In my previous blog, I quoted geriatrician Louise Aronson giving the “recipe” for a good old age: “good genes, good luck, enough money, and one good kid, usually a daughter.” I told the story of me trying to be a good daughter to my elderly parents.
I now find myself in the elderly role with grown kids, grandkids, and a few tiny greats. I have the blessing of two “good kids.” Proximity helps. My son David lives in the same town and my daughter Kristin lives in a town a couple of hours down the freeway. Hal and I live here in the retirement community. Part of our decision to move into the community at a relatively young/old age (early 70s) was specifically for our kids, not wanting them to have to take care of us when we got to the place of not being able to care for ourselves. I’ll admit that the options of fighting through to a glorious independence on my own or living semi-independently in a grandparent suite in the back of a kid’s big house both make me wistful at times. I wonder if we made the right decision. But, yes, we did.
I also wondered when we moved here how our relationships with our family would change. Would this move free them up to ignore us and get on with their lives? Would they no longer feel the need to concern themselves with our challenges and struggles? This situation really does happen to some.
But, thanks be to God, it did not happen to us. Our relationship with our kids, their spouses, and our grandkids, is growing. It’s different, having taken on more of the hues of friendship, although we’ll always be parents. They’re all glad to know Hal and I are well taken care of. There’s sense of freedom, now that obligation and duty are out of the way. While still with its challenges, relationship is a choice.
I don’t take any of this for granted, knowing our blessing is not the experience of many of my friends. I’ve noticed in this community there are all sorts of ways the elderly and their families relate. Families and human relationships are complex.
My friend Mary (not her real name) is today moving from her apartment in my independent-living neighborhood down to an assisted living unit. Her decision surprised me, as it seemed so sudden. But it makes sense, following her recent health challenges. I remember when she moved here a few years ago. I remember her sons carrying in furniture and boxes. And I remember their frequent visits since then and the concern and love they always expressed. Mary tells me her sons were instrumental in helping her make this decision. They’ve been here this past week, packing boxes, not letting her do anything. And they’re here today, moving all her stuff downstairs to her new room. Seeing this makes me happy; Mary deserves it.
Not everyone gets what they deserve. Some of my friends have “good kids” that live far away. They keep up relationships through phone calls, photos, and vacation visits. Still, it’s not the same as living close. Several people in my neighborhood have left the community to move closer to family. It’s that important.
Some people have kids that live within reasonable distance but whose lives are so busy they rarely see their parents. I notice that some in our neighborhood hardly ever get visits.
And then there are those who are estranged from their kids for one reason or another. This is the hardest to deal with. How people respond to this heartache depends partly on personality. One neighbor is bitter about her daughter’s neglect, blaming her daughter and taking on the role of victim. Her complaints make it hard for people to be with her. I constantly need to pray for compassion and patience.
Another neighbor, although saddened by her son’s neglect, doesn’t let it rule her life. Her optimism and out-going personality draw people to her and she abounds in friendships. But the sadness and longing for reconciliation are still strong.
One resident literally has no family. No living brother and sisters, apparently no cousins. She never had kids. She has no living blood relative. Janice is a quiet woman and often just keeps to her room. Yet she communicates such a sense of peace and well-being. Her room is decorated with her paintings and crafts, plus numerous pictures of cats, one of her passions. She has a few close friends here in the community and they regularly share meals. Another young friend from her past has adopted Janice as an aunt. She’s making a family on her own.
Being part of a family is a need that doesn’t diminish as we age. In our neighborhood here in the retirement community, we’ve cultivated caring relationships and have learned to call each other family. We have a buddy system for checking up on each other. It’s not perfect, but what family is?
I’ve just read a novel by Jennifer Ryan called The Kitchen Front, based on a real BBC radio program in England during World War II. The program presented recipes using only the war-rations housewives received. In a cooking contest the BBC held, the four contestants started out as fierce competitors but through unusual circumstances ended up as friends. They learned to consider themselves family. One of the women, Gwendoline, remarks at the end of the contest, “One thing I’ve learned through this is that family is incredibly precious. Other things may change us, but we start and end life with our family, whether it’s the one we’re born with or one of our own making. It means that you love and are loved, whoever you are…. And you know that you’re not on your own.”
I love the phrase, “the [family] we’re born with or one of our own making.” I recognize as family many people not related to me by blood, most of them closer to me than many of my relatives. I sense the need to be forming this kind of family here in the retirement community. I feel drawn to reach out to those with less-then-perfect family situations and include them in my circle of love.
We all need family, whatever our age. The family we’re born with. Or one of our own making. Or, in a best-case scenario, both.
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