Worn Out Parts
“Life is really hard!”
“Yes, mom, it is.”
Sigh. “This body just won’t behave.”
“No mom, it won’t.” I feel the empathetic, complicit tone in my voice. I know just enough from having various injuries to appreciate, to sense what she is saying.
Our bodies usually wear out before our minds are ready to cash in. So, we go frustrated, angry, tired; kicking & screaming, but only in our head because our body can’t convert the thought into action. The quiet frustration of living a lonely, silent march toward death. I’m guessing most people who die the slow death probably wish they could have been blessed with a sudden end, an accident. Violence is better than waiting in helpless, inept silence. I had a friend who chose that. Or a simple ending in one’s sleep. I had a good friend pass away unexpectedly a couple of weeks ago that way. They were both too young to pass on, but at least for them it was with dignity.
There’s resignation in my mom’s voice, a helpless acceptance of what is happening. It’s all come on suddenly for her. A year ago she was active at church, singing in the choir, playing the piano, creating stained glass windows, going to the gym three times a week, and still a safe driver. Then came the symptoms – lower leg edema, shortness of breath, less energy. The diagnosis – atrial fibrillation and congestive heart failure. A cocktail of four prescription medications is now a daily regimen. Dailing in dosages ends up taking several months and three extended trips to the hospital. In that time she has gone from being completely independent to very dependent. The huge adjustment has strained her psychologically, sapped her mental prowess and tapped her physical energy.
We’re slowly climbing the stairs to her front door. She makes the first flight of ten steps without stopping, taking a break on the first landing. But, after three steps up the final flight of ten she stops. “I’m such a wuss,” she exclaims between heavy breaths.
I smile and giggle softly in appreciation of the remark and wait for her to take on the next step. After another stop we make it to the front door and I escort her to the family room couch where she plants herself with great relief.
With all these changes come hard realizations. She faces them with her usual sense of rational thought and lack of open self-pity. Without any prodding, she decides it’s time to give up driving. When I asked her if she was sure, she responded, “Well, I don’t want to, but I don’t want to hurt anyone.” Her self-awareness and how she expresses it in such a detached fashion leaves me at once admiring and amazed. She is consistently humble. There are expressions of frustration that come out, to be sure. Mostly, they are on the more mundane side, like wanting to go grocery shopping for snacks and a few sweets. The sweets are an indulgence I don’t often remembering her succumbing to. But what the hell, she’s 90 for Christsakes! If you can’t do what you want at that age, then when the hell will you ever get to!
I’m reminded of a joke told by a now old comedian. He was at a party once where he was offered cocaine. He asked what it did. The guy said. “Well, it emphasizes your personality!” To that our man replied, “Ok, but what if you’re an asshole?”
I think old age is like that cocaine – it emphasizes part of your personality. If you’re impatient, you get even more so. If you’re crotchety, you get even more so. In my mother’s case, she has always been modest and humble, and old age has made her even more so. As I mentioned, we all have our moments, but the consistency of her best traits from her best times carrying through to her worst times has just been extraordinary.
We’re coming to the end now. Her heart continues to deteriorate, leaving her with less and less energy. At her last trip to the doctor she was offered a choice – be readmitted to the hospital or have hospice come in to care for her at her new, assisted living ‘home.’ She chose hospice – I don’t know anyone who wouldn’t. Those people are very good, and being home is such a better place to be.
There’s another realization that comes with hospice – it means the end of life is near. It’s generally not more than six months. I’ve some experience with this road, and invariably whatever the hospice people tell you is how things turn out. But three years ago my mother was very proactive recognizing she needed to ensure her affairs were in order. She updated her will as well as the power of attorney and health directives and such. I started getting familiar with her finances and many of the other niggly little things we all have in our lives. We talked openly about what she wanted; everything except the celebration of her life, not that I suppose she will really care.
She is resigned to what will come next. She knows there’s no fighting the inevitable, and she doesn’t have the strength to even if she wanted. We all just want the end to come peacefully and with as much dignity as we can muster. But then, that’s my mom – she will go into the next world as gracefully as she walked in this one. It’s a real lesson in humility. I’m still watching and learning from one of the best.
