Uneven Ageing: When adult children meddle

Before winter set in and walking with friends became an endurance contest, I met for a stroll with Mireille. She has two sons in their late forties; both had recently delivered stern lectures. "They harassed me!, she said.

Uneven Aging hit when Mireille's husband, James, twenty years older, developed vascular dementia. When we walked, he had been in an extended care facility for five years; she had not been out of the city during this time. 

Her youngest urged his mother to take a vacation—perhaps to their former home city, Vancouver, to see  her newly-widowed sister-in-law. She demurred, and then, as she said, "He sent in the heavy artillery, his brother", who barked, "You won't be able to travel forever, you know. You have four years, maybe five; what's on your Bucket List?"

They peppered her with travel-company brochures, airline sales, links to women-only tours. They drafted their aunt to promote the Vancouver visit. Finally, she told them to "stop meddling and think of your father". In truth, she knew James would be okay, because they had taken over when she had her hip replaced a year ago and could not visit for over two weeks.

As we walked, I sensed that she was deeply hoping for her sons' support and appreciation rather than a directive. "I do get low sometimes", she admitted, "but I know what to do. I have my routine and take care of myself."

Inside their heavy-handed intervention, I heard her sons' yearning for the nature-loving mother who had taken them canoeing on the Nahanni and trekking at Joffre Lakes Park, and now only journeyed cross-city to see a man who no longer could remember her last visit.

The end to the matter came abruptly. 

In January, James swiftly succumbed to an infection. When I spoke with her at the memorial service, Mireille said her sons had pivoted to "an entirely different awareness". They saw that over James' years in the residence, Mireille had preserved some form of a union, more precious to her than any trip. Though they could no longer live together, they were still a couple. When she arrived, he always complimented her scarf, her eyes—even if he had forgotten the family news she had shared last time.

Usually children have good intentions, but their perspective is limited; they don't see the richer, more complex bonds. The age difference meant that James became a parent in his late forties, at the most demanding time of his career. He was absent at least half of any given year. They made every effort to deal with whatever arose across seven or eight time zones. 

They kept stresses between them, not so much secrets as firewalls they built to keep their sons feeling secure. Love was tested and had endured.

I remarked to Mireille that in Uneven Aging, at times the healthier partner might think, This may not be what I'd prefer now, but I need to one day know in my heart that I did the right thing.

'The right thing' may not be what the children—or other family and friends–endorse, and it takes equanimity to hear the intentions behind their prescriptions. United in their mourning, Mireille's sons realized that her desire had been to keep close to James as long as she could; she saw that their edicts came from their wish to take care of her, and anticipatory grief.

At times, you will welcome family saying, "Take a break; we have it covered." In other situations, you may know, as Mireille did, that what you truly want is for them to back off and let you follow your convictions.