Tag Archives: Family

How Old Do You Feel?

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I’ve had a few glitches in my health lately. I didn’t travel to the doctor right away. I don’t like medicine and I wasn’t sure if the tiredness I felt was just my age. I’ve never been 75 before so I wondered if I was slowing down because it’s a natural progression of what was supposed to happen when you get to these advanced years.

I thought of my mom at 75. She didn’t visit the doctor either. And she didn’t take medicine. At the time I thought she was old, because when she was 75 I was somewhere around 31, and anyone older than 60 was old to me. I will admit I was misguided in my thinking about age when I was younger, but nothing stood in my mom’s way of doing things she wanted to do. Everyone else her age was old according to her, and she wasn’t one of them. At 90 I caught her up on the roof of her house trying to fix it! That aged me.

My neighbor down the hall moved to assisted living last year. It was hard for her to take a shower by herself anymore and she had to use a scooter to get around. She was in her 90s and sharp as a tack. Her main complaint about her new digs? It was all old people in her building and she was bored! I think if I asked her what it was like to be her age she might reply that it was frustrating as her body slowed down, but her mind didn’t, and that dictated who she lives with because of it.

I finally broke down and visited my amazing Doctor. I found out I had a little allergy problem but I didn’t ask the question, “Is this the way I’m supposed to feel at my age?”

And how would he have answered? He’s in his middle 40s. How could he possibly know what you should feel like at 75? Of course, he treats other people my age so he could give me clinical answers. He could use his medical school jargon, but he won’t be able to tell me until he is 75.

You’ve heard the phrase, age is a state of mind. If that’s the case I’m 21 again. I could party and ride roller coasters, and run up the stairs. Actually, I’m not sure I could run up the stairs at 21. I wasn’t the athletic type, but at 75 I believe in my mind I could. Some days I just can’t get my body to want to move out of my chair. Those television shows are so enticing.

My mind hasn’t kept up with my body. And I have my family warning me about some of the things that might be harmful to my health. Such as the answer when I wanted to visit Valley Fair and ride the river ride. “Grandma you can’t, you’ll break something. No!” Or wanting to add a portable bathtub to my shower as I miss baths. Kids: “ I don’t think that sounds like a good idea. You have to step up and you might catch your leg and fall and you have to get up out the bath, and you might not be able to do that.”

The age number is different for each of us. Some might not be so mobile anymore because of health issues. Did anyone warn them it was going to be like this? It’s probably better we didn’t know and are surprised, otherwise it might have made us crazy worrying. And then there is the other alternative. We have to visit our friends at that peaceful place down the road called a cemetery, or talk to our friends in the wind as they are scattered. I’m scattered in real life so that might be my fate. The kids will toss me to the wind.

I remember when I was pregnant with my first child. 75 wasn’t even in my conscious thought. Maybe I should treat it like the anticipation of the birth of my first child. I had some telling me how horrible birth was, and I would never forget the pain. On the other side I had sister-in-laws and a mother-in-law that had the other viewpoint. “Not to worry, it’s a piece of cake, you’ll forget the pain.” I chose to believe somewhere in-between. It was good I didn’t worry as I was one of the lucky ones, short labor of three hours and the kids that came into my life after that was shorter. I have no idea why I was so blessed, but maybe I need to think of turning 76 next month the way my sister-in-laws encouraged me to think of birth. Anticipation, joy, the circle of life and probably some pain.

In my cozy mystery series I created over-the-top senior citizens. Granny is modeled after my mom. I was tired of all the ads on television that portrayed elderly people as weak and crippled people. My characters also have a sense of humor and I hope many of us embrace the funny things that can happen to us in our aging years.

I do believe age is an attitude, although I also believe health plays a big part in attitude. If you are in pain all the time I think crabbiness is natural. Anyone out there older than 75? Let’s hear from you. Next month is 76 for me. How slow will I go at 76? Will I be the tortoise? Slow and steady? Or the hare, over confident that fast is best, and not take the time to savor the moments, but trying to run away from the reality that age changes us? If I am the hare now, because I felt the exhaustion the past months, what will I be at 80? How slow can I go?

Thanks for putting up with this nonsense. We all need a little nonsense sometime.

Looking Good

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When is the last time you told someone they looked nice? When is the last time someone told you that you looked nice?

People need to be seen, not just as someone that is always there, in the house, on the street, in the meeting or even at a coffee hour. We need to take the time to notice people so they don’t feel they are ghosts among the crowd or at our household table.

It’s easy to criticize someone’s hairstyle or their unusual dress. When we do that we cut to the center of their core by making judgement on who they are. Because of it we may not see the authentic person inside the body. They may hide it and become the person they think society expects them to be, so their feelings aren’t hurt, or they aren’t cut to the core by mean words.

We all have been the purveyor of mean words and targeted those that we see as different than us. We all share the blame. Not only does it extend to what we wear, our hairstyle choices, but also our lifestyle choices of gender. How many of those we love have been afraid to show us who they are in all circumstances because of the way we might behave toward them?

