Tag Archives: Old Age

Ending The Old—Beginning the New

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It’s been a rough and tough year in my life. 2023 will go down in my mind as the most difficult year I have experienced. It’s been a year full of blessings, stuffed with caring and joy.

You might think those two statements can’t possibly both stand side by side and be true.

2023 will be marked as the year I became a widow. After years of confusion and pain and memory loss for my husband, God chose to take him home and give him peace from the PTSD he lived with because of the Vietnam War, from the pain he suffered from his back and stomach, and from the anguish he felt when he realized his mind was playing tricks on him, giving him hallucinations and fear at what was happening with his memory.

Watching someone you love suffer, blaming yourself for not doing enough, or not knowing what to do as a spouse and caregiver, destroys any semblance of sanity. The family, children, no matter their age, suffer too, and their feelings get overlooked, especially by the caregiver because the caregivers can’t get outside of their grief to help kids sort through what’s happening to their dad or mother.

And then… deep breath… there are the friends and other family members who God also chose to bring home to him, leaving us devastated at the emptiness of those people being gone.

Worst year of our lives.

The blessings. When you are reeling from the pain, the most surprising events happen. New friends pop up to lift you up, carry you and lead you through the darkness. Old friends never let you go and surround you with prayers, and knowing you so well, they sense what you need when you didn’t know you needed it.

Extended family, though separated by miles or community, come together, sharing your pain but offering memories and hope for the future by letting you know that family is forever.

The dark road you are on is lit by the kindness of others.

My road has included stops I never wanted to make, but looking back I am thankful the roadblocks included these stops. I didn’t want to sell my home and leave my community of 62 years. I didn’t want to move my husband to memory care, and I didn’t want to move again this past year to a new place and another community. However, I did. I learned lessons I never would have learned had I stayed stuck in my old life.

I met people that expanded my world. I learned a handicap and age does not have to define your life. Courageous, beautiful souls live in bodies twisted from life. They let their spirit define them.

I learned to look into people’s eyes and souls and not judge them by race or gender or age. Their hearts beat the same as mine.

I learned to look beneath the glitz of our materialistic world and see those that are missed and forgotten. Our neighbors may be one paycheck or social security check away from homelessness or food insecurity. It’s easy to judge when you haven’t experienced it.

I learned our health care system and assisted living and memory care need change so nurses and aides aren’t set up to fail by lack of training, horrible workloads and hours, because these facilities only have to staff the bare minimum. Regulations mandating enough staff are sadly lacking. Facilities shortchange staff on wages so it’s hard to be competitive with other careers. Management always seem to be compensated. Elder abuse is alive and well propagated by money and greed.

I learned even though you pay over $4000 for a room in memory care, you have to provide your own toilet paper. That may seem like a small thing but those small things add up. Not only do you pay the price for the empty room, you must provide furniture, essentials plus every little thing staff does for you, including picking you up off the floor has a charge. I learned that in assisted living, if you fall no one can help you up or give you CPR, that includes staff. You have to call 911. I learned to ask about details such as this when moving in. Not all facilities do this but many for profit establishments do.

I may not have wanted to educate myself on any of these things, however, I would have missed meeting the people that changed my life for the better, teaching me that you can smile and play during the pain of whatever situation you are in. Their quiet courage and faith moved me beyond words

I love where I now live, city and building. My building mates enrich my life. I see my family often. And it’s a new year full of possibilities. I have a new slogan, “Be careful what you don’t wish for.”

I did make a few resolutions I know I can keep. I am going to hang my toilet paper any way I choose. I don’t have to make my bed, because then I don’t mess it up at nap time. I can eat crackers in bed. I’m the only one that sleeps there and the crumbs will be gone when I wash my sheets. My clothes will be clean, but I see no need to fold my underwear, you can’t see those wrinkles. And if I choose to throw my jeans in the drawer unfolded after washing them, when I wear them, I will be coordinated, wrinkle coordinated. My wrinkled jeans will match my face.

