Stare down

It's the staring that gets to me.

If I think of all of the things that bother me about our new roomies, most of them are just me being the crabbiest and least flexible or kind person on earth. I like things a certain way and there's no way anybody, least of all two 81 year olds, will fit into my idea of the perfect roommate.

But the staring gets me every time. After 3 months, I can can tell you, definitively, OLD PEOPLE SIT AND STARE AT NOTHING.

It drives me mad. I sit next to my hubby on the couch, look out on the deck and see my Dad sitting, not reading or sleeping, but staring at NOTHING. Then here's the conversation that takes place:

Me: Look at him. How does he do that?
Hubby: Do what?
Me: SIT AND STARE AT NOTHING?
Hubby: It's his life, why does it matter?
Me: Because his life is now in MY house and it drives me CRAZY!

Sometimes my parents sit together and stare at nothing...together. They don't talk. They just sit and stare. Then my Mom will punctuate the silence with a question of my Dad. Typically an inane question that really requires no answer...and usually receives none.

But the worst...the ABSOLUTE WORST...is when I go in the library and Dad is sitting in there alone. The TV is on but muted. He's staring at the screen. And then this conversation takes place:

Me: Dad, what are you watching?
Dad: NCIS
Me: Why is it muted?
Dad: Because I've seen this one and I don't want to watch it.
Me: Then why don't you watch something else?
Dad: Because I don't want to. 


*Cut to me walking away, shaking head in disbelief.*

I know that while they are sitting and staring, they are sometimes thinking about things. I know this because sometimes, after a mini stare-fest, my Mom will make a beeline toward me and then ask some crazy question about the Assisted Living facility where they will, hopefully, move in a few weeks (more about this later.) Or, more typically, she will talk about her belongings and then simply say: "I need to sort through some things." I swear to God, she has said that sentence at least 50 times in the past week. For God's sake, Woman, SORT, SORT, SORT!!!

But I guess therein lies the mystery of old people. They have thoughts, but the execution of those thoughts and/or desires is simply beyond their abilities.

Or, as Little Feat said in the great song "Old Folks Boogie:

And you know that you're over the hill
When your mind makes a promise that your body can't fill

A letter to my 81-year old self

There's a video that's gone viral. It's a guy talking to his 12-year old self. It's kind of cute..and awkward. Here, you can watch it:



Well, this got me thinking. What would I say to myself in 30 years? What would I say to my 81 year old self - i.e. me, at the exact same age my parents are at?

Well, I won't torture you with a video. I haven't yet showered and I don't look all perty. But I'll do it in a letter form. Here goes:

Dear Karen,
Hey, how's it going? 81, huh? Can you believe it? Do you remember what it was like when Mom and Dad were 81? Do you remember those months that they lived with you? They seemed endless, didn't they? And yet, looking back, they were actually just the blink of an eye. Kind of like everything else in your life - you made a gigantic freakin' deal out of it all and, in reality, it was over fairly quickly. You were always such a drama queen.

The kids turned out pretty well, didn't they? All that worry paid off. Or is it that they were destined to be great and you just wasted so much time worrying? I don't know that we'll ever know. 

And aren't the grandkids AMAZING? Yes, you finally have grandkids, although  for a while, it felt like you never would. But that's just you - impatient as always. Both a good and bad thing. Good because you made things happen. You did things. Not always the right things, but at least you didn't sit back and never make decisions. I'm proud of you for that. 


I'm curious how your health is? You finally got healthy when you hit 50. (About damn time. What were you waiting for?) It's paying off a little now, isn't it? Too bad you didn't buckle down and read more. Your brain would be better off, but then again, that's more of that impatient thing again. The internet is oh so tempting. Too easy to check Twitter 50 times a day instead of reading a few pages of a book. Remember Twitter? Yeah, that was pretty stupid. So was Pinterest, but that's for another time.


So now is the time to relax and enjoy things. Enjoy the family. Enjoy the friends. You kept your friends, right? God, I hope so. Talk to people. Ask questions. Let people wait on you a little bit. You've certainly earned it. Spread some wisdom around - you've certainly earned THAT. Here's my most important message: I'm guessing that you have some aches, pains and health issues. Don't dwell on them. They will be there regardless. Fine, talk about them with the old people you know, but talk about young people things too. Be that old person that young people love to be around. Be the old person that still craves happiness - just like Mom was. Not like Dad. I know he couldn't help it, but still, make that your goal. Achieve happiness. You've earned THAT. 


Now go take a nap. You've earned that too.
Love,
Karen

Now that I've written that, it's more like a letter to my 51 year old self. I realize now, reading that, that if I want all of those things, I have to start now. Being a great old person takes years of work.

Better get busy.

Move it...and don't stop.

I'm going to get a little Preachy McPreachster. I have seen end results and they're not pretty.

Ready? Here goes: No matter how old you are, exercise. Exercise right now and don't stop....EVER.

No doubt about it, getting old kind of sucks. Some things you can't prevent. Some things you can. But here's something I have seen personally - IF YOU GET UP AND MOVE AROUND, YOU'LL BE BETTER OFF WHEN YOU'RE OLD.

