Getting Older Just Doesn't Seem That Golden Anymore

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Back in mid-October, I wrote about seeing my mother. She's been in a rehabilitation center just down the street from where they live, but that's somewhat of a misnomer. Or, better said, it doesn't tell the whole story, since rehabilitation isn't all that takes place there. In my mother's case, she is currently under hospice care, which typically means that rehabilitation, or recovery, or returning home with some semblance of quality of life, is slim if not impossible.

The hospice care came about from her last trip to the hospital for an infection that she had battled previously. This time around, it almost took her. Since then, though, she's been improving physically. She's been eating more, staying awake longer, and so forth. However, I was told by dad this evening after visiting her that her gall bladder has calcified to the point that not only is it useless, it can't be removed without major surgery, surgery that would probably kill her. As it is, she's not been needing the gall bladder, apparently, because of the diabetic diet they have her on. If such is the case, it's another testament to me how one misfortune (diabetes) can lead to a minor miracle (she's still with us). I say she's still with us, but really, the woman who I saw tonight is less and less my mom. Meaning, while she is and always will be my mother, her mind continues to go. Tonight, she couldn't finish any thoughts, and the ones she started weren't even pertinent. I waited for my dad to show up so we could go in. Good thing, too, because he found her sitting with two other patients at a table in a small dining area. I didn't even recognize her at first. She looked so much older, and while she seemed to recognize me, she didn't really greet me like she normally would. We sat down and started talking and my dad joked that he found me outside picking up pennies or something from the street. My mother then turned to me and asked if "she was waiting for me when I got off the bus?" I didn't know what to say, so I replied that I guessed so, but then my dad told her I arrived in my own car. Then we ended up talking about the last time any of us rode a bus. I have no idea about what she was referring to or who the 'she' was that was supposed to be waiting for me. The rest of the visit basically went like that. My dad and I kind of carried on a conversation between us while my mother sat there, joining in with half a sentence then trailing off. I don't know if it's the effect of whatever drugs they might have her on, the onset of Alzheimer's or some other disorder, all of it or none of it. I just know it's hard to watch. My mom has always been the one with the memory. She remembered events and things in my life that I don't. Even ones I was old enough to remember, I have, apparently, largely forgotten. Which, might not bode well for me later in life when it comes to long term recall. I don't want to lose hope of some sort of recovery, but having been around my dad a little more these last few weeks and months, I can see that he's not in great condition himself. I think he's doing well to take care of himself, let alone my mother, who even if she managed to get her scattering mind back together, would still have the physical issues that put her there in the rehabilitation center in the first place. I'm a the point now that I feel guilty for not going more frequently, but come away with images and memories of my mom that I would rather not have. This stage of her life is not the way I want to remember her. I'm sure with some time that will be what I retain the most, but that's at some future point. Now, it's the going through it part. I wish I knew better how my dad was feeling. He's not really into expressing his. It's not like I'm a torrent of emotion myself, at least not around others, but I can see I will need to be better at communication whenever my wife and I get into the situation my parents are now in. It feels like she's lost already, even though she's still there, caught in some mind trap. I don't want her to die, but I don't want her to suffer, and I don't want it to take a greater toll than it already has on my dad. For all I know, he could be making peace with the inevitability of it, or he could be a total wreck. Asking him only gets some roundabout answers. I know how I would feel. Just thinking about my wife being in a similar state as my mother puts me at the verge of tears. What's it going to be like if it happens that way? My wife is several years older than I am, so there is a higher chance she will be first than there normally would be if I were closer in age or older. I like to say I arranged it this way, so I could be the last to go and take care of whatever else there might be to wrap things up. I'm generally the clear minded one—the one that doesn't act on emotion, but likes to think things through and come up with a suitable solution. But she's the heart and soul of our family, the one who manages to keep us altogether when we might just want to be left alone. I fear what things might look like were she to pass too much earlier than I do. As far as I know, despite all of her aches and pains, her recent surgeries, and now her knee, she's in decent overall health. She might need to slow down a little and not work as much, if at all, but otherwise, internally, she seems to be doing okay. I would hope it would be that way for a few more decades at least. Unfortunately, we don't get to decide when it's our turn. Staying healthy, reducing risks, cultivating positivity, managing stress—all are things that can be done to attribute to a longer, happier life, but that doesn't mean that's the way things are going to turn out. My dad's mom died quite suddenly. She had a stroke and was gone, after having a relatively clean bill of health. My dad's dad didn't linger very long, either. My mom's mom, however, ended up in a similar situation as my mom. My mom's dad died of lung cancer as a result of being a welder. That was not an easy, painless death, but I was 12 at the time and don't remember how long it took. I am one of those people who believes there is something else after this life. I find myself clinging to that belief now, while I still have my mom here in some semblance of herself, hoping to have many more visits, hoping that she and my dad are going to be okay, regardless of how long her decline may take. I was still holding out hope for her going home, but I don't see that happening. I think that is the realistic and humane way of looking at it now. If she does somehow manage to make it back home, I will be happy. If she doesn't, I hope to come to terms with it. I think the first step is realizing it's a possibility that she won't ever go home again. I think I came to that turning point tonight.
Originally posted here: https://steemit.com/life/@glenalbrethsen/getting-older-just-doesn-t-seem-that-golden-anymore