch their parents die.

I have a fear of death. I know I shouldn't as a Christian, but I do. So I want to live as long as possible. And I kind of hope my mind has gone when I go, so I am not aware of my death. But I certainly do not want to put the burden of my elderly care on my daughters. So it is a dilemma. Obviously I really have no say when I die. But if I had to choose early death to spare my children the pain of my care, or living to a ripe old age to hang on as long as possible, I choose the ripe old age. I just don't want to die, ever (yes, denial!)  I hope to make sure my old age needs are taken care of before I get there (if I get there) so that those decisions don't have to be made by my daughters. I'll also make sure they know that they don't have to come and sit by my bedside and entertain me. I'll have lived my life, and they should be living theirs. Not worrying about old mom in the home.

Life sucks and then you die.  Or your parents die, or are dying, or are losing their minds.  None of us expect or want this in our lives.  But it will come for all of us eventually.  C'est la Vie.  

“Parents, however old they and we may grow to be, serve among other things to shield us from a sense of our doom. As long as they are around, we can avoid the fact of our mortality; we can still be innocent children.” 

~Jane Howard~

Happy New Year!

Yes, I am aware it is January 3rd and I am a little late.  But at least it's still January!

So Thanksgiving whizzed by, as did Christmas.  Time seems to be a blur sometimes, holidays the blurriest of times.  Looking back I realize I really am seeing my life flash before my eyes.  My eldest will 16 next month, my youngest 14.  She'll start high school next fall.  How the heck did all these years get past me?  

One of my resolutions for this year to be more present.  For myself in my own life, for my kids, for my husband.  I need to focus on the now, or I will again end up in some future present wondering how I got there. and forgetting a lot of things that happened along the way because I was just going through the motions. 

I remember when I was back in high school, (way too many years ago), and we used to wonder what it would be like in the year 2000.  "Oh we'll be 32 then", we'd squeal to each other, like that was so old!  When one is 16 it is hard to imagine 32.  But when one is approaching 43, 32 is but a memory.  

I've heard it said many times, by many people, "The older one gets the quicker it goes" and it is true.  I realize my life is probably more than 1/2 over.  Will I reach 86?  Neither of my parents did, only 1 grandparent lived past 80.  

I have decided this will be my quote for the year:

  

“The secret of health for both mind and body is not to mourn for the past, worry about the future, or anticipate troubles, but to live in the present moment wisely and earnestly.” ~Buddha

What do I want to do with the 2nd half of my life?  I have a better idea of who I am now.  I like myself, more now, than I probably ever did.  (Not physically necessarily, but who I am, inside.)  

The thoughts are swirling in my head again.  Another resolution is to get to this blog more often and get these thoughts onto "paper" if for no one but me.  Writing helps me think things through, it helps me remember, and maybe it can bring others wisdom.  Or it can be a legacy to my kids. It will be 3 years in April since I started this blog.  I have recorded some stories from my past, I have ranted about things that I am passionate about about, I have written about things that have hurt me.  I also realize, looking back, that I have changed in the last 3 years.  I think I've mellowed, I think I have become more accepting of myself and others, and hopefully, I think I have become kinder. 

The Traveling Wilbury's put it well in "End of the Line":

"Well it's all right, even if you're old and grey
Well it's all right, you still got something to say
Well it's all right, remember to live and let live
Well it's all right, the best you can do is forgive"

Losing Myself

I started thinking the other day about who I am. I know all the labels people can put on me: I was a daughter (both of my parents are now dead, so I am a parent-less daughter now), a sister, an aunt, a mother, a wife etc. Those are words that describe me, but they don't define me. I don't want to be defined by labels or categories or boxes that others can put me in.

I started thinking back to my youth and what I wanted to "be". When I was growing up, kids were always striving to "be" something. It wasn't enough to just be a kid or a teen, it was all about what you were going to "be" when you grew up. I remember wanting to be a model. What girl didn't want to be a model in the early 80's, the heyday of supermodel-ism? Although I have (had) a pretty face, I knew my Irish "potato pickers" legs would never get me a cover shoot, so I moved on to wanting to be an actress. I was in some school plays, and I was pretty interested in the acting thing for while, but reality set in (and lack of encouragement from my parents) brought me back to reality. By junior year of high school I was thinking about being a photographer. (I am sensing a theme here; I think I wanted a career with excitement and adventure.) My grades weren't great, I hated school, so my parents weren't willing to help me pay for photography school. (I wanted to go to Columbia, in Chicago, I could have lived at home and commuted to cut costs, but that's a whole other story). Suffice it to say, none of those dreams ever panned out. I considered becoming a paralegal at one point, but again, no money for school, and with my grades, no scholarships were forthcoming.

So I went to work. I had been working since age 14, various jobs, fast food, a laundromat, cleaning offices, finally retail. But after I graduated high school, I needed full time employment as I wanted to get of my parents house. (Another long story for another time).

