Some things you never forget
In the back of an old notebook I use to study Spanish, I discovered the draft of a letter dated August 31, 1993. During that summer my mom had fallen several times. My letter followed a very bad fall at a community pool. All of this was baffling because my mom had always been in good physical shape. She had once dreamed of becoming a PE teacher. In her late 70’s she still loved to swim and play shuffleboard. She could ride a bike. A New Yorker, she thought fast and talked fast. She also walked fast, always with purpose. Her balance was great. And yet, she kept falling and no one could say why.
Dear Mom,
I’ve been thinking about our conversation Monday evening. You told me not to call you every day. This makes me feel out of touch with you. I understand you are feeling helpless and upset about being in the hospital with all the inconveniences which accompany that. I also understand being asked to talk daily about how uncomfortable you are makes you more upset. But if you tell me not to call you and you tell your friends not to visit, then you’re going to feel worse!
I can hear you say, “Nobody can do anything to make this better.” Maybe that’s true, on a physical level. But your friends and your family love you and we want to show our love by calling and visiting. It may not make you feel better physically, but that love will make you feel much better on an emotional level. You need that. Everybody needs that.
I have no record of how or even if my mom responded to that letter. But maybe she thought about it. During that dreadful winter, she became increasingly less steady on her feet. Then my mom did something she never even considered… she left her beloved New York and moved to California to be near me.
In the spring, someone finally explained what was going on. My mom had ALS (Lou Gehrig’s Disease). She died on Christmas Eve, 1994 at the age of 79. I think her move toward me and David and the kids was her way of acknowledging that, while no one could cure her illness, being near her family did a whole lot of good for her. It did a whole lot of good for us too.
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My heart is in the same place as yours was back then. My father (just turned 80) what is it about around the age of 80 so many really start showing major physical & mental downfalls? Anyway, is showing so many signs of stroke (maybe minis) dementia, Alzheimer, just doesn’t talk much at all & gave up all computer use. It all stems back just over a year ago and progressively got worse and REAL fast! They finally moved off their acreage (17 acres) a month ago into an apartment. My Mom is very happy but it seems my Dad is just existing the best he can. It’s so sad and for myself as a daughter I just don’t know what to do, what to say at times. Getting old is pretty crappy! I am not their only child which in a way makes things worse. It’s so hard to know when to help, and HOW to help, and IF to help when they are trying to hold on to any independence they have left.
Comment by Connie — August 7, 2014 @ 9:40 am
It is hard, isn’t it, Connie? For us, as adult children who want to be helpful. But, of course, what we can not understand fully, is how challenging it is for them… our aging parents. My mom used to say, “I feel like my world is shrinking.” That was true, literally and figuratively. Sounds like it is the same for your dad. Literally moving off 17 acres of “big-ness” into an apartment. But also, his ability to get around independently, with confidence… that too, unfortunately, is shrinking. I can only hope that when it is my turn to live in a “smaller” world, that I’ll have the inner resources to be at peace with the new reality and continue to find joy in my family and in my work.
Comment by Annie — August 7, 2014 @ 9:59 am
Annie, a lovely letter. I didn’t know that your Mother had ALS. I was at the bedside of my friend, Shela when she died of the disease. So difficult slowly losing control of your body. I do love the picture of your Mom riding her bicycle!
Comment by Judith Savina Falstein — August 9, 2014 @ 11:26 am
Annie,
I empathize with your feelings so long ago. My mother now is living 20 minutes across the city, having lost my father as you know almost a year ago. (We chatted by twitter) She is becoming increasingly unsteady on her feet. It is tough to know how to intervene without taking away her independence or being intrusive.
I suspect that it’s the exact same thoughts she had so long ago when I was a child. Circle of life. Tough to know what to do.
Funny thing at 52 I’m getting more unsteady on my feet!
Being a doctor is of no help. So true, Connie is right; getting old is crappy.
Nevertheless trying to stay positive and happy.
Best
Ash
Comment by Ashwin Maharaj — August 10, 2014 @ 2:20 am
Ashwin, I find it useful to pose the question, “How can I help?” rather than “Do you need help?” With the former, there is an implied judgement and an assumption: “I see you need help. You are not as independent and self-reliant as I am or as you used to be.” This can be hard for an older person to swallow. But the latter question “How can I help?” is a neutral statement and lets the other person choose how much and what kind of help they would appreciate. If they do not choose to avail themselves of assistance, there is no problem in saying, “Thanks, but I’m fine.”
Comment by Annie — August 10, 2014 @ 9:56 am
Thanks for your kind words, Judith. Caring for someone who is suffering is both a privilege and an emotional challenge. It took a long while before I could get un-stuck from only picturing my mom as she was in her last months. But in time, I could remember her as she was for most of her life… riding the bicycle and feeling the independence and joy of being able to get up and go. The whole experience softened my heart and made me more human and humane.
Comment by Annie — August 10, 2014 @ 9:59 am
I love that photo too, Judith. You can see the fun my mom is having… :O)
Comment by Annie — August 19, 2014 @ 8:18 am