I look back on my life and realize for much of it I haven’t always been authentic. The older I got the more I yearned to let that impish and creative part of me out. I began to do that in my books, and in the last house I had. You can still drive by and see the river I painted down my steps. And many other projects that were a little crazy. I haven’t always spoke out when the good ole boys ridiculed people, especially women because of their weight and because of their looks. I laughed along with them, not because I thought it was funny but because I wanted to belong, and I didn’t want it to turn on me. I am sorry I did not speak out sooner when these things were happening, but I was scared because I didn’t have a good sense of who I was in this world.

We also wear our past. I remember high school when a boy by the name of Bill, in the class ahead of me, one day telling me I was the ugliest girl he had ever seen. It changed how I interacted with people for a short time, especially boys. I couldn’t believe anyone would like me or date me.

As an adult and writing a column for the Albert Lea Tribune, I received a letter from someone telling me how ugly my crazy picture that represented me was, and…that I was an ugly little girl, I had no friends then, and I had no friends now. They didn’t sign it. The difference between the boy in school and the letter in my adult life was that I knew I had friends in school, and I knew I had friends as an adult, and I knew people liked my column. I had the compliments, the maturity and the confidence to handle it.

I’ve had wonderful groups of friends through the years. We forged a solid bond but I must say they were very respectable friends, and I am not sure they appreciated when my weird side came out, but they never let me know that. That is a good friend.

However, I’ve always been drawn to those unique personalities that have a little of the wild side in them. I had a couple of walk on the wild side friends right after I graduated from high school and I found a part of myself I didn’t know, but I let go of that side as I lived my life. When I moved I reconnected with that fun when I met my new friend, who I will call her K. She had many illnesses but she kept on going, and had a wild sense of humor, a what you see is what you get personality, and I felt alive after a very long drought. I never knew what she was going to come up with and when she was going to knock on my door and drag me into one of her crazy escapades, such as getting the tanning bed she had been hiding under her bed, out of her apartment and down the street, under a sheet that made it look as if a ghost was flitting across our parking lot. And it was Halloween. She woke me up again to fun in life.

What does have to do with telling someone they look good? She was good at compliments and not just with me. I noticed those that were silent and didn’t speak, and that a compliment made them smile. Elderly people do not get compliments much. Every day we may see the same people and take them for granted, and not see who they are and how a compliment may be the only bright spot in their day. It also may change how they see themselves when they get ready for the day.

Take notice of the people in your life. Have they given up because they feel it doesn’t matter as no one notices them anyway? One day last fall I was at a brewery, yes a brewery, with a friend, and a stranger at another table told me, “You have a beautiful smile.” It made my day and it made me want to smile more and pass it along.

Have you seen a house for sale in your community and you wondered where it was? You realize you’ve driven by that house every single day on the way to work and you’ve never noticed it. It’s the same with people. We don’t see those that are right in front of us, especially the quiet ones. I am anything but quiet, and I am rejoicing in learning new things about myself that I’ve hidden every single day. Part of the reason I think I did that was because I thought I might embarrass my family with my wacky ideas so I wouldn’t be accepted. We shouldn’t do that. The loud people, like me are seen, but it’s those we don’t take the time to notice that need our caring and attention, especially our family.

We live in a world where hate is being thrown at us right and left on our social media. We don’t know what’s real and not, and the bots are attacking people causing some of them to take their life. It’s a helpless feeling. Maybe all we can do is give someone smile or a compliment, especially those who we take their presence for granted. It may help them get through their day. Maybe all we can do each day is find something good about them, and let them know they are valued, or boost their confidence by a kind word. Let’s feed them with kind words about themselves.

When is the last time you told someone they looked nice? When is the last time someone told you, you looked nice?

A Year of Mourning

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It will be a year tomorrow, on June 26, that I held my husband in my arms for the last time as he took his final breath. It was a year of sorrow, tears, blessings and joy. Isn’t that what a life is? A mixture of feelings squashed together, wringing the worst and best out of us.

It was a long year, yet a short year with some days slowly marching through the minutes and seconds, and other days soaring fast from sunrise to sunset.

The last few years with my husband were difficult because of his dementia. Caring for him was hard. If you haven’t experienced it, it is hard to understand because there is so much you don’t see if you’re not a 24/7 person in the caregiving realm. You miss seeing the sweetness that can turn in a minute to anger, always surprising you, keeping you on edge or as the saying goes, pins and needles. Sleep is a rarity. Nighttime is difficult because of sundowning. Yet, you plod on because of love, feeling it is your responsibility to take care of someone you’ve loved and lived with for fifty or more years.

This past year my emotions have been all over the place. Living alone for the first time I faced fears that I felt were silly. But because my anxiety had been out of control while caring for my husband, it didn’t vanish overnight, it just shifted to other things. My body felt like lightning bolts were hitting me while shopping in the grocery store, or being in a large public building, or going downstairs for coffee. I wanted to hide away. I had to schedule work in my home for as small a thing as washing dishes or vacuuming. I would say to myself, “At ten I will wash dishes.” Then I would rest for hours so I could get up for my scheduled load of clothes in the wash machine at two. Small steps as these, gave me so much anxiety, I would be sick. I imagined death in the shower from a fall and no one to call for help. My mind was all over. Driving a distance made me shake, and making a commitment for an engagement made my heart pound and my body weak. I could go on, but I beat myself up on not being strong enough to get over those feelings.