It’s a new year. I’m going to try and learn from the old, keep the lessons I experienced close and hope I am up to the task of what I encounter in 2024.

Life is not a fairytale. It is mixed with dreams, sorrows, love, defeat, peace and pain. We can get through it if we rely on each other and lift someone up when they can’t go on, and let someone lift us up when we are buried by the facts of life. And if we are lucky, somewhere in that mix we can hold on to a tiny piece of a fairytale, allowing us to keep on dreaming and growing by our experiences

Happy New Year!

A little postscript: I was informed one of those courageous people I mentioned died. I knew her as Dee Dee. My heart is sad but I will go on always remembering her kindness that she showed my husaband and I. No matter his problems, she always made him feel valued and cared about. The sense of humor they shared together made his last months memorable. The quiet faith she and her husband shared with us at every nightly meal will stay in my heart forever. Look beyond the disability and find the heart. Dee Dee showed us hers. Rest in Peace Dee.

The Test of Time

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Joe wheeled up to the table each night in his motorized wheelchair. He always moved at a fast pace. I and the other residents sitting on the opposite side of the table would grab our dishes, because occasionally he cruised into the table sending things flying. Joe always smiled and chuckled when that happened, with an excuse that he knew we wouldn’t believe.

Joe

Most of us sitting around the table and in the independent and assisted living where we lived told stories of home. In our hearts we wished we could be back there. Joe was no different, but he had accepted assisted living was where he needed to be. His outgoing personality and witty remarks lit up the place.

I remember one conversation about moving away from where he lived his life. Joe said he missed his home in a neighboring town but there was nothing left for him there. All his friends were dead. There was sadness in his voice as he remembered those he shared his life and memories with.

Joe died a few months ago but I’ll never forget him or that conversation. When we’re young, death hits us, especially if it is a close friend or relative. I know it did me, but as I grow older I understand more the repercussions it has on those of us that are up there in age.

Many years ago, right after my husband and I were married, I noticed that whenever my mother-in-law picked up the paper she immediately turned to the obituaries. I thought it was kind of morbid, but at the time she told me it was because she wanted to make sure she didn’t miss sending a sympathy card or attending a funeral of friends that died.

Joe’s statement and my mother-in-laws words come back to me while pondering grief. I now understand. At our age friends and family leave us frequently for their heavenly home, sometimes numerous times a week. There’s more to it than mourning the person who was a part of our life for most of our years. It’s not having that person to talk to that shares your history. Each person shares a unique part of us that no one else can claim. Conversations, experiences good and bad, might only be shared with one or two people.

The other day I thought about the video of a unique funeral given for my cousin, Charlie, when he died. He used to take his four wheeler and travel in the mountain paths near his home in Northern California. That’s where they held his funeral, amongst the mountains and grasses and flowers high up in a place he loved. I wanted to share my thoughts with my cousin, Martha. She and I had watched the videotape together the first time. But Martha is having a conversation in heaven with Charlie along with all my other first cousins on my dad’s side. I can’t share my memories of those California times with anyone else that shared them with me.

A photo took me back to a memory of my high school years. Karen was one of my best friends in grade school and high school and beyond. Karen died when she was 39 and I still miss her, and I miss our conversations about our high school adventures. I could relate them to others but they wouldn’t get it because they weren’t there.

I asked my sister by another mother, Mary, if she wanted to come back and be my date at my next class reunion. Though she graduated a year after I did, we shared many of the same friends. It would be 55 years for me. Mary pointed out that the people she and I created most of our memories with were probably having their reunion in heaven.

My point? We mourn those we lose: family members, friends and acquaintances, but there is so much more under the grief. We also mourn the loss of someone who shared experiences, high points and low points of our lives. There is something sacred in being able to go down memory lane with a friend, or a family member, who are the only ones that share that same memory. Memories of the past that can’t be shared with your special person anymore leaves one feeling lonely. When you get to be the age I and many others are, there are more that shared your history who are gone than are alive.