Caring for my 81 year old parents these past 3 months I've seen, up close, the effects of no exercise (my Dad) and moderate exercise (my Mom.) Despite the fact that Mom has had both a hip and knee replacement, along with a few other unearned maladies, she's in pretty darn good shape. She's happier and much more vibrant.

Dad chooses to move very little. I have to beg him to take a short walk and even that, for him, is agonizing. I've told him time and time and time again: GET UP AND MOVE AROUND. YOU WILL FEEL BETTER. He chooses not to listen and, therefore, he chooses to be unhappy and miserable.

Everyone has seen the studies that show that exercise prevents aging. The truth is, we are all going to age, but I'm here to tell you that it really, really, REALLY does matter how you age. What you do or don't do now - if you're 20, 30, 40, 50 or 60 - will pay off when you're 80. And I'm not talking about running marathons or working out like a mad person. I'm talking about REGULAR, moderate exercise. It all counts and it all adds up.

And if you have kids or plan to have kids or have family and care about them at all, make that your motivation. Because eventually, your kids or somebody in your family will, in some way, be caring for you.  The less you move now, the harder you make it for them down the road. That's right. You can choose not to exercise at all and think that it effects only you, but eventually somebody else will have to pay for your sedentary lifestyle.

Here's an idea. Think of life as a game. He/She who has the most points, wins. Points are given for exercise. The less points you have, the worse you feel, in the end. Got it? OK, then move it.

That's it.

*Steps off soapbox.*

Independence Day

Oh the irony.

To me, the 4th of July was always just that - the 4th of July. This year, today, it's most definitely Independence Day.

This summer, I really understand that word - independence - so much better. I know that our Founding Fathers had a much different idea of independence. They wanted to be free from tyranny, injustice, religious and political persecution, inequality and so much more.

Here, today, in our house, independence has a softer, more basic meaning - the ability to live on your own.

We talk a lot with my parents about independence. For nearly 60 years, they lived independently. Circumstances crashed into each other and they lost that independence. (If you're new to this blog, click here for the story.) It was taken away, by us, albeit for reasons filled with love and caring. It's a classic elder care story. "I love you. I care about you. This is not what you want, but it's for the best." Tough choices, tough actions.

We're working hard to restore some independence to my parents' lives. We've found a lovely assisted living facility. They've been assessed and have qualified. But it's not that easy. We need a whole bunch of things to fall into place (i.e. $$$) in order for this to work. But the important thing is that we now all have the same goal - to find them a place where they can live "on their own." We want it, but most importantly, they want it.

The easiest way to find out what matters is to have it taken away. My parents valued their independence. They pulled themselves up by their bootstraps time and time again. Finally, we had to reach in and do some bootstrap pulling for them. Sometimes, the hardest thing of all is asking for help. That is exactly how they ended up here, in our house.

Sure, we've lost some independence ourselves. Prior to them living here, our nest was empty and pretty darn cushy. I came and went as I pleased. I cooked hardly at all. The only pills I sorted were my own daily vitamins. The only being who was completely dependent upon me was our Golden Retriever.

My how things have changed.

I have to be honest and say I miss a lot. I miss my friends. I miss my freedom. I miss my quiet house. I miss making plans. I miss my family - I feel like we're relay runners passing the elder care baton between each other. 

And yet, I also have to say, that there's something compelling about feeling needed. It's been a long time since I've had that. Since our daughter was very young, so nearly 20 years. I never felt totally competent back then and I still feel pretty iffy right now. But everyone knows that. We're all doing the best we can with what we have.

We will have our independence back. At what cost, I don't know. But we will get it and we will give it as best as we can.

My parents' independence will be us passing that baton on to professionals - a helping hand, if you will. Easier said than done.

Then again, independence is never really independent, is it?

The Living Will continue...so stop asking.

The other day, for about the 5th time, I sat in a meeting in which the following question was asked of one of my parents:

"So, do you have an advance directive set up?"

The person asking the question then explains (in kind of a patronizing way) that an advance directive (or Living Will) is an instruction to loved ones and to medical personnel regarding doing CPR or any type of resuscitation in case their heart stopped.

Later, my Mom said to me: "Why do they keep asking me this? It's starting to freak me out."

I couldn't agree more. Look, I understand WHY they are asking this of the elderly. They are the most likely to NEED a Living Will in the near future. Apparently, a memo went out to health care providers to start asking elderly patients, early and often, whether they have an advance directive. Here's what this question makes old people think: THEY ARE DYING....RIGHT NOW.

Seriously, isn't there a better way and time to ask this? Or, if they've already set up an advance directive, can we give them a sticker or a bracelet so people stop asking?!

Elderly people KNOW their clock is ticking. What they don't need is a constant reminder that time is of the essence. If they didn't feel like crap before they were asked this question, they sure do now.

Imagine someone asking you, Mr./Ms. Healthy Person, if you want to be resuscitated.  You think for a minute and then ask yourself "Am I ready to die?" Regardless of your answer, it's a little unsettling to be asked, isn't it?

