Aging, Death, and Winning

Over the past few years I've found myself with ample opportunities to spend time with people who were in the last years of living. I've observed; I've asked; I've listened;  It's been quite an education.

We're a funny bunch, us humans. The one sure thing in our lives is that we will die. Most of us don't know when or how we will end but -- pretty much as soon as we can fathom -- we learn that our earthly, physical life is temporary. And yet when we learn of someone's passing, we are shocked -- often followed with "why?". "He was so young". "She was such a good person..." Our denial runs deep.

People of all ages fall off every day -- some instantly, accidentally, intentionally, and others stalked by illness and disease. And if we are really lucky, and dodge the aforementioned, we have the privilege of growing old. If we get to be old, it means we've depleted and squeezed the maximum usage out of our bodies and completed this race we call life. We're winners.

And what is the prize for being a winner? Mmmm - tough question. Old people have suffered a lifetime of accumulated losses: parents, aunts, uncles, siblings, spouses, colleagues and friends. Imagine being the sole survivor of your generation in your family; not having anyone alive who remembers you as a child or at your youthful peak. Imagine that the people in your life have only known your wrinkles and ailments - and not the energy and accomplishments of your younger self. No wonder old people get cranky! I'm getting cranky just writing about it!

When we see an older person it's easy to forget that behind that crusty mask of age is someone with a lifetime of experiences; who flirted and courted and fell in love; who had dreams and hardships and triumphs; and who never imagined that they too would be old some day. And to add to the frustration, old people have a lifetime of wisdom to share - and a small audience who seek it.

In many cultures around the world and in our own aboriginal communities, old people are revered as "elders" -  mentors and living examples of deeply ingrained principles, values and teachings. I am fortunate that in my family -- my tribe -- there is a shared respect, responsibility and appreciation for our elders. We smother them with love and affection and take every opportunity to  express our feelings as not to leave anything unsaid. Come to think of it, not too much of anything is left unsaid in our family -- and that's a good thing!

So if I haven't depressed the hell out of you about growing older and old -- I suppose I am suggesting that you focus on that which you can affect -- your attitude towards aging and the aged. I for one have my eye on the prize and if I get the chance to grow old and a little crusty - I will be grateful for a lifetime full of all that I created for myself. And in the meantime, I'm going to make it my mission that the elders in our tribe are happy to still be in the race!

Under the Light of a Silvery Moon

The golden saucer hung low in the sky, glowing brightly, outshining the stars. We leaned back in our Muskoka chairs on the dock, heads tilted skyward, gazing silently at the breathtaking beauty. Diamonds danced across the water and a perfect reflection of the moon cast a response upwards.

What a moon! What a sight to behold. The season of change has had a brilliant introduction.

And while we moon gazed, life in our family is changing.

She has seen and survived war and destruction; immigration and persecution; and poverty and pain. And in her almost 92 years she has raised four boys to men, nurtured grandchildren, ran a nursery school, supported herself and maintained  a stoic matriarchal position in a growing family. She wages war on diabetes in a sightless existence and sadly, she will succumb to the ravages of the disease. But she will not go quietly into the night - as that is not her way. What she has endured is not for the faint of heart; her iron will and stubborn reluctance is her resilience. She has said she is not afraid - just afraid of being alone.

She is nearing the end of her journey and the time spent holding her hand while she rests is a privilege - and does not go unnoticed. Her sporadic jolts into the here and now that produce a random "I love you" or "thank you for everything you do" spoken with her heavy German accent are our reward. Her heavy laughter after my heartfelt attempt at singing "Goodnight Irene" is precious, and means the world.

We love and are loved. And over a lifetime, we can only hope that the circle of love we have cultivated will be there to sustain us in our darkest hour. And if we are really fortunate, we will have a chorus of tender farewells to usher us over to our hereafter.

Ninety-nine

You turned 99 today; a milestone of monumental proportion. We thought you wouldn't understand or remember, but when your daughter showed up bearing joy and birthday greetings, you spoke up loud and clear, "My birthday is in October". And you were right. You are so full of surprises, riding a roller coaster of oblivion, despair, recognition and momentary clarity. Much of your time is spent inward in a world of your own design.

