‘That time of year in me thou mayst behold…’
Shakespeare did say it remarkably well, comparing the dying year to the aging process.
The past few days of this dying year have had a few upsets. My mother, at 84, was walking down a sidewalk to see her granddaughter play hockey for the Australian national team - which is on some sort of tour and stopped in England. One of the safety lights on the pathway was broken and instead of it lighting Mum safely past it tripped her up. Never one to do things by halves she took a spectacular header, worthy more of rugby full-back than of a hockey maven. She broke her wrist and banged herself up severely, and the last five days she’s been in hospitals having the bones set, back home where the painkillers left her feeling disoriented, and perhaps tomorrow she’ll go to a ‘care facility’ for a few days. This is all in England, mind, when I’m over this side of the puddle.
Fortunately I have some cousins, Monique and Martin, who are clearly saints and who are taking care of everything. I also have an aunt, dear Iris, who is roughly the same age as Mum and is taking care of her whenever she can, and will also get my vote for canonization (Just in case the Pope’s listening: these are first rate people).
So I’ve spent quite a lot of time on the phone, which ultimately leaves one feeling a shade disconnected, and definitely leaves one feeling useless.
How we arrange or fail to arrange the end of our lives is not a question any of us can leave until we are old, for at that point we don’t always make the best decisions. Yet we all put it off. Ultimately, though we have to do as Jung suggests: we have to take the time to make friends with death, to recognize that it’s only death. Life itself matters less than the quality of life one has - at least to most people.
I’m putting my money on my Mum bouncing back in a day or two. Of course, at some point she will just have no bounce left, and it will be time. I know it will happen. She knows it will happen. It’s still a bit of a shock to see it coming closer, though.
on November 8th, 2007 at 12:06 am
Dear Allan,
I’ve been sitting here staring at your entry for quite a few minutes. Wanting to say something profound and/or helpful. Not finding the right words.
I remember watching my own parents age and at the same time watching my husband’s parents age. That was one of the most difficult experiences of my life.
Trying to keep connected to your family from a long distance at times like this is very painful for you, I am sure. Wanting to be there, and needing to be here. Concern for her health and her well being, and concern for yourself when you will be without her.
But I guess that is what I’ve learned about mothers and daughters from the daughter’s perspective and about mothers and sons, with my own son three thousand miles away , from a mother’s perspective - you will never be without her, and she will never be without you.
Peace and Blessings,
Jean
on November 12th, 2007 at 2:57 pm
Like your Mum, I took a “spectacular header” in late life. (I tripped in a Cambridge pot hole and landed on wrist and nose; by breaking the former, the latter was spared.)
During my recovery, the pain diffused here and there and made me feel awful. (Remember Cheryl’s decription of her injured wrist on the hike?)
I was lucky to have, Ann, a friend visiting from England, who practiced Shiatsu. She came to my house, lay me on a mat fully clothed and worked round my cast all over my torso.
Just as Cheryl wrote that we often have no idea how the body stores and shifts pain, when Ann left, I felt relieved of dozens of aches and stresses I would not have been able to pin-point save for their sudden absence.
I’m younger than your Mum but I’ll guess that she feels as stiff - or perhaps stiffer - than I felt back then. (Had I not had a cadre of bodyworkers in my circle of friends, I might not have known that alternative health-care offers options.)
All of which leads me to something you can possibly do. from “this side of the puddle.”
Can you find anyone in your network (or near your Mum) who does acupuncture or body massage? Reflexology? Anyone who does any kind of PT and/or makes house calls? Or is there a nearby office or any healing-center where Monique or Martin can bring her?
Just writing to you now, I recall how I felt after Ann did her massage. Ann would tell you that she improved my circulation. I can tell you that she restored my faith that my body would mend despite all my years. Ann warded off the gloom I felt then about my own mortality. Her hands on my body offered non-verbal encouragement that I would heal.
You speak of your mother’s “bounce.” Those who have it naturally, respond well to fine-tuning. Ann’s body-work helped my endorphins kick in.
And mend, I did. To be sure, I can’t wear my watch on that wrist anymore because it is oversized but the wrist works just fine. And that’s the point, isn’t it? To restore the use of the wirist without debilitating side effects.
I hope this isn’t off-track. My friend Naomi who succumbed last August at 102, hed good health until her high eighties and early nineties. Alternative therapies made a difference for her. Perhaps they will for your mother as well?
Warmest regards, MLou
on November 27th, 2007 at 11:07 am
Really good and really interesting post. I expect (and other readers maybe
) new useful posts from you!
Good luck and successes in blogging!