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Things I learned from my experiences will benefit no one if I do not share them;
however, the Bible does have a word of caution about this, found in Matthew 7:6: “Don’t give what is holy to unholy people.  Don’t give pearls to swine!  They will trample the pearls, then turn and attack you.”

There are things that all of us dread.  Psychologists say that more than ninety percent of the things we dread or worry about, never actually happen.  Of those things that do take place, most do not take place exactly as imagined.  Only about two or three percent actually occur “as dreaded.”  On this clinical basis, it would seem that we humans waste far too much of our time worrying.  Can anyone actually say that they have changed the course of events by worrying?  When, and if, the parent/child role reversal occurs in our lives, many emotions come into play.  These emotions can affect both children and parents.  Please excuse me, but I’m going to use a medical term to more adequately explain this.  Some of the emotions experienced can be gut wrenching.

We celebrated my mother’s 98th birthday toward the end of October, 2004.  She still lived alone (a widow of 28 years) in the home that she (and my dad) had occupied for 68 years.  My brother and sister, (twins) and I grew up there. For almost as long as I can remember, she had a distrust of the medical profession.  Through the years she developed a great interest in holistic medicine and did considerable personal research, through a myriad of   publications, concerning the uses and benefits of vitamins and supplements. I’m sure that there are many legitimate health products on the market, but many of the claims that she considered to be factual, I can’t help but put in the “snake oil cure” category.  At about age 90 and with a sizeable library related to health, she was convinced she was on the cutting edge of holistic knowledge. Macula degeneration and diminished hearing came into her life at about the same time and recently she went from legally blind to what we perceive to be the edge of total blindness.  Her hearing aids became imperative in communicating with her, but ironically she could communicate fairly well on the telephone without them.  Living in a dark and silent environment, the phone became her only available contact with the outside world.  Her conversations became lengthy and focused on her knowledge of the human body and vitamins/supplements.  When these, and related topics worked their way into almost every conversation, it was really hard to stay on the line.  Feelings evoked by “medical reruns” of previous phone calls invariably put me on a guilt trip.  I didn’t want to constantly hear about health, but at her age she was quickly running out of people to talk with (or to). “Honor thy father and mother.”  Old age is really something – but it’s nothing like the brochures proclaim it to be.  Victor Borge, the well known comic pianist, told of a man who invented the cure for which there was no disease.  Unfortunately, he later caught the cure – and died!

My maternal grandmother lived to be 94.  Mother’s brother and sister both lived to be well into their 80’s.  One might think that longevity was in their genes.  Not so!  My mother has attained her advanced age strictly by lifting herself by her bootstraps and taking VITAMINS!  My grandmother’s view on medicine seemed to be, “If it tastes good, it’s not medicine!”  When she would come to visit us, when we were small children, I always looked forward to part of her visit with dread.  Almost like clock-work, about the second day, she would visually X-ray us, and after some mental analytical research say, “How long has it been since these kids have had a through of medicine?”  Immediately relinquishing her parental right like melting butter, mother would reply, “I don’t know, maybe the last time you were here.”  Then came the diagnosis that I hated to hear.  “These kids look kind of peakid.”  Oh Gosh!  Our fears came true!  Condemned to a day and a half – maybe two days – of playing within a few hasty steps of the bathroom.  Castor Oil.  That is probably the absolute best small child body flush that God ever invented.  Trailing in second place was a patent medicine called “Syrup Pepsin “the senna laxative.”  Strong in pepsin taste, that would ring out young bowels!  After a “through” of either of those medieval torture potions, the “peakid” look was sure to go away.  Held up to the light after the total body flush, we looked colorless; at best we sometimes attained the desired result of looking transparent.  Defenseless little kids and a caring grandmother.  You can’t beat that for love! 

My mother taught public school music prior to getting married.  She was a trained violinist, played in the Lubbock (Texas) Symphony Orchestra at one time, and gave private lessons for a while.  She was an accomplished artist (in oil paints).  Some of her portrait work is outstanding, compared to that of many artists.  She has done calligraphy, was an excellent seamstress, possessed considerable creativity, and many other skills.  To see her now, stooped, blind and deaf, waiting for time to run out, is an extremely sad comparison for those of us who remember her as the source of most of our needs while we were growing up.

As her children, we have all been blessed with what I have always considered to be more talents than those granted to most people.  In large part, they came from my mother and her side of the family.  Business sense was my dad’s forte, and I was fortunate to have worked closely with him for fifteen years.  In all the ensuing years, I can truthfully say that he was the best businessman I have ever worked for.  Incidentally, that includes bosses from two world wide organizations, a national company and a statewide company.  I wish that I had recognized his talents more fully while he was still alive.


In the next thrilling episode, we’ll talk about how time, and wear and tear, can affect roles of responsibility.

