In 1959, Anthony turned 23, had his first relationship with a woman, his father died, and, across the other side of Australia, I was born.
I had my first relationship with a man (Anthony) when I was 23.
My father died at the age of 58. Ming was born when Anthony was 58.
Ming and I both have a parent who is 77 (Anthony and my mother).
I was 19 when my father died. Ming is 19 now and his father is dying.
Coincidences can be interesting, but they can also be cruel.
I arranged for Anthony to be wheel-chair taxied home today for the third time this week. We are doing this so often lately that it is becoming the new norm. Anthony arrives here at 2pm and is taxied back to the nursing lodge at 4.30pm.
There have been numerous logistical glitches with this arrangement, but it’s getting smoother.
When Ants arrives, it takes awhile to get him out of the taxi, but once he is on the front veranda, it’s like the good old days – just the two of us.
Today, Ants saw Ming before milking, then we visited his nephew’s family, then we came back home to have a drink before the taxi arrived and, for the first time, Ants accepted he had to go back to the nursing lodge.
We hugged and kissed goodbye but there were no tears from either of us – phew.
Anthony was/is my first and only love. He continues to make my heart beat faster. I am so lucky!
Ming has now become the main breadwinner in this family. He’s been working part-time for over a year now as a dairyhand for the family whose farm adjoins ours. Then, as of a few weeks ago, he’s been working three mornings per week as a farmhand for a man who lives up the road. Altogether, this just about equates to full-time work and a full-time wage.
As a result, Ming gets a bit tired and grumpy sometimes and this morning he said, Ï don’t want to work for the other guy anymore!”
Here are the sentences that formed in my mind:
– How can you be so lazy?
– You should be grateful to have work when there’s so much unemployment!
– When I was your age I had three jobs!
But I didn’t say any of those things because I was suddenly struck with gratitude for the way Ming is transitioning from boy to man, so I said:
I am so proud of you, Ming.
His grimace turned into a grin!
[Note: The prequel to this published itself prematurely – sorry!]
I feel compelled to write a follow-up to yesterday’s post due to the interesting comments that were made. There was even a little debate on my blog which has never happened before!
The ageism that Ming has admitted to is not directed at just Anthony; it is more generalized. He is easily annoyed with all things old – not just people. For example we live in a very old house where things are beginning to break down and wear out – old carpets, broken furniture, warped flyscreens, holes through which mice enter, old plumbing, electrical wiring etc. Similarly, we have problems outside with old lawnmowers, trees, sheds, hoses, water tanks etc.
This is all perfectly normal for an old farm and none of it is insurmountable, but getting things fixed is expensive and time-consuming and, for young Ming, a source of constant frustration.
Add to this old Anthony’s deterioration in health and we have a young Ming with an aversion to both the concept and reality of the word öld”.
If I were to define compassion, I would say it is equal parts sympathy and empathy. Sympathy is feeling sad FOR somebody else, whereas empathy is feeling sad LIKE somebody else. In general, the latter does not come easily to young people when dealing with old people.
I think that if Ming weren’t compassionate, he would not be worried about his lack of empathy for Anthony. He wants to be empathetic but he can’t feel it and I can’t make him feel it, so we accept it. His love for Anthony runs deep, but his liking of Anthony is problematic because Ants is now so old, frail and incapacitated that Ming avoids seeing him. Strangely, I am the one most hurt by this as Ants is more philosophical and remembers feeling the same aversion to his own father after his father had a stroke.
Yesterday’s post was not intended as a moan or a cry for help; I was just telling it like it is, warts and all!
When people ask Ming, “So, what are you doing these days?” Ming always replies proudly, Ï’m following in Dad’s footsteps.” I used to think Ming was referring to the fact that he is milking cows but now I think his statement means much more.
Oh yeah, and a bad day doesn’t mean a bad life. We are lucky.
Before I entered university life, I worked for around ten years in nursing homes. I felt an enormous affection for elderly people and began to understand the communication value of stories told by people who were in various stages of dementia.
I wrote a PhD, then a book, then articles – all published – and Anthony was so proud of me. We used to talk about the elderly people I’d met, their stories, my theories, and the various drawbacks of life in a nursing home. This was around the same time we got married – 20 years ago.
Little did I know then what would happen to us now, that Anthony would be in a nursing home, that Anthony would get Parkinon’s disease dementia (PDD), that Ming, our son, would become ageist.
Like many young people, Ming has an aversion to old age, but he never used to! He used to be compassionate and kind; now he is either horrified or indifferent.
We had a discussion about this last night and Ming actually admitted to ageism.
“It’s Dad’s fault,” he said.
I went outside and wept.
Gutsy9 began to limp quite badly a couple of days ago, so yesterday Ming and I took him to the vet who confirmed that this is simply due to the deformity of his right leg. To my great relief this has nothing to do with me injuring one of his toes when he ran under my office chair way back.
I went back through my photos of him and I can see now that it was always deformed. He always stretched this leg out strangely. It’s okay though because he can now fly up to the height of a table and he is not in any pain.
G9 is now spending most of the day in the chookpen and all night in the big cage within the chookpen, but he also has an afternoon nap inside the house, either on my lap or nuzzling into my shoulder.
What a bird!
Ah the joy of it! Cycling along country roads in the hurricane-like winds gentle autumn breeze, magpies dive-bombing your head birds twittering, the sun burning a hole in your back shining, farm trucks zooming violently past and carrying you along in their terrifying slipstreams gently idling past you, cows escaping yards and galloping towards you mooing quietly in the paddocks, children laughing at you smiling and waving – yes, pure joy!
The first person to comment on my blog (apart from my mother) was Lynda whose blog, Life in the Farmlet (http://pixilatedtoo.wordpress.com/), has entranced me from the start of my blog journey. She likes geese and so do I and that is how our friendship began.
One of the things I have discovered in following Lynda’s blog is that she is a woman of many talents. For example, she is really crafty (in the literal sense) i.e. her sewing abilities far surpass my own inability to sew a button back on a shirt. She is an artist.
Well, guess what? Lynda has sent me a gift! Here is the post in which she describes it:
http://pixilatedtoo.wordpress.com/just-something-i-made/
This apron is so exquisite, I don’t think I can possibly wear it – I want to frame it! I love it!
Lynda, you absolutely shine. Thank you from the bottom and top of my heart!
Blogging presents many of us with private-versus-public predicaments. Some bloggers remain anonymous, some don’t.
Over the last few weeks, I have become more aware of how blogging can be quite risky because, whether you are anonymous or not, if you write something from your heart and someone doesn’t agree, it’s free for all.
Often family or friends may try to admonish you, shut you up, give you advice, even make fun of you. These kinds of responses usually come from people who either don’t understand blogging, or just don’t understand you.
Today I was upset to find that one of my blog friends is feeling compelled to shut her blog down due to family pressure. Her blog’s raw honesty has helped so many of us to understand what grief looks like and I, for one, am not afraid of grief any more.
Self-censorship is every writer’s/blogger’s burden but censorship from others is an affront. If someone tells you to shut up, yell louder!
Mmmm … to blog or not to blog.
jmgoyder 