Chatting About Death

So, the matriarch doesn't want to be alive anymore. She told me she does nothing but sleep and eat. I would think she is bored. It's not that there is nothing I can do, the matriarch doesn't want to do anything. She has every excuse going to avoid participation in anything but a meal out. I know that sounds cruel but it is very real and true to our current status. I have offered to take her to card games, to seniors' centres, to hospital visitation; she wants none of it. She sometimes wants to go shopping and often wants to eat out; but, generally, she seems to want to sit in her room. When she talks to me about death, I tell her maybe if she saw more of the world, she wouldn't want to die. The matriarch thinks I mean a trip to Alaska and not the library. I have a very charitable view of the world: you get out of it what you put into it; someone who does nothing isn't likely to have an optimistic perspective. It is very sad.

The matriarch told me of a prayer her mother taught her when she was young; I asked her why she didn't teach it to my husband. My mother-in-law never thought of it. So much centres around her existence and not shared family experiences; sometimes, I think, the matriarch feels left out of life because she must have started excluding herself when she was much younger. I met her when she was almost eighty. Her family in Chatham didn't seem to forget about her; family in Barrie didn't forget about her; and my husband, most certainly, has been there for his mother. I don't know why she has always felt left out. I don't know. I told the matriarch she was alive for a reason; I don't know what that reason is but there must be one and sitting in her room thinking about it probably won't lead to its revelation. She is upstairs sitting in her chair continuing to worry about life rather than live it....not a thing I can do.

Not the Swiss Chalet

This evening, the six of us went to dinner at a lovely restaurant in town. It wasn't quite as nice as the last time we had been there; then, a meal for 8 had been $600. This time, it was a community deal wherein all meals at various restaurants in Barrie were $20.10. I thought for a three course meal: appetizer, entree and dessert, the price wasn't bad. My mother-in-law wanted fish and chips. There was salmon or catfish on the menu both to be served with seasonal vegetables and rice pilaf. Just to be clear, in Canada, seasonal vegetables are root vegetables and, for a difference, a lot of restaurants who serve local or organic, like this one, try to mix it up a bit. Grated beets with last season's green beans cannot be chewed by ninety-eight year olds. I don't know why. Did I mention my mother-in-law wanted fish and chips? The evening was saved by absolutely stunning blackened catfish and incredible carrot cake. I don't think the matriarch quite appreciated the meal nor the experience but the children and my husband got out somewhere other than Swiss Chalet.

True Stories...I Think

Somewhere, out there in the world, a senior's leg is slowly swelling. Diabetic, the the person lives in a home that is not wholly staffed by health professionals, but there are personal support workers. There is a doctor on call and there is a supervisory nurse. The leg has been swelling since November,the same month the family first noticed. There was an appointment made to see the doctor--earliest date: the second week in February. The staff at the home has phoned the family to arrange new leg braces, larger sized shoes, better support socks but no medical care has been offered. No one in the family can afford to take a day off work to take the senior to the hospital to have the swelling investigated. It could be a blood clot and could turn to gangrene. But, it could also be something minor: the discomfort of an allergic reaction. I don't know but the swelling continues as I write.

A family of seven arranged for their elderly mother to live with one sibling while the rest rotated care duties. The mother had terminal cancer. Their father was institutionalized due to illness and the siblings also rotated meal duties so their father never had to eat alone; 3 meals a day, the man had the company of his children or his in-laws. For two years, the family took care of their parents who died within 1 year of each other.

Just somethings I happen to be thinking about....

Taking Things Too Seriously....

My husband thinks I take his mother too much to heart; of course, she is playing with my mind, he believes, what has she to do? The way my husband sees it people in old age homes are left with nothing to do but aggravate the staff; the matriarch is merely here instead of a home and I am her personal staff of one. Nothing drives a person crazy, young or old, than getting everything they want; it is a legitimate curse the Chinese culture has known about for years. Old people don't suddenly age; they feel the differences in their bodies and get scared about the changes in their brains--growing old is not for the weak of heart. The matriarch has nothing left to do; since her separation in her 89th year (can you believe I just wrote that down?), my mother-in-law's world has shrunk; the children, my husband and I are her world--old neighbours have died or lost contact, family has died and people have gotten sick and occupied with their own interests. And, the matriarch does nothing but eat and stay alive. At least with us, she gets out a bit to see the world as she withdraws. I am judging her. Awful. If this adventure is teaching me one thing it is the reality of age, its burdens and its pains--maybe when it lightens up a bit again, I can make fun of the trials.

