Visiting Mother

It must take great strength to grow old. I'm not sure I'll have it. Certainly my generation will not face infirmity and death with the same stoicism and grace as my mother and her generation.

I've just spent the last week in Michigan with her, visiting the retirement home. It is at mealtimes that the community gathers and I can gradually get to know some people. This time one of the liveliest ladies was facing a move to Georgia to be with her daughter, and she and her friends were mourning. When you are 88 years old, you are saying goodbye forever when you move that far away. Several long time residents have made such moves this year, maybe because of increasing frailty, or maybe because money is running out and living with a son or daughter is the only option. One lady I've sat with over these three years was not there this time. She was always sharp, with a wry wit. When I dared to ask about her I found out she had a stroke, couldn't talk, and was down in the nursing wing. People get worse, people die. It could be a morbid place ( once in a while people do make remarks like, "If I'm still here"), but most live graciously (and maybe gratefully) day to day and enjoy small pleasures, and at least keep up a front of equanimity.

It's considered bad manners to discuss your ills too much at the table- also somewhat a point of pride not to admit your weaknesses, if possible. The worst disability actually is deafness, in my opinion. It cuts people off from each other and makes many conversations monologues and non-comprehending nods. When Mother couldn't get her hearing aid adjusted right she said, "I guess I'll just go and eat and not be sociable." Mother who used to love to talk and discuss all kinds of subjects is often silent in a group around the table.

Is she depressed and hiding it? Stoical or in a passive state because of her memory problems-just waiting to be told what's going on? I had an urge to say, "What are you really feeling? Is it awful to be alone so much, to have trouble walking because of arthritis, to be half deaf, to have untrustworthy bladder and bowels, to feel confused, to lose so many abilities, to lose your husband and so many friends? Don't you want to scream sometimes?"

But she is tranquil, watches the birds at the feeders and comments about them, plays her piano . When I took her on some outing, she kept asking where we were headed, but she keeps track of the routine back at her home. She did say one day, "Somehow I still don't feel as if I live here." It must seem unreal when you've run your own house for so long. Once she made the decision to move there, she accepted the situation- either gave up or entered a state of serenity, depending on your point of view. Certainly her deep religious faith has carried her through many difficulties. On the rare occasions when she has complained, she quickly tempers it with a statement of gratitude for not having to cook any more, for the kindnesses of the nurses and aides. She does not want to be trouble to anyone.

It may be a Midwestern thing or a generational thing, but I didn't really hear anyone complaining. In public, at least, emotions are on an even keel. Most of the people there look back on lives well lived. Many have lived in the area all their lives, except for overseas service in WW II, some on farms, some at the same job (Ford or GM) for years. They have children and grandchildren and great grandchildren, had stable marriages, are firm in their religious faith. The ones I know from my growing up years there, gave service to their communities and were models to me of what life should be. I have not followed that pattern, however, and many of my contemporaries have found that our world has changed.

When we are old will we "rage,rage"? Will we be able to retire at all or to afford an independent end of life? Will we have the spiritual strength to accept the losses and pain? We will probably be more open about our psychological states, maybe be less lonely as we talk to each other about what we are facing. But in the end it is our own journey and journey's end .