Another thing that goes around and comes around
When you’re in your sixties and one or both parents are still alive, the chances are that they’re close to or beyond the age of 90 – and therefore, inevitably, age-related issues are to the fore. The ironic aspect is that, when people ask me about – in my case – my father, I used to take time to consider whether to give a blanket “He’s fine” or actually to tell the truth, which is that as time goes by he becomes more and more of a collective family problem because of infirmity, mental deterioration or simply the occasional unexpected (sometimes wildly so) behaviour or comments that he can sometimes come out with.
It’s a fact of life – and I’ve done this myself – that we all approach old age hoping to relax and enjoy ourselves, but also intending to be sensible in terms of where we decide to live, in what circumstances, and all the while accepting our physical and other limitations as they arise and/or become ongoing issues.
If people I’ve met are anything to go by, the phrase “I don’t want to be a burden to anyone …”, perhaps coupled with a bravado line to the effect that, when the appropriate time comes, “Just give me a bottle of whisky and a loaded revolver …” or even “Let me know, and I’ll simply drive off Beachy Head …” is cheerily trotted out the length and breadth of this green and pleasant land on a daily basis.
But it’s never quite that simple. By the time that “when the time comes” comes, the individual who found mirth and satisfaction in giving vent to such gallows humour is almost certainly going to be one of the last to know or appreciate it.
Which immediately brings rise to issues of ‘how to tell someone” and/or (if say powers or attorney exist) when to activate them because – by then, as night follows day – those doing it have probably already formed the opinion that the time for explaining or even discussing such decisions with the ‘victim’ [and let me call him or her that for these purposes] is already behind you simply because you wouldn’t be contemplating ‘taking over their affairs’ if it wasn’t.
That’s just about where me and my family have now reached with my father.
Although able to give the impression of being lucid most of the time, he also suffers periods when he is completely incapable of thinking straight. A couple of months ago he had a double accident in a car park from which he emerged shaken and announcing that he was giving up driving immediately because “I was just not in control of that car and could have killed somebody”. Since then – after a period of abstinence – we have discovered that he has resumed driving.
Not only that but, probably prompted by a communication from the DVLA giving notice that (being over 70) he must renew his licence by October or else give up his right to drive, his major – indeed almost sole – current quest in life is to now renew his driving licence at the earliest opportunity.
As a Canadian cousin who is a doctor and visited the UK recently told us, my father has reached the point where there is not much point in attempting to have a rational conversation with him – e.g. hoping to persuade him that for practical and/or safety reasons he should give up driving – because his brain is barely still able to follow the course of a conversation, let alone understanding points being made to him (irrespective of whether they be sensible, rational or logical or even otherwise).
As a family, we’ve been wrestling with these issues for at least the past three years. We’ve tried ‘summit meetings’ and rational conversations, even ‘readings of the Riot Act’ and other means of persuasion and got practically nowhere. And all the while, my father’s ability to function independently has been waning. Not that he will acknowledge it. Whenever it is suggested he needs caring help – even less than of the full-time live-in variety – he keeps batting it to leg with the comment “I don’t think I’ve reached that stage yet”, though that is a moot point of course.
As a result, the family has reluctantly gone along with his solution – i.e. that we all take turns to go and visit, or stay with him, in order to ‘mind’ him.
That may suit him – and perhaps save us all a bit of money – but it is greatly disrupting to every branch of the family’s lives and, after the past eighteen months or so, has become debilitating to the point of frustrating for everyone concerned.
Except my father. Who thinks it is great. But who also, when because of ‘other commitments’, or indeed for medical, social or business reasons, any or all of us are unavailable to be on duty with him – never disguises his puzzlement that we cannot be on hand whenever he needs us, verging upon the “But what do you guys do all day …” (i.e. if you aren’t coming down to look after me)?
It’s a genuine problem all round. And actually bloody selfish.
As I said at the outset, the more I talk to people of my generation, the more I find sympathy coming my way but also similar tales of their issues with their parents on this score. My family are not plainly alone in having to wrestle with such problems. I guess they’ve always been there throughout history. The only difference in the 21st Century is that, because people live appreciably longer than they did in previous times, more and different age-related conditions and issues come into play – not least those that never appeared in previous older generations because they didn’t quite live long enough for them to emerge.
Still, I suppose could look at it on the bright side. One day in the not too distant future, it will be my turn not to appreciate how decrepit and/or (as a result) how much of a burden I’ve become.
And then I’ll be someone else’s problem.