Forget the Chipits, It's A Box of Cadbury's kinda Day

To begin, I got into an argument with my dear, sweet old lady of a mother-in-law at breakfast. Oatmeal for breakfast, not a problem; tons of brown sugar in the bowl, check; tea and orange juice at the ready; children at the table, grace said and my mother-in-law waiting. What could she be waiting for? Plus, she was waiting in silence; so, I had to guess. Am I being mean expecting her to tell me what she wants? Then, as I ponder what she wants, the matriarch lifts her bowl, in a unsteady scene reminiscent of that image in "Oliver," except, she still says nothing. No "Please, ma'am, may I have some more," she says nothing and I have to guess: she wants more milk. I feel like an idiot; so, naturally, I ask her why didn't say something sooner. She replies she was waiting for the children to finish with the milk; I say they had; she says she couldn't see that; I say, because, ultimately, I am an evil person, how did you see to put the sugar and milk in your bowl the first time?

I repeat to myself: I am going to hell. I am going to hell.

To apologize for the argument, I offer to take her for a drive and so begins the quest for large sized, man-sized tissues; they are no longer made, at least, they are no longer available in Barrie. I know. For sure. Until one has spent the morning traveling with someone whose world has changed overnight, they may make no comment. This quest has happened before and I know it will happen again; today's, unfortunately, ended unresolved because no where had the tissues. Then, my mother-in-law told me she had enough tissues for another three months. This time I keep silent as in I did not ask why we had to go looking for them in the first place. But, I feel sorry for her because the tissues seem so important. They, some kleenex manufacturer somewhere, used to make them and now they don't and it has changed my mother-in-law's world overnight. She is reliant on these tissues and some person somewhere in the world has decided to no longer make them. So, the matriarch got mad at me and said she used to get them at a particular store. As I am the only one to take her shopping and have been for some time, I know she is talking about an event that happened years ago. It doesn't change the fact that she is annoyed and the store in question doesn't sell these particular tissues anymore. When we get home, the matriarch angrily goes up the stairs and I plow into a box of Cadbury's because it feels more of a box of chocolate kind of day.

Culinary Opinions

On the drive today, the matriarch asked me which meal I thought was my worst; she hates lunch the most. Considering, it is almost always soup, tinned at her request. Not my problem. My cooking is not that bad; although, today had me on the defensive. My husband and children recollected the time my mother-in-law mistook a chicken dish for fish. Admittedly, never a good sign, they all still ate the food and thought the matriarch was hysterically funny. No sympathy there.

My mother-in-law awoke to the startling sunshine in her room this morning; except, my mother-in-law sleeps with closed blinds and the sun was not shining in her room. Then, on our drive, she could not see the very bright day. I know it is not easy going blind but not admitting it is dangerous, too. It takes almost twenty minutes for my mother-in-law to navigate from my front door to the van without help. Of course, she will take help if it is thrust upon her but she is not happy; the matriarch doesn't want to admit she needs help; she still likes to believe she is independent. On last night's news, she heard about some seniors in their nineties and early hundreds; they were in good health, one with glasses, the other's sight still good, and enjoying life. My mother-in-law called them old. She in no way viewed them as compatriots in the fight to endure.

The Matriarch and Piano

After today's piano lesson, the matriarch asked each of the children how they did, did they pass their respective songs and were they assigned new ones. The children were impressed she was interested. Apparently, my mother-in-law still likes to listen to them practice although she no longer sits in the family room. It was nice to know.

The Matriarch is Getting Smaller

Out for lunch today, I noticed the matriarch is smaller; her sweatshirt was falling off her shoulders.  I mean the seam of the shirt no longer rests on her shoulder but midway to her elbow.  It never occurred to me before the matriarch would begin to shrink as she got very old.  I know it happens; I just didn't expect to notice it.  She still ate her quarter chicken dinner (guess where we were?) but no dessert; although, for dinner, the peanut butter and jam request was fulfilled.  The matriarch's face has gotten narrower and her hair is thinning and I swear she is losing weight despite the constant sugar, fruit and endless Swiss Chalet.  I don't want to see her disappear and I feel like that is what is happening.  Does this go on for years?  Would I prefer it to continue despite the comments and judgments, the endless dissatisfaction?  Of course, I would.  I think.  Maybe this sort of anguish is why the old are hidden away in homes...I didn't want to face it when we came home from ballet this evening.  Mercifully, my mother-in-law had already gone to bed.   I joke, sometimes, that when I am old the children can leave me on an island and periodically drop off food.  I begin to think the Indian way is much better: to let the old just wander off on their own.  It is not nice to watch age come upon one so suddenly.