I couldn’t cry anymore. I cried for years while he was sick, large tears, loud sobs and my friends and families’ shoulders were soggy every time they saw me. Some of them understood and other’s thought I was just looking for sympathy and feeling poor me. I maybe was, but not intentionally, and though I knew this, and a few people and family were avoiding me, I still couldn’t stop. I too was sick in heart and mind. I was the lowest of the low the last few years, but I had to plod on, knowing how weak my reserves were. I couldn’t be there for anyone else, not even my children. I was emotionally drained. Not being able to cry on the outside after his death stressed me out and made me feel guilty. I felt I should be crying more now than then, because he was gone.

I am healing. I no longer am afraid to take a shower. I am not afraid to be alone. I had help in that department. My beautiful cousins understood my fear and gifted me an Apple watch to wear so should I fall and need help; it would detect it. That watch became a lifeline the first few months and now too. Friends would call often and check on me. A couple friends got me out on small shopping trips at intervals and encouraged me as I shook walking through the store. A new church welcomed me in and befriended me. My family, kids and grandkids, took time for me. My daughter would pop in or take me out for coffee or a day away, and my grandchildren took day trips with me and made me laugh. My neighbors where I live made sure I was never lonely. A Pastor friend and his wife from many years ago, called sometime twice a week to just chat. There are many others I did not mention, such as my online friends who kept me going with messages and phone calls. It truly takes a village to raise a senior citizen in mourning.

My doctor said I was tired and needed rest. He felt I had PTSD from taking care of someone with dementia. I prayed, meditated, listened to music and became stronger. But I beat myself up continually in wondering if I did enough for my husband’s care. Did I fight for his health enough or could I have been more precise and demanding with the doctors? Should I have taken him off hospice to get him surgery for his back, so he didn’t have to be on so many drugs for pain? Did I spend enough time with him in memory care? Should I have fought harder when I thought the care was not what it should have been? Maybe if I had stayed with him overnights, he wouldn’t have had all the falls and had the pain associated with it. Did I let him die when I should have fought for him to live? No matter what anyone said to me those silent fears were there. I still struggle with them now a year later.

They say God puts people in our lives when we need them the most, and this past month two people entered my life. Two different situations that gave me perspective and helped me feel someone understood my weird fears.

The first is a woman who lost her husband last June too. She shared with me her attempt at taking care of someone with dementia and then living alone for the first time in her life. She couldn’t go to the store without panic attacks. She was afraid of taking a shower that she would fall. Driving distance made her shaky. She too scheduled her household chores. And she felt guilt at not being sure she had done enough. Her feelings mimicked my feelings and my insecurities. I began to feel I was normal.

Another person entered my life as a friend. They too are alone for the first time in fifty-three years. It’s a different scenario I won’t get into, but they shared with me the fear of being alone for the first time too. This friend was driving out on the road in the country, and they began a panic attack because their mind asked themself, who do they call in case the car breaks down? They weren’t prone to panic attacks until now. Eventually they realized they have many friends they can call, but they couldn’t call their spouse. This was a male person and they again helped me see life changes and anxiety spans the sexes.

I’m sharing this on the anniversary of my husband’s death so others know that the feelings they may have after the death of a spouse are their feelings, but other’s share the insecurities that to the world who have not experienced this, seem silly. Each person’s grief is different.

The good memories are back. I look at pictures, have dreams almost every night about my husband and cherish what we had. The good, the bad and the in-between. He was the love of my life. It doesn’t matter what the world saw. Marriage is joyous, difficult, loving, scary and there is no normal. Marriage is compromise and forgiveness. People need to choose on their own what they can live with and when they need to let go to live.

This year I’ve lost my sense of humor in my writing, when I can actually bring myself to write. I need to find that again. I’m learning new things such as wood burning with a laser, watercolor painting, spoon carving. I recently took a class in vibrational sound. Zip lining is on my list though I don’t know if I will complete that one. I learned I’m an introvert pretending to be an extrovert. I would be lazy in my room alone if my friends and family weren’t always pulling me out into an enticing activity. This year has been extremely busy to keep me from wallowing in grief. Now I am feeling the need for a little solitude to take care of me. My friend that I mentioned earlier is doing the same thing. She echoed my thoughts. Taking care of ourselves is one of the hardest tasks, because we were so used to taking care of our spouse. It feels decadent to spend time on us.

I have no advice for getting through losing a spouse. I’m still figuring it out. What I do know is that I have to figure me out, taking the time to find out who I want to be when I grow up, because death and losing the one you love changes you, no matter what the relationship was. Most of my adult life I was part of a couple. I am learning what it is to be me, alone for the first time, finding my path and journey for hopefully, many years to come. And cherishing the life I had.

“What is lovely never dies, but passes into another loveliness, star-dust or sea-foam, flower, or winged air.” — Thomas Bailey Aldrich