Tag: old age

Done — But

The sale of Mom’s home was finalized today. The house now belongs to other people.

It’s a relief and a sadness.

Mom worked so hard to find and buy that house. Buying it was only the beginning as she redid it from top to bottom. Her children and sons-in-law helped, along with her boyfriend, Frank.

Mom’s house became a holiday sanctuary for several of us, a place to go to enjoy food, laugh, and share news. I resent the circumstances which forced Mom to move, but those circumstances were basically aging, health, decline. In other words, life.

As I always do with these things, I look back, sideways, forward, connecting Mom’s circumstances to others’ positions, including my own, my wife, her family, and the rest of my family and friends. I’m trying to look at the bright side of this. This is some, I’m sure. But it will take some time for that brightness to overtake the darkness I see at the moment.

I feel for Mom and where she is now. I hope that with the sale done, maybe she can relax and lean forward some. As with many losses, I don’t think it’s possible to fully heal. It’ll scar over. She’ll pick at it. I’m certain there will be mourning, regret, and many games of ‘what if’.

I wish that she could look back on what she did and celebrate that achievement. That’s where I’ll try to go, and I hope I can help her get there.

7

The Habit

It started after the doctors declared his death was probably less than six weeks away and recommended that he be placed in hospice. Family members were called, rushing home from around the world.

Their visits perked him up. The doctors reversed themselves after three months, returning the ninety-eight year old to a nursing home. That’s when he began his habit.

Every night at seven, he would prepare for bed by walking around his bed, straightening the blankets and pillows. Then he folded the blankets back, adjusted the pillows, and circled the bed, smoothing out the wrinkles. His process consumed about two hours.

Nobody complained. How could they? It was good for a man of his age to be active, even if his habits mystified everyone. After all, if they reached his age, who knew what their habits would be?

4

The Laments

Rising late, he moves like he feels old as stone. Boiling water for tea in the kitchen, he coughs out the night’s dust. His hacks echo through the house, debilitating his soul, and leave him wheezing and gasping, his eyes tearing. Sipping tea, he takes his meds and vitamins.

In his living room, he sits in his leather recliner, a gift from his wife before she died, and opens his notebook, recording the day by time, activity and amount. Then he turns on the television to the news, and surfs the net on his laptop, bemoaning the world’s news while shouting, “You fucking piece of shit,” at his computer when pages fail to open and videos don’t run.

Tiring of this when then noon has come, he laments his life, plans his meals, and decides to dress and go wash his car. There are things to do.

He just doesn’t want to do them.

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