You are loved, and tenderly attended to by your devoted daughter. You know you have a daughter Shirley, even though you are unable to attach that knowledge to her face. She squeezes you tightly and tells you that she loves you. You whisper "I love you too". You sit slightly slouched, eyes tightly closed until she coaxes you back. You don't see the tears escaping, rolling down her cheeks. She is quick to erase their traces; fighting to keep the mood light and happy, to create a world to keep your interest.

But you are disappearing swiftly Nana. The spots of joy are fewer and farther between. Life is not offering you the comfort you need, and the disease is stealing more of you each day. It's painful for your loved ones  to witness your decline, to release that over which we have no control.

But today is your birthday, and you had cake. And for a few moments,  there was sweetness in your world. You didn't need words, you could taste it. You didn't need to know her name, you felt her. And at ninety-nine years of age, sweetness and love may be all we can give you.

Happy birthday Nana.

Transitions and Milestones

It's been a long, emotional day; one part "transition" and one part celebration - but both involved milestones. MIH and I moved her 98 year old mom from a long term care facility that had all of the trappings  of a "nice place", however they were all cosmetic. After weeks of falls, bruises and finally a fracture, MIH got the call that after being wait listed for three and a half years, a facility that is just 10 minutes away from her had an immediate opening.

We packed Nana up and drove the hour and half across the city to the little town that MIH lives in. I had Nana in the passenger seat beside me, with a white knuckle grip on the arm rest (her, not me). She kept asking me over and over again how long it would be, and commenting "it's a long trip". She was nervous with the cars on the highway whipping past, and she muttered "Jesus, Jesus, Jesus" repeatedly under her breath. I responded,"C'mon Nana - my driving isn't that bad".

Nana has lost most of her memories and she can't name her daughter, but that doesn't stop her from kissing her, pulling her close and saying "I love you". Nana can feel the love and kindness her daughter delivers and once in a while she blurts out her name. Today she exclaimed to the recreation coordinator, "I'm a mother!"

But with her Alzheimer's, she is trapped in a limbo state with no recognition, minimal communication ability, and no way to to tell us what she is truly feeling. She is in a labyrinth of her own mind.

After hours of assessments, foot care, medical exams,  interviews and unpacking, we left Nana in her new environment to start the process of adjusting. It reminded me of the first time I left my daughters in daycare  and left quickly without looking back (well, maybe just a peek). She smiled weakly but her eyes were somewhat blank and confused.

MIH talked about how these next few days will not be easy ones for Nana as she settles into a brand new environment, but there is peace in knowing that she will be cared for by people who smile and call her name; who seem to understand what it means to honour our elders; and that she will be safe.

MIH has been in turmoil over the treatment of her mom and the phone call that signaled the change was nothing short of miraculous in its timing. I hope MIH can rest easy now knowing she has done her very best for her mom.

Part two of the day was our famjam to celebrate my niece's graduation from university. We are so proud of her tenacity and accomplishment and we gathered as a tribe to celebrate her milestone. As a close family, we share the joys and pains - when one of us hurts, we all hurt. And likewise, when there is an achievement,  it is the success of all. My niece glowed with the love that filled the room to overflowing. She is low key and often has to share the spotlight so tonight was a refreshing opportunity to make the night all about her.

Final Note: In my true to forgetful nature ... I almost forgot that it was my sister's wedding anniversary. And if my memory serves me correctly (don't count on it) it is creeping up to the 20 year mark. Congratulations Mich and Dar; you show us how a marriage can survive and thrive with determination and work. : )

The day was long, but oh so satisfying! So many changes but so many things to celebrate. Life is good, and tonight it is even better!

Anchors

Friend requests. They’re popping in like crazy: school chums, co-workers from as far back as my first job, college pals and distant relatives. Being Linked in, Facebooked, and blogged has its perks. With each special person I add, I feel another connection to my past – to my whole. Every meaningful relationship I have had in my life has served as a tether, anchoring me to my memories and the events and milestones that shaped me; each one owning a different piece of my history.

What happens when we start to lose those anchors? I have always said that it’s no wonder a lot of old people are cranky. Imagine the losses they have survived. They have buried grandparents, parents, aunts and uncles, friends, spouses and many – their own children. Most of their tethers have been severed. There is no one alive who remembers the young version of themselves; as a baby or youngster full of spirit; as a fresh faced teen full of dreams and in love; and the dancing, laughing, vibrant, playful version of themselves.