Like Joe, we realize our tribe is getting smaller. I have a hunch when you hear that an older person is lonely and you encourage them to get out more, or participate more, that the loneliness is on a deeper level. We can be in a crowd of people, enjoying ourselves, making new friends, but yet there is deep loneliness that shares a place in the heart with heartfelt memories. It is a loneliness that can’t be replaced with activity, new friends or even a beautiful attitude. It is the loneliness of memories we can’t share with the ones that helped us create those past moments.

I sometimes get lonely when listening to music of my past because I remember where I was and who I was with when the music played. Yet, I also smile, sing and am thankful for who I got to share my past with. It’s a catch-22 moment and I wouldn’t trade it for the world.

I haven’t quite accepted this is where I am in my life. As I made out sympathy cards this morning, too many for one week, these thoughts whirled about in my mind. I know I’m not alone. It’s the passage of time and it goes fast.

It takes a long time as the saying goes, to grow old friends. The people we now meet will become friends but we’ll share a new, shorter history. It doesn’t mean they are less important in our lives, but that we don’t have the years left to build a long history.

Recently I was watching a tv interview after a tragedy, and the person being interviewed said, “If I had known that would be the last time I would be talking to him I might have taken more time to talk.” Sadly we all feel that way at some point. And it also scares us. The fragility in our lives.

I take comfort in a memory that happened while my mother was in her last days. She was smiling the biggest smile ever. Her attention was on a corner of the room. My mom was the last of her family, her five brothers preceding her in death. I asked her why she was smiling and she said, “Because I am going to see my mom and dad and my brothers soon.” The memory of the moment gives me comfort that she knew and saw something we didn’t.

There is a thankfulness in our memories even while we feel the loneliness from those we lost. We have lived, made the memories, and met and shared lives with those old friends, and because of what we shared we have been blessed in our lives on our road to becoming senior saints as they call us older folks in my church.

“The thing is, when you see your old friends, you come face to face with yourself. I run into someone I’ve known for 40 to 50 years and they’re old. And I suddenly realize I’m old. It comes as an enormous shock to me.

~~Polly Bergan

Don’t Be Mad

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I have a soft heart. It may not seem that this brash, loud person is vulnerable. A friend whom I love, who is occasionally abrasive, but a tell -it-like -it-is person, keeps a part of herself hidden. She and I are alike in that we seem to be extroverts, but I found I’m really an introvert pretending to be an extrovert and always out there. We have loud personalities. We take up causes. We have loud opinions. Hidden underneath that out-there personality of my friend is one of the softest hearts I know that gets hurt easily. She keeps that hurt hidden.

Going through the transition of my husband moving into memory care has brought much soul searching. I’ve never lived alone. Acknowledging that I’m scared is hard. It’s a secret to be kept inside and I realize over the years, especially the last five, I have run on fear. Fear of upsetting the person I lived with, fear of upsetting my children. That fear came out of me as someone that was always whining, asking for help from my family, and in desperation it came across to others as a person to stay away from because I wasn’t pleasant to be around. By being opinionated and verbal about issues that weren’t mine, and taking up some other cause, I could hide my fear or put it out of my mind for a short time. My behavior distanced myself from people I love.

I was breaking inside but on the outside I was pretending, trying so hard to be this I’ve got this person to those around me that weren’t family, this social person, the perfect grandma and good friend. And I complained and cried. Why weren’t family coming home more often to see us and help, to ease what was happening. The Pandemic caused isolation and loneliness but when it was over the visits still were sporadic. I knew it was because of busy lives, but still I suspected it was the drama our life represented because of the memory loss, and me being completely emotional and irrational. Maybe emotionally they couldn’t handle what was happening either. Don’t get me wrong, if it was an emergency they were there immediately for us. Now having some quiet and alone time I pretty much accept it was me that kept them away for the small things, for more frequent visiting.

I have spent the major part of my life wanting people to not be mad at me. I can just hear Dr. Phil saying, “And how’s that working for you?” Looking back I tried too hard, came out as over the top, giving mixed messages and being wishy- washy in my actions. I am always being told by my family , “ Make a decision.” And yes I have been very outspoken. I will tell you right now that those who are caregivers 24/7 don’t think rationally either. They are too caught up in the drama of their lives.

