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!
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.
Anthony’s encroaching dementia confuses both of us and sometimes I am more confused than he is. That’s why I am so glad we have such an honest way of talking with each other.
When Ants was home yesterday, and I mentioned that he had dementia and he winked at me, I was surprised for two reasons. Firstly, his Parkinsons disease prevents him from blinking, let alone winking, so that wink was weirdly wonderful. Secondly, when he and I talked about the dementia of his PD, and I laughed about the taxi mishap, Ants was fine – not distressed and quite okay with the fact that he has dementia now.
I’m confused.
One of the most difficult things about Anthony moving into the nursing lodge has been accepting this dramatic change.
Ming (now 19) was the first to accept this change willingly, whereas it took me nearly a year and mine was an unwilling acceptance laced with grief and guilt.
Anthony’s own acceptance has taken longer but yesterday it just happened and I am so relieved. This is how:
I booked the wheelchair taxi to pick Ants up from the nursing lodge at 2pm, then I rang his nephew who lives around the corner, and left a message that Ants would be home for a few hours.
Then, at 2.30pm, the nephew rang to say Ants was at their place! Apparently Anthony had convinced the taxi driver that our address was wrong and directed him to go to the nephew’s!
By the time the rather flustered taxi driver arrived here (around 2.45pm) I was in such fits of laughter that I could hardly speak as he got Ants out of the taxi. I hugged Ants, still spluttering with hilarity, so much so that Ming took over wheeling Ants to the front veranda while I paid the taxi driver who was now laughing too.
Okay, frivolity aside, the bemused taxi driver left, Ming went to milk the cows and Ants and I shared a beer and some snacks I had painstakingly prepared (chips). Here is our conversation:
Ants: It’s good to be home.
Me: So why did you go to the nephew’s?
Ants: I got mixed up.
Me: Yeah, you have a bit of dementia now.
Ants: I thought so. Am I staying the night?
Me: No!
Ants: Why?
Me: Because, Ants, you are too sick, I can’t lift you, and you need nursing care. How many times do we have to have this discussion? You have to accept it Ants – please!
Ants: You’re right.
Me: What?
Ants: You’re right.
Me: Okay, so the wheelchair taxi is coming to take you back in a few hours. Are you okay with that?
Ants: Yes, Jules (winking).
We then shared another beer, laughed again about the taxi mishap (well, I laughed and Ants looked at me as if I were crazy), then he began to droop badly and agreed to get the taxi earlier.
Acceptance.
PS. I’m off on my bike to tackle the road now!
I have discovered something wonderful and I’m sure Oprah will be contacting me soon to make me rich and famous.
Okay, we are all familiar with the list thing – shopping lists, chore lists, goal lists etc. But you know what the trouble is with these lists? They are too long!
My extensive research, case studies and social experimentation over the last three days have produced extraordinary findings! Yes, indeed, I have found the cure for lethargy!
The two candidates for this study were a teenage son and his mother who were becoming more and more depressed and, yes, lethargic, due to the grief they were experiencing when the husband/father figure went into a nursing home.
Neither the wife or son had been able to adjust happily to the new home dynamic despite having a close relationship. This was compounded by the son having to have major surgery and the mother losing her job.
Even a year after the husband’s admission to the nursing home, the son’s surgery and the mother’s loss of employment, all three were still struggling to accept the new status quo. All three were grieving in different ways and this resulted in numerous arguments with emotions running high, particularly between the mother and son. Both became exhausted and fell into a state of lethargy.
Then, three days ago, a plan was devised. Each day, the mother and son would write down a 3-point shortlist for the following day. This was done in a special notebook, almost like a contract. There would be one task that required both (we called that ‘mutual’), one task for the son, and one task for the mother.
The beauty of the shortlist is that it is ‘doeable'(is that a word?)
Okay, tongue out of cheek now – this is working, so watch this space!
WHAT DOES MATTER
– Ming began harp lessons.
– Anthony said on the phone this afternoon that he’d been kidnapped, but I calmed him down.
– Some lovely friends came to pick the dying figs.
– Gutsy9 (baby peacock) is thriving despite his wonky leg.
– We found a clock man who has now fixed three of Anthony’s clocks, so the house is chiming again.
– I finished delivering details to our accountant for our tax return from last year.
– I am going to purchase an ipad tomorrow so I can access the internet in Anthony’s room and show him stuff.
– Ming and I are getting on top of the housework/yardwork etc.
– I only cried a little bit today, instead of a lot.
– The blog community is amazing.
– Ming has stopped being so bossy!
– Lots of other good things.
WHAT DOESN’T MATTER
– It doesn’t matter!
I had to search through my blog to find the date of Anthony’s transition from respite to permanent resident at the nursing lodge. It was January 31st, 2012, 377 days ago.
How could this have happened just a year ago when it seems like a hundred years ago?
How could this have happened over a year ago when it seems like a few minutes ago?
377 days of separation.
I remember when you first winked at me
across the dining room table,
when your mother said I had overcooked the poached eggs.
You were 40 and I was a teenager
so the wink was just a wink of humour,
harmless and not flirtatious in the least
But that wink burrowed itself into my psyche,
made me ache for another wink….
If I hadn’t boiled the grapefruit marmalade all over the Aga,
a second wink might have happened sooner.
Oh well.
I remember when you first hugged me.
It was a week after my father died suddenly and I will never forget
the hesitation of that first hug,
your delight and nervousness,
your big, muscled arms,
my tears on your shoulder.
I remember the evening when you first understood me
as we bantered philosophical conundrums across the kitchen table
while your mother snored gently in the next room.
You don’t remember much of this, your eyes have forgotten how to wink, I banter as you snooze, and your arms no longer have the strength to hug me.
The time may come when you don’t remember who I am,
but I will never forget who you are,
my rock,
my light,
my reason,
my love,
my laughter.
jmgoyder 