The elders, three of them, arrive in a few hours. They include my 91 year old mother and her two friends from the UK, one 90 years old, the other 80. As I approach 70 myself, I am struck by the irony of how times have changed. My whole life—on the fairly rare occasions when the topic of aging has passed through my mind—I’ve considered 70 to be pretty old. I imagined I’d be slowing down substantially, perhaps enjoying a peaceful old age, one of quiet contemplation, perhaps doing some writing based on my long life’s experience. I imagined that I might be the object of my children’s concern, as my body and perhaps my mind deteriorated, that I would be the recipient of some care, though of course I hoped not much would be needed. Instead, I have benefited from the longer lifespan of those in the western world; I am comparatively active and healthy. I’ll be the youngest and the healthiest among the five of us who will be in my home over the next week.
Children and grandchildren always remain in our minds, occasionally (in my case) needing attention. But I find my mind occupied increasingly with concerns about my mother. How serious is her forgetfulness? How dangerous is the fact that she continues to drive short distances (she’s had the good sense to curtail her own driving to daylight hours, good weather, and a 3 mile radius from home)? How worried need we be when she takes long trips on her own? How can we balance her remaining good sense with her occasional peculiar decisions—granting her the human right to self-determination as long as we possibly can? We cannot avoid the fact that as we age, others eventually may have to take over the responsibilities we have shouldered. It’s a great relief that my son and his wife live with her, so we needn’t worry about unattended falls that might leave her to die alone and unable to rise on the floor or in the bathtub—the latter nearly happened to my similarly aged mother in law a few years ago.
As the elders’ arrival draws near, I go over my house with elder needs in mind: I have bought the extra sanitary pads of various thicknesses, in case of need; added to the supply of toilet paper in each bathroom; opened the ‘Wet wipes’ (as these are both needed and difficult for extra-old hands to open) and taken the toothpaste tube out of its box (again, hard to open). We have rearranged the bedrooms, adding comfortable chairs (into which the elders won’t sink so far they will not be able to rise) near the beds where they will sleep. The beds are made with extra pillows in case these are needed for arranging elderly bodies in positions that minimize the pains of arthritis. We learned that the two visitors are fairly fit, so we are putting them upstairs; my mother is not, so she is downstairs—where she won’t have to maneuver stairs. Both beds have extra blankets, as the elderly get cold easier than the rest of us.
In imagining what entertainment to provide we have had to consider the short distances my mother can travel on foot, and the importance of flat surfaces for her walker. We opted out of a boat ride, as getting her in and out of the boat would be difficult. The two visitors are good walkers, so we will have to figure an entertainment that allows both walking and sitting—like Cornell’s Sapsucker Woods, which has the Lab of Ornithology connected to it, with nice chairs and telescopes for looking at the birds, as well as beautiful walks. My mother wants to visit Watkins Glen, at the southern end of Seneca Lake (the next Finger Lake to the West): a nice ride for the group. Such a trip will obviate some of the dilemmas of walking long distances.
I have listened to the advice of my 72 year old cousin, who has lived here longer, and has also had more visits from her own aged mother when she was still alive. Lime Hollow is a nearby nature center that is flat and that I have never visited (which will be nice for me as well). And if it rains, we can go to the Johnson Art Museum at Cornell. We wondered if we could get a temporary ‘Handicapped sticker’ for our car. We remembered that on weekdays elders get into New York’s State Parks free. We also remembered that old people need a lot of rest—so we don’t want to schedule all the time or too many things on one day.
As I consider all these things, in anticipation of this visit, I realize again that I am of an age where such care might have had to be taken with me; and that the time will come—sooner than I would wish—when I will need all these considerations as well. I recognize that my stamina and physical strength are far less than they used to be; I bemoan my inability to remember names of things multiple times every day (though thankfully the names do still eventually come to mind); my reflexes are not as quick as they used to be, my balancing ability less reliable. There’s no doubt all these things indicate my own aging process. But I find myself surprised at my good health, what stamina and strength I do have—a pleasure and a relief.
As I struggle sometimes with the need to care for others, I realize that these same considerations are going on all over the US (and other countries in which people live longer), as people remain healthy longer and/or simply live longer. Old people are caring for still older people. I’m grateful that I remain healthy and strong enough to do it; that we, as a family, share what care my mother needs; that she remains so healthy and active; and that I am blessed with her continued living presence on earth.