We look at the faces of our elderly, wrinkled - their experiences mapped into deep creases, eyes that are slightly recessed and droopy – and I wonder if we are fooled by their appearance. It’s easy to miss the beauty, for now it is found in different places. It is no longer in the sway of her hips, or the glisten of her hair, nor in his commanding posture or strength of his hold. It is in the tone of her voice, softened with time; it is in the wisdom born of accumulated experience; it is in the endless hours they spend sharing what they have learned; and it is in the unconditional “thank you” they whisper in your ear when you have listened to them. It is in the tightest of hugs, embellished with sincerity and the disbursement of unencumbered advice. Our elders are free from the shackles of perception; they live authentically in the knowledge that nothing is gained by nor does time permit, reinvention.

I was fortunate in that I was raised in the safe, nurturing bosom of a large extended family. Some of my favourite memories are of nights I spent at my grandma’s apartment, drinking coffee (and later on – beer) when I wasn’t supposed to; learning the fox trot and cha cha; playing cards for pennies and interrogating her for hours about her girlhood. She answered freely – how she dealt with her first period; her wicked obsession with playing baseball in Sundays (long pants concealed under her dress); about the love she didn’t get from her mother; how she found love; and provided juicy details about the advice her mother gave her on her wedding night. As she would talk, she would transform before my very eyes … I could see the dark haired beauty swinging the bat and standing nervously at the altar … I could see her as a girl and a woman, not so different than myself.

Now with half my life lived, I have lost some important tethers and I feel my anchor fraying. But in our family, we are blessed with the love of conversation and sharing. We keep our memories alive and vivid with each recount; with each famjam. Watching my girls, nieces, and nephews chatting with my Dad, T and Doris, listening to their stories, asking questions, debating issues - warms my heart. They know there is much to be learned - the juicy stuff – and all they have to do is ask - and listen. And THAT is what lodges the anchor permanently.

Moments in Time

Her eyes sparkled and she smiled as she sat propped up with pillows on the sofa. We hugged her tightly as we greeted her and she tentatively touched our arms, polite in her non recognition of us. She is a short little lady and I couldn't help but notice how much less of her there was to hug. Mr Tibbs the rambunctious Sharpei sat vigil at her feet, never taking his eyes off her.

We chatted about pleasantries; we told her that she had just had a birthday and that she was now 98 years old. Her eyebrows lifted  in surprise and she exclaimed, "I am turning into an old lady", She laughed along with us. We complimented her on her crimson coloured finger nails (yup - blazing red) and she explained that a very nice lady had put them on for her. We told her that it was Thanksgiving and that we were about to sit down to a scrumptious turkey dinner. She simply smiled.

MIH worked hard to lift Nana up onto the high perch at the table. Nana looked down at the flowered china plate that had once graced her own table and commented, "This is very beautiful, isn't it?" Eureka! The flicker of recognition that MIH had so hoped for.

She said she wasn't hungry but proceeded to methodically clear her loaded plate of turkey and fixings. She didn't stop until it was scraped clean. She smiled across the table; she was clearly enjoying the moment. And that is what her life has come to - this is where Alzheimer's has taken her. She lives in the moment with little to no recollection of what has been and who is who. She knows she feels loved and she knows that she loves the sweet lady that is her daughter, who is now nameless.

We are generous with our hugs, snuggles and I love yous. She giggles and smiles and then momentarily breaks away to say "God bless you". After an hour and a half she starts to squirm in her seat anxiously. She stares out the window and comments that it will be dark soon and it is time to go back. MIH comforts her and rallies the family to help get Nana and her walker out to the Jeep. Kisses and hugs all around. As Nana stands she says, "I'll come again, OK?" I could feel the lump in my throat forming.

It is difficult beyond words to watch Nana suffer the ravages of Alzheimer's and even harder to see the pain that her daughter, my MIH, endures as she watches her mother slowly slip away into an unreachable abyss.

