I don't write much about my Oldies anymore. Not much to write.
I used to enjoy telling you about how he stopped parades to get her to the hairdresser; about how, for years, the folks at Panera Bread fried two eggs and served them up at the table every morning; about how, as a V.P. for Public Relations in an international company, he was continually frustrated by having to deal with spoiled celebrities. (The stories about them were hilarious. I so wish I'd written them down)
Then things became sad and frightening. Routinely getting lost, losing the car, her purse, credit cards, police involvment, and so on.
Then there were the accidents, both with the car and falling down. But, the worst was the anger and paranoia, directed at most unlikely family and friends, namely, anybody who tried to tell Mr. Oldie he was losing it. And those were always folks who loved them.
We visited them today, as we do regularly. They're happy and content, but the best part is they're safe. Both of their memories are essentially gone. Conversation is hard. They, essentially, have none.
A few of their friends (they're my friends as well) don't believe that they should be there. The rules where they now live are very strick. These friends believe that the Oldies should have had the continued freedom to make their own choices. But I'm so grateful that they're safe, comfortable and together.
And, of course, the lesson for me is to have decisions in place now for the time in the future when my mind might fade.
My preference would be to "just shoot me!" But that's probably not an option.
***
I used to enjoy telling you about how he stopped parades to get her to the hairdresser; about how, for years, the folks at Panera Bread fried two eggs and served them up at the table every morning; about how, as a V.P. for Public Relations in an international company, he was continually frustrated by having to deal with spoiled celebrities. (The stories about them were hilarious. I so wish I'd written them down)
Then things became sad and frightening. Routinely getting lost, losing the car, her purse, credit cards, police involvment, and so on.
Then there were the accidents, both with the car and falling down. But, the worst was the anger and paranoia, directed at most unlikely family and friends, namely, anybody who tried to tell Mr. Oldie he was losing it. And those were always folks who loved them.
We visited them today, as we do regularly. They're happy and content, but the best part is they're safe. Both of their memories are essentially gone. Conversation is hard. They, essentially, have none.
A few of their friends (they're my friends as well) don't believe that they should be there. The rules where they now live are very strick. These friends believe that the Oldies should have had the continued freedom to make their own choices. But I'm so grateful that they're safe, comfortable and together.
And, of course, the lesson for me is to have decisions in place now for the time in the future when my mind might fade.
My preference would be to "just shoot me!" But that's probably not an option.
***