Rhubarb, Custard, and Sugar...Again

Listening to the oldest child talk to the matriarch makes me so proud.  There is no hint of anger or impatience and a complete reconciliation to the fact that no matter how much sugar there is, there is never enough.  As usual dessert was lovely this evening and the children chatted to their grandmother about the band, Hedley.  I don't think she had a clue who the band was; I do think she heard Carl Wolfe on the CD player; but she seemed happy enough to have her rhubarb and custard downstairs and strawberries and chips upstairs.  The company seemed to add to her evening.  It has been a very long day but it has concluded very calmly.  It is so nice not to have complaints on any level.

A Bit of a Disagreement

The matriarch has told me she doesn't want to go back to the spa.  She feels she can take care of her own nails.  I asked her if the back massage was too much--it was, but they are cutting her nails too short.  At the risk of her anger, I told her they trimmed her nails shorter at my request.  In what was an awful and embarrassing discussion, I had to tell the matriarch that she didn't keep her nails clean enough; food, especially the residue of the constant chips and cheesies, stuck in her nails.  Keeping them shorter would prevent all that.  She got angry.  So, now she doesn't want to go to the spa.  I have had to tell her she will have to use the nail brush, every day.  The anger got worse.  These are awful discussions.  I don't think old people intentionally stop keeping themselves clean; they just don't like being told that their inability to see often prevents an adequate job being done.  The matriarch told me she could wash her nails in the shower--I responded she had a shower once a week and her hands needed to be kept clean daily.  She raised her voice at me and I just felt awful.  I wish my husband had had this discussion with her instead of me.  It must be truly awful to know one cannot see one's own body, to have to live with the memory of a self that is no longer there.

Frozen Fruit

The matriarch takes frozen fruit up to her room every night; well, actually, my husband or I bring a bowl of frozen strawberries or raspberries and a glass of water to her. The fruit is frozen because the children and I picked enough fruit at a local farm to last the winter; it remains frozen because my mother-in-law prefers cold fruit during the night; she doesn't eat the stuff right away, but lets it melt and get all syrupy with the sugar and she eats it at 2 o'clock in the morning. It is not my choice of sweet but she likes it or she used to like it. This morning, the matriarch told me she would like to start eating pudding during the night, vanilla or butterscotch preferably. This is going to be a pain because she wants home-made pudding--which is setting me up for disaster--and no one else eats it. I am not going to get up in the middle of the night to make pudding and she won't eat the tinned stuff or the jell-o variation. My husband is going to have to talk to her about this; I know I could make it during the day and bring it up to her before I do go to bed; but I think she wants company while she eats it during the night. Is it possible to be on a power trip at 98?

The Case of the Dueling Canes

At Swiss Chalet this afternoon, I watched a pair of elderly gentlemen have lunch together; when they got up to leave, one seemed to forget his cane and his friend handed it to him, only to watch the man put the cane down.  Man number one picked the cane up again, handed it over again, watched it be put down again.  Man number two was putting on his coat and hat and man number one didn't seem to understand the cane wasn't necessary; his friend could stand alone.  I felt so sorry for man number one because he didn't seem to realize the bother he was causing and I admired man number two because he never got mad.  He just accepted the cane, repeatedly put it down and tried to get his coat on without his friend's interference.  Sometimes, I feel like that--just going through the actions despite it all.

We had lunch, obviously, at Swiss Chalet again; even the Tuesday staff has begun to recognize us as regulars.  My mother-in-law is so proud to be able to treat her grandchildren for lunch; they are so patient with having to eat out every Wednesday or Tuesday.  I had taken the matriarch to the spa to get her nails done and she wanted to go out to show them off.  Hence, lunch out a day early.  The ladies at the spa are very good to my mother-in-law; today, they gave her a back massage.  She got a fright as she didn't quite know what was going on.  When we left, she told me she didn't want that to happen again; she loves having a manicure and a pedicure but this whole massage thing is beyond her.  I watched her enjoy her role as queen for a day and then come home and eat chips and peanut butter and jam and fruit and I think: What a life....

