My parents are elderly now. Officially. Are your parents elderly? Lucky you. If you like them, anyhow. What’s it like for you?
I’m lucky that they’re elderly instead of gone. I recognize this. Most same-age friends have only one parent standing. Some have none. So the fact that both of my parents are alive, mostly lucid, and in their late 80s is a marvel.
But they are declining. Dad had a Major Medical Emergency last year. He’s lost mobility but kept most of his mind, always such a notable feature in dad.
Mom, quite the looker well into her 70s, is now frail. When I see her on video, I study that part of her shoulder and chin where some fat should be. It’s just skin now, holding her together like a bag. When she smiles, which she does every time we talk, teeth are dark and jumbled together like blocks in a kid’s toy box. She shrank, but her teeth didn’t.
That’s another great thing about getting older. Your life is written on your face.
Frances McDormand
The kids all cobble together their own good sense, spare time, and emotional capacity to help. They need stuff. Technology gets wonky. They get lonely. Other family members help too.
Mom and dad did everything right. They arranged to move into a community that would care for them in old age. By god, they were not going to burden their children with all that damned need. They arranged it over a decade ago — you know, just in case — but didn’t move until Covid.
If Then-Them saw Now-Them, I bet they’d be surprised. Before, they’d be drowning at sea before calling for help from the shore. Now, if they just see the water, they start screaming in panic.