‘Twas the night after Christmas and all through the house, only grown-up creatures lounged about.
Grandchildren were nestled all snug in their beds while dreams of snowboarding and Wii games danced in their heads.
When what to my wondering ears should come forth, but sounds from my children I’d ne’er heard before:
“Now Mother, we don’t want you to overdo. You’re working too hard in the kitchen, and you shouldn’t run up and down the stairs every time you hear one of the kids yell. Make them come to you. You’re not as young as you used to be.”
Indeed, these words came with the quiet inflection of a parent cautioning a child whom they loved but feared was on dangerous ground.
A situation many older folks will one day encounter was coming into focus. A role reversal of sorts. The time when adult children feel they must become the wise, loving caretaker of old Mom and Dad.
I recognized it of course because I’d been there and done that with my own father years before.
My dad was just about the age I am today. He’d come to watch his oldest grandson graduate from high school.
We lived in rural Arlington with a half-acre lawn sloping downhill from our home to a small pond and the neighbor’s garden. On the other side, we’d fenced in a large pasture for the children’s sheep.
The spring lambs were frisky escape artists (much like young grandchildren). They could get under, over or through almost any combination of fences if they had a goal such as a garden with tasty green shoots.
I had to drive to town. My dad, crippled as a child by polio and again at 68 by a severe stroke, was barely able to walk without his walker or cane. “If the lambs get out,” I told him, “just let them go. Lisa will chase them back and fix the fence if she gets home before I do.
Well, of course, the lambs got out. Made such a big hole their elders followed.
Too much for my dad. Somehow, he managed to get down the hill and was shooing them out of the garden and waving a hoe at the charging ram as I drove up.
Without thinking I yelled at him, “You should not be down here. Get in the car where you’re safe. I’ll get you up to the house and come back for the sheep.”
He was hurt and angry for the disrespect I’d shown.
By the time I had the sheep corralled, he had a suitcase packed and would have called a cab if there was such a thing where we lived.
He locked the door to his room. My stepmother tried to reason with him.
I was apologizing and backpedaling fast, trying to explain that my words were out of fear for his safety.
Finally he calmed down. We made a passable peace, but I know he’d never really forget that moment and my words.
His fear of losing all his independence drove him, years later, to take his own life. It was a devastating loss for those he left behind, and we always asked, “What could we have done to change the choice he made?”
Fortunately my adult children are gentler in their admonitions. And, I am older and wiser and understand this process.
So when the new digital camera under the Christmas tree came with “instructions.” I sat patiently on a bench in my son’s office as he taught me the process of linking it to my laptop, downloading photos and printing. I demonstrated to his satisfaction that I understood and could repeat the steps once we were home alone. So did my husband.
Yes, we could have just read the instruction book, but why not take advantage of a good teacher?
He’s as patient with us as he is with his children.
I have raised a good son.
We have dabbled in a life experience that may be repeated as the years pass. There could come a time when, because of physical illness or dementia, we may need our adult children to help us make much more difficult choices.
On a recent Sunday in church, a couple we know asked for prayers of support. They were leaving for Arizona to be with her parents who are frail and no long able to live independently. Her dad was angry at his circumstances. Her mother was frightened.
The time has come to sell the large home they could no longer afford nor maintain, and make another sort of living arrangement: a small apartment in a senior complex or assisted living facility for the frail elderly.
The younger couple knows this discussion must be handled with respect, but a change has to be made to ensure her parents’ safety and comfort in the years that remain.
I hope such a time is many years away for my husband and me. We want to make the difficult choices before our children feel they need to intercede.
But if we don’t or can’t and they intercede, I pray I will remember how blessed I am to have children who love me so much they won’t turn away from the task.
Linda Bryant Smith writes about life as a senior citizen and the issues that concern, annoy and often irritate the heck out of her now that she lives in a world where nothing is ever truly fixed but her income. E-mail her at ljbryantsmith@yahoo.com.
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