Three years ago the doctors found a lump in my mom’s kidney. She didn’t tell us it was cancer for several months. “I didn’t want to ruin Christmas,” she said. They took the kidney out and she’s fine, but she is smaller now, barely 100 pounds and more frail.
Two summers ago my father almost died. A nasty cough turned out to be pneumonia, and my dad went from joking in the hallway of the ER one minute to being in congestive heart failure the next. Doctors had to put a tube down his throat so he could breathe, and he was put on a respirator. He made it. Five weeks in the hospital took their toll, though. He’s home now, but different.
Staying together
The crisis forced me and my brothers and sisters to see my parents clearly for the first time in a long, long while. My father shuffles now and has trouble getting himself out of a chair. He’s a diabetic and his eyesight has worsened.
A few years back, he handed over the keys to the car. My mom still whirls around the house all morning, but by two o’clock, like a kid’s toy running low on batteries, she goes up to her bed and lays down for a long nap.
Both of them forget things. My mother has taken to tacking up lists everywhere – reminders to call repairmen; step-by-step instructions for my dad’s insulin pen. All of them written in her beautiful, flowing school-girl handwriting. We stop in once a day if we can. We drop off food – a casserole or a container of homemade soup. We call to see how they are.
We’ve admitted they’re old. We’re OK with it now. And we’re happy – happy for each day they’re here.
Worried about the aging process? Learn some anti-aging tips from the pros.
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Paul Benedetti teaches journalism at the University of Western Ontario in London
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