Older and wiser

Over the weekend as we gathered in Portugal with a herd of old friends to celebrate J’s birthday, a lot of conversations were had about elderly parents. Every single person there had a tale to tell,some poignant and sad, sometimes funnyand uplifting, but mostly downright depressing. 

Yesterday I drove down to visit my 90 year old dad and stepmother who live in a flat in the Wiltshire countryside. Despite downsizing from their large house and garden with the express purpose of moving into a town within walking distance of shops, doctor etc they have ended up three miles from the nearest town,  meaning  that they have to drive in order to get any where. This is great news for my dad who holds Toad of Toad halls driving methods in high esteem ( replacing Toads cries of ‘poop,poop” with “get out of the way you bloody fool”) but not such good news for anyone else who might be driving near him. A couple of months ago he managed to smash the front of his car at the same time as demolishing most of the wall in the post office car park. While the car was being towed to the garage he was driven home by two policemen. I assumed that they might have questioned whether he should still be in charge of a car, but he said the only conversation they had was about the price of stamp. The car was eventually fixed and a couple of weeks later he was off again. I went down fairly soon after this particular incident and as usual gently brought up the fact that his outings worried me and suggested it might be time to call it a day. ” Well” he said, ” I have learnt my lesson after my little bump” ( I held my breath).. ” I must always remember to leave the car in park, not drive”. And so we go on. Driving is the last gasp of his independence, in a world that has shrunk and is now filled up with hospital visits, hearing aids and funerals, his days spent at his desk looking out over a garden that is not his to mow. I cannot but admire his spirit.

Every day  the residents get together for a cooked two course lunch and yesterday I joined them. At one point last year, after my stepmother had broken her hip, followed the week later by my dad having a stroke, I was there so often that cries of ‘welcome home’ greeted me as I entered the dining room. A little worrying seeing as I like to think of myself as a youngster at 57. Lunch takes place at 1pm on the dot and the atmosphere is similar to a seaside boarding house set in that programme featuring Hyacinth Bouquet with a dash of the Mitford sisters. Despite constant complaints that the food is inedible, plates are virtually licked clean and rice puddings and crumbles wolfed down as if they are going out of fashion. Several of the more sprightly keep bottles of wine in the baskets hanging from their zimmer frames, clinking and clanking as they make their way to their allotted tables ( placed  far enough apart so that you don’t need to speak to your neighbour if you don’t want to) and who can blame them?  My grandmother always had a bottle of sherry on her bedroom shelf, along with a packet of fags in case of emergencies. One jolly soul, known as the young Admiral ( all of 85) has very recently got married to another resident also aged 85 and is incredibly chatty, always asking questions and being very friendly. This engaging approach is not at all appreciated by some parties is all I’m saying on the matter, and there is a definite air of ” we are above this” going on which is both absurd and heartbreaking.

My mother died at sixty four after a battle with bowel cancer. A remarkable, wonderful loving woman who I still thin about every day. Her thought on finding out she didn’t have long to live was the relief that we, her children would not have to look after her when she was, in her words, “old and difficult”. All these years later I would still give anything to have had the opportunity 

It’s funny how we all think that we will never be like our parents when we get old. We will never rant and rage against old age, fighting the fact that we are unable to do the things we used to do, refusing to compromise or listen to reason, being demanding and stubborn and driving our children round the bend. 

In reality  we will end up being exactly like them, and in turn our children will turn into us, and their children into them and so it will go on. 

And in the end all that remains of us is love.