Am I Middle Aged?

This last year has been a difficult year for my mother. She has been dealing with the loss of her home of 30 years, my dad’s dementia and melanoma and her own aging issues. I am trying to do all I can to help make this time in her life easier, but I know it is not enough.


Mom and dad are living in Brett and Kerri’s basement in a lovely apartment that they finished. This means that they downsized their living space by almost 2/3rds and mom had to give away many of her things and move away from her friends. Dad needs continual care, he doesn’t remember much from day to day. He needs to be told to eat and get dressed and can’t follow instructions very well. He is most content when mom is close by and she is now his constant care giver.

Mama had seven children in seven years and raised (if I do say so myself) a remarkable family and was a loving and a supportive wife, almost to a fault. Even though she had chronic fatigue, she taught quilting at Mormon Handicraft and was instrumental in the resurgence of hand piecing in the Salt Lake Valley. Mama told me the other day that she always prided herself on her ability to cope with life’s demands.. But she has had two episodes of blacking out for five to ten seconds and no longer drives because of possible blackouts. I know she feels like she has lost all control of her life and is dependent on others for almost everything.



Mom, Marrianne Lingard, Martha Lingard, on our wedding day. They were younger than I am now, not middle aged!



Like mom, I too have prided myself on my ability to do things on my own. I felt like I could cook, sew and raise my children with the best of them. Looking back, I feel bad that I was too proud to accept any help my dear mother-in-law, Martha. As a young mother, I saw her working so hard to help John’s brothers and sisters and their families. I didn’t want her to have to work that hard to help us. So when she came to visit I made sure that the house was clean, clothes were washed and ironed and the house was in good repair. There was nothing left that she had to do to help. (What was I thinking? I wish she was able to iron for me now.) I didn’t realize that she wanted to help us. By not allowing her to help, my pride was intact, but I wasn’t thinking of Martha’s needs and didn’t allow her to serve us.

The other day Martha told me that she doesn’t remember being middle aged, she remembers being her normal self and then all of sudden she was old. She will be 87 next month. That made me laugh, because when I married John she seemed very middle aged to me. She was younger than I am now. I often wonder when I get to be old (er), like my mother and Martha, what will I be like? One thing is for certain, at one point or another, my life will be probably out of my control. If it is not already.