Uneven aging: Bright moments
One of my friends quotes Rahsaan Roland Kirk, who said to his audience, "People, you got to have those bright moments."
When uneven aging invades a couple's life, bright moments seem to recede, because health challenges drain all concerned. I was reminded of this when sitting in J.'s antique store. A woman of about sixty came in with a friend; they puttered about until a stack of vintage linens caught her eye.
She took over forty-five minutes to choose two hand towels for her kitchen, using a wonderful old French-Canadian word to announce her choice: "Celles-ci sont moins maganées" ("These are less destroyed".)
While paying, she told us that her husband had cancer and was presently unable to go out, and added, "So I buy myself things, to feel better—because we do not know what is going to happen."
I understood immediately, because I've seen friends do the same, whether on a grand scale (major landscaping) or small (buying the expensive oranges). Uneven aging means one person needs more support, even if temporary. Promises are often made for the life that will be resumed "when I am better", or "if the doctor gives the go-ahead".
Sometimes the less-afflicted partner knows that recovery is not possible. A neighbour cares for both her chronically-ill husband and 93-year-old father, who still lives alone in his own apartment. In past years, she was restored by an annual three-week get-away, travelling with a small group of women friends. No more, she told me last week. Her husband can't be on his own for even a full day. She takes a book to a café to read for an hour and a half.
"Je fais mon deuil maintenant", she told me: I am doing my mourning now.
She is calm, but still exhausted. If I could wave a wand, I'd do that Oprah move: every person giving abiding care would receive bright moments, from the free—a glorious, colour-shot sunset, time to listen to a favourite podcast—to those that can be bought: real hot chocolate, a new lipstick. I'm Oprah? Everyone gets a free massage every month!
Eyebrows might be raised (typically by heirs) should big-ticket options come into the picture, but it's the couple's business. I confess I'd probably say something if the bright moment meant serious debt. And "moment" is relevant. Rob took his infirm wife on a trip that was too ambitious. He said a week would have pleased her, or even a long weekend, but the two-week journey, with long flights, was a mistake.
As J. wrapped the towels, I glanced at the customer's girlfriend and saw that she had tears in her eyes. I read her face: not great odds. The customer took her package, squared her shoulders and walked out to the winter-weak sunlight, her friend at her side. It may have been but a moment, but that moment carried her back into her home and the tasks at hand.
When uneven aging invades a couple's life, bright moments seem to recede, because health challenges drain all concerned. I was reminded of this when sitting in J.'s antique store. A woman of about sixty came in with a friend; they puttered about until a stack of vintage linens caught her eye.
She took over forty-five minutes to choose two hand towels for her kitchen, using a wonderful old French-Canadian word to announce her choice: "Celles-ci sont moins maganées" ("These are less destroyed".)
While paying, she told us that her husband had cancer and was presently unable to go out, and added, "So I buy myself things, to feel better—because we do not know what is going to happen."
I understood immediately, because I've seen friends do the same, whether on a grand scale (major landscaping) or small (buying the expensive oranges). Uneven aging means one person needs more support, even if temporary. Promises are often made for the life that will be resumed "when I am better", or "if the doctor gives the go-ahead".
Sometimes the less-afflicted partner knows that recovery is not possible. A neighbour cares for both her chronically-ill husband and 93-year-old father, who still lives alone in his own apartment. In past years, she was restored by an annual three-week get-away, travelling with a small group of women friends. No more, she told me last week. Her husband can't be on his own for even a full day. She takes a book to a café to read for an hour and a half.
"Je fais mon deuil maintenant", she told me: I am doing my mourning now.
Eyebrows might be raised (typically by heirs) should big-ticket options come into the picture, but it's the couple's business. I confess I'd probably say something if the bright moment meant serious debt. And "moment" is relevant. Rob took his infirm wife on a trip that was too ambitious. He said a week would have pleased her, or even a long weekend, but the two-week journey, with long flights, was a mistake.
As J. wrapped the towels, I glanced at the customer's girlfriend and saw that she had tears in her eyes. I read her face: not great odds. The customer took her package, squared her shoulders and walked out to the winter-weak sunlight, her friend at her side. It may have been but a moment, but that moment carried her back into her home and the tasks at hand.
Comments
I have recently been watching a British series on YouTube called "Great Canal Journeys" - it features the actors Timothy West & Prunella Scales, who have been married for over 50 years. She has dementia and while the series is about their canal journeys around the UK and Europe (something they've done all their lives) it also chronicles how life changes for both of them as her disease progresses and how they both cope. They started this series in 2013 and the last one was done October 2017 (although they are supposed to do another one this year) and it is a very poignant - and yet funny - documentary of their lives together. I heartily recommend it.
Margie from Toronto: Oh I love Prunella Scales, and did not know about this; thank you so much for the recommendation.
Some of the articles are in English as well http://ranq.qc.ca/
The Montréal local association: http://raanm.net/
I know this blog is far more about what family and friends can do to support both caregivers and the person needing care, but the measures to help caregivers,including respite care, are a big help and not as well known as they should be.
By the way, a good friend of mine works for these associations.
By the way, Happy Equinox!!!!
On the Materfamilias blog, Frances wrote about "solo dining" while I was in the midst of this. Like your post here, it was a delightful respite from the cares of my day.
I thank both of you for such sensitivity of these times in our lives...
Charlene H
Susan: I wrote a post on this in 2016; the ideas may be useful:
http://passagedesperles.blogspot.ca/2016/10/uneven-aging-caregiver-partner.html
All the best.
Yes, it was very stressful, but it brought out both the best and worst of us. People in chronic pain often become short tempered, and behave in ways that are out of character. When the pain remits (eg after taking a pain killer), a simple apology, a loving recognition of everything a partner does, goes a long way.
When the shoe is on the other foot, remembering that an uncharacteristic outburst, is the result of pain...it's only the pain (or disease) speaking, that is not really your loved one saying these things, and that forgiveness is essential. BTW We're celebrating our 30th anniversary this year, and not taking our current good health for granted!