The Quest for Sugar

If I didn't see it, I wouldn't believe it.  My husband discovered we have gone through yet another 6 kilo. bag of sugar.  Admittedly, it is after Christmas and we just polished off another round of home made doughnuts but I bought the bag in December--after most of the Christmas baking was completed.  My husband had that moment of worry, of wondering what to do if he couldn't put sugar on his mother's fruit; the remnants of the bag had been emptied into all the sugar bowls in the house, so his worry was needless, but kind of funny nonetheless; I think he doesn't believe me when I tell him his mother eats A LOT of sugar.  This evening when we came home from gymnastics, we had rhubarb and custard-it was lovely; my mother-in-law put 2 tablespoons of sugar onto her pudding and the rest of us watched because it really wasn't necessary.  Oh well, sweets to the sweet, I guess.

My Friends, the Rubber Gloves

So my mother-in-law has had some more accidents--it happens.  But here is the problem: we know what causes her discomfort; all she has to do is not eat fried fish.  Every one tells me to treat her like a child; I could stop a four year old from eating fried fish; it is not so easy with a ninety eight year old.  The matriarch is an adult, after all.  She can choose what she wants to eat and, particularly with my husband, she chooses to eat fish and chips.  I have begun to really hate Sundays. 

I read in the Guardian, a U.K. paper, that some seniors' homes in England will only accept new residents if they are on a feeding tube.  There is some debate about the merits of this convenience.  I don't see it as a convenience; I can't even see it as helpful.  I hate the accidents but, and I could be wrong, I would think feeding tubes would mean adult diapers.  If they are not necessary, why would a human being request that situation for another human being?  Because it is convenient?  I think not.  I do understand sometimes tubes are necessary for extreme dementia but I also understand the socialization of meal time can be beneficial. Growing old is not for the weak of heart.

Still Around

It has been rather hectic here but everyone here is still healthy and happy.  Maybe that last word is contentious--I am not so sure the matriarch is happy and I am not so sure I am.  My husband tells me I worry too much but I follow his mother around, wasting my time in reading omens in her behaviour.  She is changing.  Life is about change.  But I feel like I am trying to predict when she will go; I feel like there will be some indicator and I can tell my husband you should spend more time with your mother, she may die tonight.  Logically, that is just futile.  Worse, it sounds as though I want her to move on.  I don't.  I just wish she could get more out of life--Swiss Chalet is nice and everything but it shouldn't be the highlight of a very long life.  I read a short essay by Tony Jundt, an American historian, who has ALS.  His whole life is an intellectual experience; he doesn't want to die but wishes life wasn't so hard.  He's been told he's lucky to have such experiences of the mind, to have such a wonderful memory but, while he doesn't want to die, his physical experiences have been sheer torture.  I wonder about my mother-in-law.  Is it fair for me to measure my mother-in-law's life?  I know she wants something I just can never tell what it is.  Sometimes, I feel she wants approval, as if she is asking me permission to continue living; other times, I know she just wants to go for a drive.  I know it is not fair to compare her to Tony Jundt but I wonder how one decides if life is worth living, an examined life verses an active one?

Another 90+ Old Lady in the Neighbourhood

The local librarian has her 93 year old mother living with her.  She, too, has mild dementia and asks the same questions repeatedly, but she plays cards with her daughter every day and the routine seems to help her function.  They live down the road and I am thinking of inviting them over for tea.  Cards could be played with the large sized cards available from the CNIB.  My husband is against it; he wonders what a change in routine would be like for both seniors and the whole friendship thing scares him.  The thing about old people is they die and who wants to make friends with someone who could die any day?  Why invest the time?  I think if they are both alive in the spring, why not?  It is something to do. With it so cold right now, my mother-in-law can't get out.  So, she has nothing to do.  We brought her to my parents' for New Years Day and the walk from the house to the van and back again four times really scared her; she slipped once and couldn't see the steps in the snow.  The matriarch tries to be so independent and wouldn't take my arm and went off on her own and nearly fell.  Been there, done that, and I am not doing it again--I was right behind her and caught her.  I think the fact I have to be her net scared her, too. It is a paradox: my children love the snow, skiing and sledding; my mother-in-law hates it for its isolation.  If the snow lets up, I'll see if my husband can take the matriarch for lunch--she missed it yesterday.  I wonder if the librarian's mother does lunch?