So working full time, paying for an apartment and car, finally meeting a man, moving in with him and getting pregnant, then married, then I wake up one day at 42 and realize I lost myself.

I'm not unhappy with how my life turned out, I love my husband, I love my daughters. I have been happy being a mom, and I have learned a lot about myself, what my strengths (and weaknesses) are through being a wife and mother. But now that my girls are getting a little older, and I too am getting older, I have been thinking about the rest of my life. Is it too late to re-visit those old dreams? Do I even want to do those things anymore? Who am I outside of the wife and mother role? I still wonder what I want to be when I grow up.

Some days I am content to putter around the house and just continue on with the status quo, other days I feel like I was meant for so much more, that I should be contributing to the world in a more meaningful way. I just don't know what that is yet. I wish I could sit on a mountain for a while, and maybe the gods would speak to me and point me in the right direction. (Although in reality, I'd much prefer to sit under a palm tree and stare at the ocean for a while).

I think I may be going through a mid-life crisis. Although crisis isn't really the right word. It's soul searching. Searching for meaning in my life and in this crazy world we live in. If I find it I'll let you know.

There came a time when the risk to remain tight in the bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom.
~Anaïs Nin~

41 Years Ago Today.....

How old would you be if you didn't know how old you were?
~Satchel Paige~

.....I was born. It's been a pretty quick 41 years overall. When I look back at experiences, and think back to my childhood, it seems like it was worlds away. But it also seems like I got to 41 pretty quickly. Such is the passage of time.

I hope I make it another 41 years. That'll get me to 82 (I did the math for you : )

I hope the next 41 don't go by as quickly as the last, but I am afraid they are going to go even faster. Why is it that the older one gets, the faster it goes by? When I was a kid I couldn't wait to get older. Always wishing for my next birthday, wanting to be 16 so I could drive, wanting to be 18 so I didn't have to listen to my parents anymore, wanting to be 21 so I could drink. Around 21 I didn't wish for birthdays anymore. I didn't care that they came, I just didn't need them to come anymore. I reached the full age of legality, I could do anything. It wasn't until my mid-thirties that birthdays started reminding me I was getting old. Last year was hard. Something about 40 says old to me. I realize it's not really "OLD" but it is "older". Now I am entering my "forties", that seems old.

The firs thing I noticed last year was my eyes. I'd had people tell me that your eyes will start to go at 40. I've always had better than perfect vision my entire life. I didn't believe MY eyes would go. Well they did. I don't need glasses yet, but I do need to hold things with small print very far away to read it. And if the light is poor, forget it. That's new to me.

I've heard people say 40 is the new 30. 50 is the new 40, blah, blah, blah. Maybe it's true in how people look these days. If you look at people from 50 years ago, they did look old at 40. I think now-a-days we dress younger, take care of our skin better, etc. So maybe the new 40 looks 30, but I don't think 40 feels like 30. When I was 30 I had a 3 year old and a 1 year old. And a lot more energy to keep up with a 3 year old and a 1 year old. I wouldn't wish that on myself now.

So Happy birthday to me. I made it another year.

Here's some quotes on birthdays and aging for your enjoyment:

Thanks to modern medical advances such as antibiotics, nasal spray, and Diet Coke, it has become routine for people in the civilized world to pass the age of 40, sometimes more than once.
~Dave Barry~
"Your Disintegrating Body," Dave Barry Turns 40, 1990

Middle age is having a choice between two temptations and choosing the one that'll get you home earlier.
~Dan Bennett~

Inside every older person is a younger person wondering what happened. ~Jennifer Yane~

There is no pleasure worth forgoing just for an extra three years in the geriatric ward.
~John Mortimer~

Do not regret growing older. It is a privilege denied to many.
~Author Unknown~

Friday Funny

I've been sick the last few days, so I am passing along something a friend sent me. I didn't write it, I don't know who did. But it made me laugh and I thought it might make you laugh too.


Here's something to think about. I recently picked a new primary care doctor. After two visits and exhaustive Lab tests, he said I was doing "fairly well' for my age.

A little concerned about that comment, I couldn't resist asking him, "Do you think I'll live to be 80?"

He asked,"'Do you smoke tobacco, or drink beer or wine?"

"Oh no," I replied. "I'm not doing drugs, either!"

Then he asked, "'Do you eat rib-eye steaks and barbecued ribs?"

"Oh, no," I said, "My former doctor told me that all red meat is very unhealthy!"

"Do you spend a lot of time in the sun, like playing golf, sailing, hiking, or bicycling?"

"'No, I don't," I said.

He asked, "Do you gamble, drive fast cars, or have a lot of sex?"

"'No," I said.

He looked at me and said, "Then, why do you even give a shit?"

There is no pleasure worth forgoing just for an extra three years in the geriatric ward.

~John Mortimer~

Memories

Last night for whatever reason my girls and I got on the subject of high school yearbooks. They asked me if I had any. "Yes, I do, and you have seen them before" was my reply. "We don't remember looking at your yearbooks" was their reply. So off we went to hunt down my high school memories.