I now see it wasn’t the situation, but me and my crazy personality that made close ones stay away. And it was fear that made me act that way. Fear of being rejected, of making the wrong decision. Fear that I would never get out of the nightmare, and fear of saying I felt I was living in a nightmare, not being able to say those words to anyone because the person I lived with really was living a worse nightmare, so what he needed is more important. His fear was there but not expressed as fear, but anger. Who wouldn’t be angry? So I felt my fear was not rational because I was fine, the healthy one. .

I suspect I am not the only caregiver that doesn’t show who they are to their families, doesn’t express their true feelings, and what they do express comes out wrong because the stress turns their ability to verbalize their emotions, making the words irrational. Not only are we fearful but angry. We keep that inside too. Caregivers compromise who they are, withhold their anger and sadness about the situation to keep the peace, and not have their families upset with them. And yet it isn’t working.

Family is love and that love doesn’t leave because of discord, but it may be hard for all of us to remember that. Our kids live in a world today that is very stressful. They are busy just trying to live and excel and don’t have time for all the drama we may bring to their lives. They have learned to set boundaries to protect themselves. And because of that, we as parents may not understand. Us oldsters were brought up in an entirely different world. We didn’t know about boundaries and stress reduction. We didn’t have media telling us to protect ourselves by staying away from toxic people. The mental health help was not there.

The two worlds of the younger generation and the older generation today are having a hard time, in some cases, understanding the dynamics of the world growing us up differently.

My generation didn’t know it was acceptable to put the toxic people out of our lives, even if they were family. If my mom would have known that she might have put my grandma out of her life. My grandma was always yelling. You can ask her grandkids, we never remember her smiling, but because she was family she was taken care of until she died. My parents sacrificed a lot to take care of parents and brothers because that’s what you did in the olden days. The nursing home and mental health weren’t options.

My mother wanted to teach in Alaska. She wanted to travel the world, but gave up her dreams to stay home and take care of her mother. Others did the same. Family came first. I always thought that was why she was crabby, now I surmise she was crabby from Caregiver burnout, not because she sacrificed her dreams. I did not understand how hard her life was. The generational difference. But the one thing I understood was that family was everything above work and even money. Both my mom and dad financially helped out family members when they had a need. Occasionally supporting them financially until they could get back on their feet. They helped both sides of the families. They helped friends. I still have my dad’s billfold with all the IOU notices from people he lent money to. Their brothers and sisters were the same way. Before her death my mom told me what she had wanted to do with her life, but that she did not regret giving up her dreams to help her family. I believe that. It was the caregiver burnout that caused the crabbiness and I didn’t understand. It was a different generation.

I think my generation has a hard time understanding the difference of today’s world and where the shift is. So we hurt, we hide it and we don’t make sense to our kids because they don’t understand that our expectations come from our past. And we don’t understand the world they live in and how stressful and time consuming the reality that is their life is.

We have a communication gap between what our hearts feel and what we say. If we choose to share, how we say it because of our emotions, it comes out wrong. Emotions that we keep hidden and don’t always recognize ourself such as fear.

Caregivers have so much fear hidden inside of them. Their world is changing. The people that love them don’t always see that their needs are getting lost in the abyss of whoever they are taking care of. A caregiver wakes up in the morning, if they’ve gotten any sleep, and puts one foot in the front of another and takes a step, and occasionally that one step is all that is holding them up. If you know a caregiver ask them what they fear. Do they feel their security is gone and they no longer feel safe? If they are that tender hearted person with a brash exterior, you may have to read between the lines because if they let all the hurt out that they are hiding, they might break. Or they may be that soul who doesn’t want to make anyone mad for fear they will disappear from their life and they will be totally alone, and so the decisions or words they speak may come out as complaining or whining, but really it’s a cry for help, for you to help them be who they are. And love them anyway.