Just Leave Us in the West Desert

It seems like everyone I talk to who is my age is dealing with aging parents. When a group of us got together we used to talk about our kids, our home improvement projects, our travels, our sex lives, pretty random stuff. Now all we talk about is our aging bodies and our aging parents.

One friend said and I quote: "I have seen more of a naked 90 year old man's private parts that I ever wanted to see." Another told me she changed her toddler's diaper and then turned around and cleaned up her father with tears streaming down her face. When a friend of my mother's was asked what she did when  her aging husband yelled and swore at her( he would have never done this when he was younger), she said she just yelled right back. Just this morning my visiting teacher said that her parents had to move into an assisted living center when her father fell and lay there for 6 hours before someone came. Her  mother wasn't cognizant enough to call 911 or even bring him the phone. 

My dad, who is 82, and John's mom, who will be 88 next month , are central to my part of these conversations. My dad, who was a wonderful, energetic, intelligent, man has melanoma and dementia, probably brought on by a head injury from a bicycle accident 20 years ago. John's mom is a proud, stoic, independent southern woman, whom age is catching up with.

I have seen my mother in law in a hospital bed with tubes coming out of both arms and an oxygen mask over her face tell me that she is "just fine" when  I asked her how she was doing. She was trying to convince us that she could go to her home when she left the hospital instead of to her daughter Rachel's. My dad, when asked last week by the hospice evaluators, didn't know his name and who mom was. Last week when I was fixing him some breakfast he asked me how long I have been helping him. I think he thought I was one of his caregivers, but I wouldn't dream of asking him if he knows who I am. I can't do that to him.  . . or me. I just walk in kiss him on the cheek and say "Hi dad, it's Jeanne, your favorite daughter!" He does laugh though and seems to know it is a joke.

 

Taken in 1988 at Carlos and LaDawn wedding.



I have learned that old age treats every one differently. Some lucky few keep on going into their late 80s hardly slowing down at all. Others like John's dad die drop dead of a heart attack in their early 70s. At times I wonder if they are the fortunate ones. They and their family don't have to go through the slow decline and  endure (and witness) the indignities of old age.

  I was scanning some old negatives into my computer the other day and came across an old picture of John and me with his parents. It was such a pleasant surprise to see an unexpected picture of Dad Lingard. He has been gone 15 years now and it was like seeing an old friend. I actually touched the computer screen in greeting. I feel the same way when I see pictures of my dad come up on my computer screen saver. There are pictures of him when we were growing up, of him skiing, or sailing or fishing, and of him with my children. He has intelligence, light and joy in his eyes and I reach out my hand to the screen in greeting, missing him . 

 



Dad and Annie, camping at Strawberry Reservoir



   As John and I watch our parents age, we, like generations before us, bemoan, "I don't want to get old." He is convinced he will die of an early heart attack like his father. "If I don't" he says, "just leave me out in the west desert and drive away." And I say "just leave us both."