Good Sunday morning! The Old Man’s Comforts and how he gained them By Robert Southey (1774 -1843) You are old, Father William, the young man cried, The few locks which are left you are grey; You are hale, Father William, a hearty old man, Now tell me the reason I pray. In the days of my youth, Father William replied, I remembered that youth would fly fast And abused not my health nor my vigour at first That I never might need them at last. You are old, Father William, the young man cried, And pleasures with youth pass away, And yet you lament not the days that are gone, Now tell me the reasons I pray. In the days of my youth, Father William replied, I remember’d that youth could not last; I thought of the future whatever I did That I never might grieve for the past. You are old, Father William, the young man cried, And life must be hastening away: You are cheerful, and love to converse upon death! Now tell me the reason I pray. I am cheerful, young man, Father William replied, Let the cause thy attention engage; In the days of my youth I remember’d my God! And he hath not forgotten my age. Last night we were with my parents celebrating their 67th wedding anniversary. That’s not a typo. Sixty-seven years of marriage! When I tell people that at ages 89 and 92 my parents are living independently in their home of more than five decades and when I detail their activities, the usual response is frown-faced concern. Like Robert Southey’s poem above—which was the basis of Lewis Carroll’s parody poem “Father William”—younger people have strong opinions about appropriate behavior for their parents and other seniors. In a reversal of roles, I have to say that parents can be downright rebellious. Every day my 92-year-old father goes down 16 open stairs—that even I consider perilous —to the concrete-floored basement to ride his stationery bike. My husband Jim and I have strongly advocated moving the bike to their finished, carpeted lower level just seven steps down off the kitchen. But, no. They say it would be in the way, especially when they have parties. They haven’t had a party spill into that lower level in thirty years, but just in case. I also would like to save Dad his daily drive to the post office by having a mailbox installed at the end of the driveway. But, no. As Dad points out, that didn’t work. An errant driver knocked the last one down some thirty years ago. And besides, he rather enjoys driving to the post office every day. In two weeks we will move to a location within a-40 minute drive of my parents, but until then we’ve been a good three-and-a-half hour round trip drive from them. We would have felt better in recent years hiring more people to come by the house to check on my parents. But, no. They really don’t want helpers coming into the house. Besides a yard service, a cleaning lady comes one morning a week. That wasn’t an easy concession, but my parents now enjoy sharing breakfast with her every Wednesday morning. Still, they really don’t believe they need a cleaning lady. The way they see it, their routine doesn’t kick up much dust. While teens may be admonished for sleeping in, Mom and Dad never set an alarm and are sleeping longer than ever. Their days are short, beginning with breakfast and the local newspaper on the screened porch mid-morning, and winding down with wine for Mom, scotch for Dad, and jazz CDs at 5:00 p.m. They usually eat in and retire early to watch television in bed. Reruns of shows like The Golden Girls provide a good dose of laughter every day. They fit just two meals into each day and between them are busy paying bills, feeding the birds, buying groceries, fixing simple meals, cleaning up, getting the mail, going out with friends, taking afternoon drives, and assisting their neighbors. They attend church in good weather, and make dozens of mini sandwiches every year for the church tea. Over the years they have come to the aid of countless people, many of whom now lend a hand to them. Sadly, they’ve gone to a lot of funerals; happily, they have younger friends. Some may think we are not doing enough for my parents, but we can do only what they will accept. For example, for years I’ve been trying to get Dad to use a cane. He walks slowly and deliberately and it would help his balance. But, no. “Absolutely not needed.” And forget any thoughts of moving into a facility with more services, something that would certainly give us peace of mind. “No.” they tell us. “We intend to stay in this house for the rest of our lives.” Last year Mom fell twice, first breaking her hip and then fracturing her back. She did a week of therapy as part of her hospital care for the latter and said that was enough. She went home from the hospital and managed to get up and down the six front steps of the house three times the first day. A few months later she discarded her walker. This week she was in the hospital for a couple of days after a spell with stroke-like symptoms. They went away quickly, and a battery of tests thankfully revealed nothing wrong. Mom called as soon as she got out of the hospital. “I’m feeling fine,” she said. “We’re going to visit our friend Jack who’s rehabbing after a bad infection.” Everyone must care for aging parents differently. The blessing of having two parents at my age provides more options than a single surviving parent. But the truth is my parents continue to teach me lessons about life and about myself. They have made me aware of my own mistaken stereotypical thinking about the elderly. They don’t fit the stereotypes, and I suspect the older person sitting in front of me at church doesn’t either. When we see people generically, based on age, race, economic status, or any other one-dimensional category, we miss their God-given uniqueness, and we necessarily make mistaken judgments that deny both their and our own gifted humanity. Older people may have hearing loss that requires louder speaking, but they don’t need to be spoken to as if they are three years old. Most have not lost their desire to make their own daily decisions and enjoy life’s pleasures. When their capacity for these is truly lost, options for their care are necessarily very limited, but I don’t want to accelerate prematurely a diminished life. Yes, I would be more comfortable if Mom and Dad would allow us to make them safer, provide more services for them, and do even more to make their environment and clothing as perfect as it once was, but finally I have realized that my comfort would be at the expense of their happiness. The fact is my parents have done pretty well so far without too much guidance from me! I, too, am a senior citizen, and may not make it to 92, so my newest advice to them is, “Just keep doing whatever you’re doing.” We continue to actively assist and gently advocate adjustments, but we now view our role not as trying to change them, but rather as trying to assist them in their fierce desire to live independently, to enjoy their golden years as they have lived, with good spirit—actively, competently, happily, compassionately, in good faith. Dad recently greeted me at the door using a cane. “Gee, Dad, I’m glad to see you got a cane,” I said. “Yeah,” he replied smiling. “I really like it.” Have a great week.
Posted on: Sun, 30 Jun 2013 13:27:08 +0000
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