Living in the house I grew up in shoves it into my face on a regular basis. Most of the neighbors who were here and part of the "village" that raised me are gone. I have very vivid memories of family and friends stopping by, and daily life with my Granny and my uncle because we lived here with them. My mother and I both grew up in the house where I live now.
It was pointed out to me that this is a particularly Pittsburgh arrangement. Evidently there are more people who live in a family property here in Western Pennsylvania than anywhere else in the U.S. My husband and I have made many changes to the house and yard over the years, but it remains essentially the place I have always been. I was once even interviewed as part of a feature newspaper story about this phenomenon.
My mother's aging has been particularly difficult. She has suffered almost every illness known to medicine with the fortunate exception of diabetes. She has had several serious falls, and sometimes debilitating depression. By far, however, the worst thing has been the post-herpetic neuralgia that resulted from shingles back in 2005. She is never without pain.
She moved in with me and my husband after knee-replacement surgery in late 2011. So I am constant witness to her physical and emotional decline. She can't fix any of her own meals, can't dress herself, needs help with the smallest of daily tasks. Nonetheless, she soldiers on. She has one of those devices which is a set of pedals that can be worked while sitting in a chair. She faithfully pedals 200 stokes while hooked up to her oxygen concentrator. She works therapy putty in her hands while she watches television from her bed. She uses her one-pound weights while sitting and talking with us in the living room. And every Friday she irons the four shirts my husband wore to school that week.
Her appearance has remained important to her. Hair is done weekly, and acrylic nails redone every few weeks. We match her outfits and she gets compliments everywhere we go. She doesn't leave the house without earrings. But there is a sadness to her life, rooted in her aloneness. She is the last of her immediate family: mother, father, ten siblings all claimed by death before her. My father has been gone for nearly twenty years. Many of her friends and most of our neighbors have died, and at 87, I am sure she thinks about what happens next.
Recently, her oldest friend was convicted of third-degree murder. He was her childhood buddy and high school sweetheart and they had reconnected in recent years. He shot a man during an argument and shocked us all. My mother knew he owned the gun and worried about that, but he felt safer in his home with it. We are sick over the whole thing: a man is dead, a 90-year old is going to prison, both families are changed forever.
But I have a perspective on the situation that I only gained because of taking care of my mother and witnessing up close the powerlessness that comes with this kind of aging. I think that geriatric depression is greatly under-recognized and under-treated. Just stop and think about how you would feel if all of your choices were taken away and you had to depend on someone, even if a loved one, to do everything for you.
The man had built up a business, raised a family, taken care of everything all his life. Gradually, he had trouble even caring for himself. In their frequent conversations, he talked about how tired he always was and how he missed the past when he felt useful and normal.
None of this justifies taking a man's life. But I think I have a window into the souls of the elderly. Even those who have remained relatively vital, and I know several of them, admit to thinking about their mortality. And now I do, too, theirs and mine. I am hoping to remain vital; I do not have the health problems my mother had even when she was much younger than I am now. I exercise and eat well and try to stay mentally fit. But we can't predict when an illness, an accident or the normal aging process can rob us of what we take for granted. Not sure yet how to deal with all of this. But definitely admitting it is there to be dealt with. Hence my current love affair with the Serenity Prayer. Amen.