How about if we ask people this question when they turn 50...when death seems to be WAY in the distance and not such a disturbing notion. Asking the elderly just seems mean.

Losing my sh*t

The coffee made me snap - both the fact that I had two cups and the fact that it was all over the sink...and the counter...and the clean dishes.

I want to kill him. At this moment, right now, I can't take it. Yes, I CAN take it and I will continue to take it as long as everything properly falls into place, but this morning, about 15 minutes ago, I completely lost it. Actually, correction, I held it in enough to walk out on the deck and try to cool off and also enough that I didn't march into the library and yell at my Dad.

Here's a little background - Dad somehow thinks a kitchen sink is like a garbage can. Things that he wants to get rid of, go in or near the sink. I can't explain this. I have two kitchen sinks. The one on the right has a dish drainer. I've told him REPEATEDLY that the right-hand sink is where I keep clean dishes that are drying. And yet today, again, for about the 25th time, he dumped his leftover coffee in the right sink. Leftover coffee that I knew he would dump out when I poured it for him. Coffee he only wanted because he got up at 6:15 am for some God-knows-what reason. Coffee that, besides going all over my clean dishes, spilled out onto the countertop as well and sat there.

I was putting away dishes and didn't notice it at first. Then I grabbed a supposedly clean dish and looked into that right-hand sink.

Coffee, everywhere.

I. Completely. Lost. It.

If my daughter weren't still sleeping, I think I would have screamed. I held back slightly only so my Mom wouldn't absorb the guilt of the situation. (Earlier this morning I asked her to make sure Dad didn't slam doors because our daughter was still sleeping. I realized too late that Mom would now obsess about this and then feel bad. Mom feels bad about EVERYTHING.) The most I could do was throw a sponge. Hubby told me to go upstairs and he'd finish up. I ignored him. I needed to clean it up and brood a bit more.

The coffee isn't the only offending "sink invader." Dad is addicted to ice cream bars. (I buy him "no sugar added" bars that won't spike his blood sugar too much.) For some reason, he takes off the wrapper and throws it in the sink. I'm sorry but WTF?! How hard is it to open the garbage that's right next to the sink? He does this because he KNOWS that somebody else will pick up his crap. To be perfectly honest, I'm really getting pissed off about picking up his crap. Seriously.

Look, I know what you're thinking. He's got dementia. Give him a break. Here's what I'm thinking: It's dementia, not a learning disability. Because he's 81 and is mentally compromised, I should let him be a complete self-centered slob? I'm sorry, but no. I'm not buying it. I've been applying buckets of compassion to this situation but here today, I completely lost my shit. Yep, I said it.

My Mom can't see anything and yet she walks around as pleasant and sweet and flexible as anybody in the entire world. If there's anyone that has a right to be self-centered, it's Mom. She can't even see her own face in the morning, for God's sake. And yet instead of thinking about herself, she caters to Dad. Yes, she created that dementia-addled, wonky-walking, self-centered animal. But I'll be damned if I'm going to put up with his crap.

OK, thanks. I feel better now.

Mad Man

I guess everyone ages differently. My Mom has become a sweet, gentle, compliant person who loves talking to anyone and everyone. My Dad, on the other hand, has become, for lack of a better word, boorish. In fact, if I think about it, their roles have sort of reversed.

I remember Mom being kind of crabby all the time when I was growing up. No doubt that was in large part due to having a moody, abrasive and self-centered daughter like me. I admit it. I was probably not very pleasant to be around. What I didn't realize is that her crabbiness could very much also be due to waiting hand and foot on my Dad.

Back in the day, Dad was probably one of the stereotypical "Mad Men." He made his living in advertising. Although not as classically handsome as Don Draper, he was all about the 3 martini lunches (although in his case it was scotch & soda) and the ordering around of the women-folk in his world. Funny, but I remember him as being extremely polite and generous almost to a fault. I watched him interact with others and he was socially a bit shy, but always took an interest in things around him. If I asked Mom, I think he spent a fair amount of time ordering her around. Not in a mean way but rather to sort of guide her through life. She deferred to him because he had an art degree and she had only a high school diploma. (Truth be told, she may have been the smarter one of the two.) She looked up to him and wanted to keep him happy. He was, perhaps, a taskmaster at home, but gracious and affable in public.

Today, here in our house and with us, he's anything but that. When we go out to eat, he practically steps over my Mom's words to place his food order first. It's such a weird vibe from him now - practically unrecognizable. As I do with so many things now, I try to find the source of anything negative. What makes him unhappy? Why does he look depressed? (If you think about it, I've taken on my Mom's role from the 1960's.)

To put it bluntly, Dad is mad. He's mad that he can't remember things. He's mad that things hurt. He's mad that he's not living in his own house. He's mad that he's got a 51-year old woman ordering him around and questioning whether he really did wash his hands. Basically, he's mad that he's old. When did that happen? When did he lose the funny, creative guy that he used to be? When did he wake up to find that absolutely nothing in his life is of any interest at all?

When I think about it that way, I'd be mad too.