Getting old

Back when Riley's mom Aileen was alive she used to say she didn't want to get old. (She died at age 65 so she got her wish.) I never understood what she meant exactly - if you could be old, travel, enjoy grand-kids, eat whatever you wanted and not work, what was so bad about that? I understand now. Getting old isn't the problem - it's getting old, having health problems and then languishing through the last years of life.

I have a friend who is 82, does aerobics, drives, plays bridge and lives alone just fine. She is perky and cute, dresses stylish (no polyester for her), has darling hair and a great attitude. The key is keeping in shape both physically and mentally.

My mom is now officially old. She thinks so because she is 80. The thing is, she didn't act old until just the past eight months or so. Because she enjoyed good health most of her life she stayed somewhat active and engaged. Now that back pain and a mild stroke have plagued her recently, she acts old. But it isn't an act. My mom has been robbed. She has no muscle mass due to lack of exercise. She has lost brain capacity because of the stroke. She is feeble. Those are hard words to write. It tears at my heart. My mom has always been my best friend - full of life, jokes, wit and fun. Now she asks the same questions over and over and she realizes she's different. She comments on her brain not being right. She asks if her voice sounds different. She wonders why her skin hangs off her bones. She's lost 35 pounds in the past year.

One of her physical therapists told me that when people come to rehab because of an injury, if they've kept themselves in good shape, they rehab better and bounce back faster. He said old folks who have lived sedate lives don't do as well. Sometimes they don't even rehab and end up going to a nursing home. This doesn't bode well for my mom as she starts rehab. She has been pretty sedate for the past eight months and longer. She was a librarian and retired just four years ago. She hauled books all over the library, drove herself, shopped for groceries and new shirts, went to lunch with friends, watered her lawns, did her own laundry, cooked for herself and more. Just a year ago she was doing all of this and now she does none of it.

I'm learning lessons. Patience, for one. When someone has a brain injury you can't get impatient as they repeat the same questions, five minutes apart. You factor in an extra half hour when you take them someplace they need to be because they just can't move quickly. You listen to obsessing over small details that seem important to them, but in reality, aren't.

I'm also learning that I don't want to end up the same way. I wouldn't call my mom a burden - I love her and she took care of me so it's my turn for payback. But I don't want to burden my kids with the same kinds of responsibilities I have right now. I want to be able to drive, move, walk, pay my own bills, think and converse. I want to exercise my body and my mind so I stay fresh. Like spinach from a garden.

Once in a while my mom, my real mom, comes out to play. It's rare because the pain has transformed her into someone who, if I hadn't seen her for a few years, wouldn't even know. But she's still there and we get glimpses of her when she's feeling good or we walk down memory lane. I kid myself that I will get her back, that a miracle will take place - pain will leave, muscles will rebuild, brain will heal. I can hope for all of this but I have to be ready for if it doesn't happen. I will love my mom to her dying breath and I will exhibit patience and kindness because she deserves no less. When I go through the veil I want her to be able to say, "thanks for hanging in there until the end, I know it was tough, but you never failed me."