I have a ratty old chest that I keep old stuff in. It's like a cardboard box covered in a vinyl/plastic that has metal reinforcements and a lock. It's all dented in and the lock has been broken for some time. That's where I keep my memories. (hmm, should the container tell me something?)

Anyway, first out came the yearbooks. We spent some time laughing at how goofy I looked 22-26 years ago. Then my girls spied my prom dress, which was also folded up in my box. They wanted to try it on. Now I have to tell you, when I was in high school I always thought I was fat. There were such teeny tiny skinny girls in my high school, and they were the ones all the boys were always after. I was always on a diet and my self esteem was pretty low. At 16, when I went to prom, I was 5'6" tall and about a size 8.

So my 13 year old puts on my prom dress. At first we can't even get it zippered. I already know her bust is way bigger than mine ever was. But she is a slim girl, she has a very nice balanced figure. We finally get it on and it it fits, almost perfectly. She is currently only 5'3", so it was a little long. But it fit!

After trying on my prom dress, they wanted to try on my gym shorts, which for some reason I also saved. Those fit my 13 year old as well.

After we were done looking at my past and fighting over the color of my prom dress, (when I bought it they called it Dusty Rose, my girls kept saying "It's Pink!" ), I got to thinking.

I spent so many years belittling myself. I never thought I was good enough in high school. Not popular enough, not thin enough, not pretty enough. And here I am 25 years later, and my 13 year old, whom I view as beautiful and having a figure to die for, can fit into my old prom dress and gym shorts.

I am hopeful that my own daughters will not suffer the same low self-esteem as I. Maybe they have learned not to judge themselves against others, but on who they are instead. I think homeschooling has helped. They haven't been around girls who like to tell other girls how they look or how they should look. Girls who think no one is perfect unless you are like them.

As I start my 40's I am so much more confident at this time in my life than I ever have been before. Wisdom with age I suppose. I wonder how different my life and experiences would have been had I enjoyed this confidence when I was 16?

Be who you are and say what you feel, because those who mind don't matter and those who matter don't mind.

~Dr. Seuss~

Aging

How old would you be if you didn't know how old you were?

~Satchel Paige~

I still live in the town I grew up in. I still have a few friends from high school that I see regularly. I think because I have continued to see them, they still look the same to me. It's different when I run into people I haven't seen in 20 years.

While shopping today I saw someone I went to high school with. I wasn't really friends with her, she was in the class below me. But I knew who she was. When I saw her I knew it was her. It looked just liked her. Except (wait for it.....) She looked REALLY OLD!!!!!!

I can't comprehend this old thing. I see myself everyday and I don't think I look old. I see my sister (who is 5 years older than me) and my friends who are the same age as me....and I don't think we look old. But then I run into someone I haven't seen in years and she looks old. And it wasn't just this woman. Every time I see someone from high school whom I haven't seen in 20 years, they look old to me. Which must mean I look old to them.

I don't feel old. Sure some days my body hurts in places it never used to. I certainly don't have the physique I had 20 years ago, but my brain, it feels the same. When I look at myself, aside from the grey hair and the laugh lines, I look the same. At least I think I do...(I suppose my hubby may beg to differ). How did I get to be 40 years old?

I can't understand people who say every birthday is their 29th. I am not a fan of plastic surgery. I do think I can grow old gracefully. It's not the looking old or even the number that bothers me. It's the actual aging......getting old. I just can't wrap my mind around it. I can't imagine myself in 20 years. When I am 60 will I still think I look the same? Will I still think I feel the same? Do you ever reach a point where it hits you that you are just not the same person you were when you were 20? Because I know right now at 40, I still feel like the same person.

I'm afraid of getting old. I don't want to die. I don't want to even think about dying. It scares the crap out of me. I know as a Christian I shouldn't feel this way, but I do. I throw myself into a panic attack every time I think about getting old and dying. I have this brain that needs to know. I need to know exactly what is going to happen. I need assurance. I am freaked out about the whole idea of forever and forever. How can something be forever and ever? How can God have no beginning and no end? Everything has a beginning and an end. These are the thoughts that keep me up at night.

So I just go on doing what I do. Living day to day. I don't like to think too far into the future, because the future is unknown and I don't do well with the unknown. I know the end will come for me. It comes for everyone. That's just the way it is. (Freaking out here!) And the way I feel time flying by, I know it will be sooner than I think. I feel like my first 40 years went by so quickly, and I am sure the last 40 will feel twice as fast. Maybe I can make it to 100, and so maybe I have 60 more years to look forward to. Maybe I am not at the 1/2 way point yet. Maybe I need to keep telling myself that. Even if my body starts to fail me, I wonder if I will still feel 20 in my mind when I am 100?

The great secret that all old people share is that you really haven't changed in seventy or eighty years. Your body changes, but you don't change at all. And that, of course, causes great confusion.

~Doris Lessing~