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A few years back, a noticeable change took place in my mother.  While visiting by phone, I began to notice that some of the same topics came up two and three times during a single call.  I know that I must occasionally relate the same information a second time to individuals with whom I talk with frequently.  I hope that I am not guilty of doing this during the same conversation.  But three times?  I’m not there yet.  However, I probably shouldn’t be too emphatic - on the basis of a man that I heard of, who was on the witness stand.  The attorney asked him point blank, “Have you ever been confined in a mental institution?”  “No!” was the immediate reply – but after a brief pause, he continued, “At least not that I’m aware of.”

How do you handle a situation with respect, when the same story is repeated multiple times in the same conversation?  Most of the time, I sat quietly while she did her reruns.  Occasionally, knowing many of the stories by heart, based on past conversations, I would attempt to move our visiting forward by telling her that she had already told me about “it.”  Sometimes that worked and we moved on.  Other times, the stories were apparently so good that she ignored my response, and we again moved through the story in virtually a word for word manner.  After some time, I became capable of jumping in, should the need arise, and completing the story from any given point; however, I was never given the opportunity to use my newly developed skill.

Somewhere in this time frame, mother’s diminishing interest in housekeeping gave way to spending the majority of her days studying about holistic health cures.  From talking with people in various professional fields, whose job it is to deal with the elderly, and their lifestyles, I learned that my mother’s changing routines were not uncommon occurrences.  Naturally, my brother, sister and I were affected by what we considered to be an unacceptable living environment.  Our efforts to physically help were met with strong opposition.  Her diminished eyesight provided her with a logical position by which to maintain her “Queen of the Mountain” position.  Naturally, we wanted her to live according to her wishes and we felt compelled to support her position of, “Don’t move anything.  I know where everything is and if you start cleaning things up, I won’t be able to locate anything!”  From her standpoint, and her being our mother, it all made practical sense.  With decidedly mixed emotions, we let her have her way.  Many times, even in the early stages of evident health changes in her life, we collectively wondered, “How is this going to end?”  And much later the question changed to, “How will we know when she can no longer live alone?”  Our emotions were further being tested because for years and years she made it very clear that she never wanted to be placed in a “rest” or retirement home.  My brother, sister, and I were in total agreement.  We did not want to ever be confronted with such an undesirable task, especially knowing her wishes.  We doggedly tried to honor her request in this regard, and continued to do whatever we could, even though restricted by her desires and emphatic control. Meanwhile, her ever growing collection of virtually any and everything, continued to grow throughout the house.

Much to our relief, (and surprise) there is a (chain) grocery store in our home town that would deliver groceries directly to her house.  Basically, this worked very well for quite some time, but since she would not allow us to do any cleaning, we became very concerned about sympathy that could be aroused in a delivery person.  Here is a very old lady, living alone in an apparent disarray of possessions, virtually blind and having to rely on the honesty of the delivery clerk to accurately make out her personal check for payment of goods.  Having nothing but time, mother would certainly talk to anyone who was willing to listen.  We told her repeatedly that if some well meaning person called social services and reported how she was living, it would all be over!  They surely would place her in a care facility, and we would have absolutely no say or control in the matter.  She constantly refused to acknowledge what we were warning her about.  In fact, in spite of the environment in which many older people reportedly live (within the limits of the law), we were uneasy about being called before a judge to explain our actions (actually inactions).  How would it be possible to explain convincingly that this is how a 90+ year old woman wants to live?  I still don’t have a story perfected for a response to such a question.  Another point of concern:  What if mother died in bed and the police are called (by law in Texas), followed by the coroner’s visit?  As they wind their way through things that are left in place for her convenience, are they going to call for an investigation as to why she was living the way she did?  Don’t her children even care?  How, or should, children wrest control from an elderly parent under such circumstances?  Underlying our guilt and decision making is “Honor your Parents.”  As off springs, we seemed to be the elastic band that is being stretched to the limits of our sense of right and wrong, on one side, and legal obligations on the other.  Hopefully you can see that dealing with all this calls for decisions, abilities and patience that cannot be gained by having paid rapt attention in a college botany lecture.   

I’m going to compress a variety of events that transpired over the ensuing years that have affected our immediate family on an individual basis.  By this, I mean the deteriorating circumstances affected mother in a totally different manner than they did each of us children.  To some degree, based on our individual experiences, knowledge, and emotions, even we were affected in slightly different ways. 

