A Good Enough Daughter
As a professional in the field of aging, Sara had seen it all—until her own mother broke her hip at the age of 88 and became profoundly confused, unable to live in her own home. Join Sara on her journey through the strangeness that is dementia while trying to make sense of it all and finding humor in the details. [Editor's note: Sara no longer contributes to Silver Planet, but we have made her archived blog entries available as a service to our readers.]
Gossamer of Sadness
So many people are afraid of getting old
“Getting old is hell,” my friend Jo recently wrote. I think her words and sentiment reflected her feelings of loss. Loss of her dear parents, who are slowly fading away, and a sense of loss as the signs of her own aging are becoming clearer with the passage of each birthday. Perhaps it’s not really getting old that seems so hellish as is the realization that what was once, will never be again.
I rebel against that sort of thinking. I want to yell, “No! Impossible!” Aging is not terrible. It just can’t be. Every living person has the potential to get old. How can something so natural be hellish? It’s illogical. And yet, so many people are afraid of getting old.
Actually, I do understand the fear of aging in America. Sons and daughters work, leaving little time for hands-on caregiving. As a matter of public policy, Americans support people who cannot take care of themselves; however, as a country, we do not adequately support families who want to care for their aging family members. In many parts of the country today, a nursing home (far too many of which are s---holes) is the inevitable last stop.
I know enough to know that everyone ages as he or she lives. Happy middle-aged people become happy old people. Optimism in mid-life gives birth to satisfaction in old age. Old is just another stage in life. When people slow down and fade, as my friend Karen says, “That’s how it should be.” In fact, I like to believe that the process of getting old and dying should be celebrated, particularly if the life lived was a good one.
All that said . . . I spent a recent day with my mother, traipsing from one doctor appointment to another, no real problems, just checking up on a few things. Throughout the day, I could see her decline, the slowness, the fading.
On my way home, I felt odd, nothing obvious, and nothing that I was conscious of. The doctor visits went well and Mom functioned as well as could be expected. It took a while—the next day really—to realize that I was feeling sadness. I was sad that my mother would not be around too much longer. I was sad that her functioning has diminished so extensively. I was sad for the loss of what was. . . .
By Sara Myers
A Good Enough Daughter Blog
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