My lovely friend, Helen Rorabaugh used to tell me, "Honey, It's hell growing old." She lived to be 94, outliving her son and her husband by many, many years. In the end, she was well cared for in a top-notch assisted living facility. A nephew and her many friends made sure she had what she wanted. Problem was, all she really wanted to do was die and be with her family. It's not that Helen whined or grew apathetic or anything. Living just wasn't much fun anymore.
Now that I am in my 50's, to some extent, almost everyone my age is dealing with aging parents and relatives. It's rough. It hurts. And... it makes you realize those days are not that far off. Twenty or 30 years from now, my children will be doing the same and I will be the one facing all the horrors of growing old.
Best case scenario is you live a mostly healthy, active life and when you are quite through with this world, you go to bed one night and die peacefully in your sleep. But that's the exception. For most of us, there will be mental and/or physical deterioration that makes the smallest tasks difficult and sucks the joy out of your life. I hate this reality!
Two weeks ago, we moved my in-laws into an assisted living facility. As they go, it's a nice one. The staff seems caring, the food is decent, the environment is warm and inviting- no bad smells as you go down the halls. Despite this, my in-laws now share a small room, consisting of a sitting area, a large TV and a bed. There is a sink, a microwave and a cupboard. Off this room is a large bathroom and a large, walk-in closet. The room is light and airy, with a window that looks at a landscaped courtyard. Days don't need to be spent in the room, there are gathering rooms, a nice dining area, a covered front porch and the courtyard. There is also a spa and hair salon. Much improved over care facilities of the past.
Moving them, was not an easy decision. We'd contemplated it for months and were warned by my father-in-law that it would "kill them." In the end, there wasn't much choice and a room became available. The move itself was fraught with tears. My mother-in-law mourned the loss of her kitty and my father-in-law was just plain angry- not at us, at the situation. I don't blame them. It does feel like the beginning of the end.
Now they share a small space just blocks from the home they raised their three boys in. They are both mobile so days might find them making the trip home, moving among the rooms they hold so dear. Soon the house will be sold and even that connection to their past will be severed.
In times past, parents were moved into your home and cared for, usually by the woman of the house. I'm sure it wasn't easy, but there were few other options. Even if there were, it was the family's duty to care for mom and dad. And while some still choose to care for their elderly loved ones, more often it isn't even an option. Two income homes and families waiting to have children until later in life preclude this.
Recently, I was attending a luncheon with a group of women I went to college with. While the faces were familiar, I can see that we are in fact aging (well, of course we are). Discussing our lives, one woman said , "We're not even technically middle-aged anymore." She's right, that is, unless we live to be over 100. I don't want to grow old. I don't want to move into a tiny room with my husband. I don't want to suffer from mental deficiency and physical ailments, but unless I am one of the rare few that goes quietly in their sleep, I will.
That's life- living long means growing old and I do want to live long.
VSL
