It is hard to write about the Old

Nothing happens when one lives with a very elderly, old person. I know that sounds trite, but, really, what can be done?

Aside from going out for lunch which, God knows, our family and my husband, in particular, have done to extremes, there is nothing else to be done. The matriarch wants for nothing, the doctor does not need to see her--she is not sick, on pills, or anything else, we do the blood tests at his request, but really, does the lady even have to be on blood thinners--we do the spa, the hairstylist, routine trips to my parents' house, the odd visit by the matriarch's sister-in-law who, despite expectations, is coming for her birthday, and the constant, never-ending purchases of Werther's candies and potato chips. I believe I am becoming bored with my own routine. And, I live it. Is it wrong to say I am tired of waiting for her to die?

It has been 3 years here and 10 years on a weekly routine at the matriarch's own house. Am I judging her life? Am I allowed? What else is the matriarch supposed to do? It is inhibiting and, yet, I am sure it is worse for her; can you imagine her life? Especially if the children and I didn't make the effort? I cannot imagine what it is like in an old age home...all those seniors living beyond their best-before dates. It must, at times, be dreadful. And, yet, I sit here wondering what else the matriarch could do to make her life more meaningful...my husband corrects me..who am I to say her life has no meaning?

This afternoon, I caught her eating pepper out of the pepper shaker in her room. You know you watch someone and wonder do they know what they are doing? And, she sneezed and twisted the lid back on the shaker tight. I stood in the doorway so she couldn't see my shadow until she turned directly.

Everything okay?

Yep. Just getting myself some pepper.

So, the matriarch knew what she was doing; yes, it was an odd thing to do...and, yet, is it really crazy if she knows what she is doing and accepts the consequences? So, am I being judgemental or beginning to accept I am living in a madhouse? It is one, right? That can't possibly be normal behaviour...it can't possibly be normal to accept it. I wish I knew what the definition of normal is because, lately, I can honestly say I feel as though I am grasping at straws in an attempt to find it.