A nuclear family sans elders, blissful ignorance about ageing and elders, rude awakenings

While I continue mulling about ageing, here’s a confession about my blissful ignorance about ageing and dying as I grew up in a nuclear family, just my parents and I, and then moved over to my own nuclear family with my parents nearby. Truth is, right till I was almost forty years old, I never spared a deep-enough thought towards ageing or death. Not that I imagined that people lived forever. I knew people died, I even knew they got frail and dependent and fell ill, often more so if they were older, but I never thought of how it impacted them or their families and all that.

I’ve learnt stuff since then, though 😦

My mother’s parents died when she was very young, as did my father’s mother; my father’s father (whom I called Baba) lived with his stepdaughter in Delhi because my father was on postings outside Delhi. Baba would visit us for a few weeks every year, a frail man who carried a cloth bag full of Urdu and Persian books when he went out for long walks. He did not have anything much to say to me. For those few weeks when he was visiting, home would seem somewhat different, but not by much. He was in good health, and except for his habit of smoking the hookah, there was no oddity of his that I noticed too much.

When my father finally got posted to Delhi, I remember this discussion on whether Baba would want to move in with us, but Baba wanted to stay in Delhi 6 with his cronies nearby. My contact with him was this once-a-month visit when my mother would drive down to Turkman Gate with me, and Baba would come to our parked car by rickshaw and she would drive him home for lunch with us, and a few hours later, he would be dropped back and all would be normal again for him and for us. Then he started falling ill, and his visits reduced, and then he fell more ill, and there was talk of whether he should now be looked after by his one and only son, my father. Read the full post here

Active, visible elders, and inactive, tucked away, hidden elders

This is about some thoughts triggered by a senior citizen event I attended, where the hall was full of articulate, well-dressed, energetic elders (some came with younger relatives), all animated and social. My first response was a general happiness, but that feeling was short-lived as I was swept away almost immediately by a tremendous surge of loss because I thought of my mother, who had been such an intelligent and energetic person, and I wondered how our lives would have been if she had not developed dementia. Some weeks have passed since that function, and I have had time to mull over that experience and my response to it…

As I shared with some online caregiver friends immediately after that incident, I was so swept away by the sense of loss that day that tears prickled my eyes and I had to blink them away. I could not concentrate on watching those senior citizens accept prizes and sing and all that; I could only think of my mother and the past several years. I remembered how she (as my re-examination of past clues shows) had started experiencing the dementia gaps and setback well before the diagnosis, and had started withdrawing, hiding, covering up, raging, suspecting she was going crazy and therefore blaming everyone….trying to view those years as they would have been for her was terrifying.

I left the function early and could not get rid of that horrible pit in my stomach for a few days. I thought I could then understand why so many people have problems understanding that my mother’s problems are genuine; they have seen “normal” ageing, and want to think everyone ages that way, and I wished I could slip back into that comfort of normality but alas…

The sadness I felt for was not just for my mother, it was also for myself, and for everyone who experiences this loss as patients, as family….

Read the full post here