Mother has always had a gas cook stove, and it was not uncommon in the last many years to see one or two paper towels lying on the top.  She reached the point that she could not see them, and the fact that the range had pilot lights gave us no little concern.  She finally reached the point that she could no longer see the controls on her microwave oven, or the controls on her washer or dryer.  Several years ago she turned to the nutrition drink Ensure, as her main diet source.  We all expressed our concern about her relying primarily on this as her food source.  She quickly told us that she knew her body, and its needs, better than anyone.  We again brought up the possibility of getting her signed up for Meals on Wheels.  She pulled the “mother rank,” and backed it up by her extensive knowledge of health, nutrition, and supplements.  Again, we retreated with our ears and tails down as we honored her demands.  After years of operating the control on her central air conditioning system, she suddenly found it so confusing that my brother taught regular classes, both in person, and by phone, on how to operate it.  The single function control was suddenly beyond her realm of understanding.  Last fall, the single function controls (one for each of two floor furnaces) slipped beyond her ability to logically operate them.  She could turn the heat up - full throttle each time, but could not reason how to turn them down when the house became too hot.  Hot indeed.  Several times my brother had to drive to our hometown just to turn the thermostat back from the maximum setting of eighty-five degrees! 

Is this the signal we have wondered about?  Can she no longer live by herself?  My wife had graciously offered to welcome her to our home so that we could care for her properly.  All our bedrooms are upstairs, with only a half-bath downstairs.  It would be impossible for her to negotiate the stairs, and living conditions for her would be less than desirable, but we were willing to convert the living room into a room for her.  My wife is still working, but, I could be at home with mother all day.  Now to be honest, the “I could be at home with her” could also be guiltily translated, “I would be at home with her” all day long.  Let me tell you that this is a statement filled with much guilty turmoil, especially when I consider what she (and my dad) endured while raising three children.  Should I not be willing to repay in kind?  I felt compelled to do so, BUT I WOULD BE IN A VERY CONSTRICTED ENVIRONMENT.  I have lived through countless hours on the phone while she imposed unwanted instructions about health and the ramifications of holistic treatment.  This was always counterbalanced by retelling of her distrust of doctors, and the medical profession.  I have often suffered guilt, tied in an emotional knot, for the remainder of the day after many of these sessions, for feeling trapped, and being indoctrinated against my will (out of respect for her).  She is an old lady, and this all consuming thought process is her whole world, and I am unwilling to “listen” for an hour or more?  Yes, the possibility of her coming to live with us gave me an emotion of feeling heavily constricted.  The question I kept asking with deep guilt, can I endure a full day of medical indoctrination?  And another full day when the sun rises, as night fades away?  And the next day, and the next and the next…  She didn’t accept our offer.  She simply stated, “You’re the first one to ask.”  We all knew she was where she wanted to be – there, where she was comfortable, and surrounded by her own familiar environment.  But the question still loomed, “How long can she continue to live by herself, safely?”

Everyone has seen, and laughed about the TV commercial wherein the elderly lady proclaims, “Help!  I’ve fallen, and I can’t get up.”  Another realistic consideration was, what if mother falls and breaks a hip?  So long family residence!  Care facility, here we come!  My brother arranged to obtain one of those medical emergency medallions similar to the one see on TV.  He explained its function to mother and placed it around her neck.  In order for it to work, her phone had to be hung up properly on its cradle.  He programmed all three of our phone numbers into it, starting first with him, because he is closest in proximity.  On one of his (at least) weekly visits, he noticed she was not wearing the necklace.  She was getting more and more forgetful.  She misplaced her hearing aids on a fairly regular basis, leaving them in illogical places.  Finally, the necklace was located and placed back around her neck, and she managed from then on to wear it.  It was not long until the feeling of security we placed in the necklace became very doubtful.  Mother was starting to neglect hanging up the phone!  On a few occasions when my brother would get extended busy signals when attempting to call her, he would have to drive to her house, often at night, just to hang up the phone.  Sometimes he would find the receiver lying in the floor.  By now, she was experiencing great difficulty in using the speed dial buttons on her phone.  She hadn’t been able to manually dial a phone in quite some time.  She simply couldn’t see the key pad, much less remember the layout, and dial by touch.  As she fumbled with trying to push the right speed dial buttons, she became quite good at erasing the numbers from the memory.  Things just weren’t working well for her.  I can’t imagine the frustration that must build up in a person’s mind when, one by one, they can no longer perform even the simplest daily functions.  With the loss of abilities, she also lost the routine capability to unlock, and open the front door and the storm door.  When my brother would come to take care of her needs, he said that he could hear, and see her trying to figure out how to open the doors with which she had been familiar for years.  What if she placed something on the cook stove and it caught fire?  Most likely, she couldn’t get out of the house before being overcome by smoke!  We solved part of that problem.  Since she was no longer capable of cooking, we turned off the gas valve behind the range.  Likewise, we disconnected the gas bath heaters in both baths.  Stepping out of a bath might prove to be a bit cool, but the floor furnaces could easily eliminate that problem if adjusted in advance.

All the while, we wondered, “How will we know when she can’t continue to live in her own home?”            

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