Who knows what the future holds? I just know that no matter what, MIH has the right idea. We don't worry if she needs yet another sweater or if she'll remember the hour drive to the house for dinner, or if she will even remember the good feelings she shared while she was in the cocoon of her loving family. The focus is on giving her moments of love and respite from her loneliness ... special moments in time. And no one does it better than my MIH.

Phew - what a Thanksgiving it's been. And I didn't even mention the new blue highlights our white bathroom sink is sporting courtesy of Kidlet's adventures in hair dyeing. OK .... maybe I just mentioned it ....

Birthday Remembered

We came to see you today. A break from your usual, mundane day. You hate living there -- you tell us that every time we see you. You didn't know who I was -- and although your face lit up when you saw her, you couldn't remember your daughter's name. Language has become jumbled, words elusive and life is just confusing. Frustration and exasperation is mapped across your face and every so often, your eyes go vacant, with only the flicker of fear.

Where has everyone gone? Nothing feels familiar and even your clothes are not your own. We remind you of the weddings and gatherings you have enjoyed -- we show you the pictures and the dresses you wore. You smile tentatively and ask, "Did I?"

Your daughter talks to you in her sing song voice, cheerfully reasuring you, recounting happy memories hoping to make a connection, as she methodically picks up your heaped clothes from the bottom of the closet. She reads the tidy stack of birthday cards to you and arranges the brilliant bouquet she brought you. She reminds you that it's your birthday and you look surprised.

Today you are 97 - and although you depend on a walker, you can get around unassisted.  Alzheimer's has a grip on you, and although it has robbed you of memories and blurred your reality, ironically it has softened your heart and made you more expressive and loving. Your daughter clings to every hug, kiss and "I love you"  - the affection for which she has waited a lifetime ...

Joy - that is what you wore on your face when they brought you cake with the single lit candle. You and your daughter made a joint wish and then blew out the flame. You told us you were so thankful that we came, and that the lunch was just wonderful.

When you walked us to the elevator and we explained that you couldn't come with us, you stood, eyes filling up as your disappeared behing the closing elevator doors. Your daughter wiped her eyes and commented that goodbyes are always hard.

We came to see you today - on  your special day. Happy Birthday Nana.
Thank you for reminding me that memories may be forgotten -- but people can't be.

Watch the birthday video on YouTube

Living Until We Die

I'm down half a box of Kleenex after watching the documentary film, Young at Heart. The film is the true story of the final weeks of rehearsal for the Young at Heart Chorus in Massachusetts. The average age in this white haired choir is 81, many of them with health problems to overcome in order to participate. They perform contemporary, rock music - unexpected for their age group. The images of their determined faces as they struggled to remember unfamiliar lyrics and complicated rhythms hooked me in. Their zeal for life and love of music translated into pure joy in their performances as they move their bodies to the music. Secrets to a long and quality life ... they all echoed the same thought -- that if you don't use it- you lose it. When they lose two members of their chorus within a week, fear and shock ridden faces aside, they soldier on ... their stark reality.

I can't remember when I have laughed, cried, reflected and derived such a heart full of love all from one film. Maybe I replaced the faces of the elderly with loved ones of my own, or maybe I am reminded of my own mortality. One thing is for certain, the movie shows our elders as human beings with desires, hopes and energy for life that are shared by the young. We are reminded that they are more than their ages, their fading memories, crinkly skin and ailments. They are lovers, mothers, fathers and friends - and willing participants in life. Their eyes are their archives, storing and reflecting the sum total of all the experiences and emotions of their lives. They wear a cloak of peace and knowing that comes from surviving and thriving for decades.

For a society obsessed with youth, the message is clear, the dance isn't over for these folks - and they will keep on singing, dancing and living - until they can no longer. When I grow up, I want to be just like them. I want to die living.... Now if only I could carry a tune!

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Lyrics to the pop songs they sing, like Forever Young, Fix You and I Wanna Be Sedated take on new meaning.

And may you grow to be proud
Dignified and true
And do unto others
As you'd have done to you
Be courageous and be brave
And in my heart you'll always stay
Forever young, forever young
And when you finally fly away
Ill be hoping that I served you well
For all the wisdom of a lifetime
No one can ever tell
But whatever road you choose
I'm right behind you, win or lose
Forever young, forever young.