2014 was, among many other things, a year of coming to terms
with age – my own, and others. My mother, who suffers from dementia, has sadly
declined to the point where it is difficult to carry on a conversation with
her. My mother-in-law also experienced a severe cognitive decline affecting her
judgment, and after falling once too often, is now in a care facility. And this
past year I reached the great age of 60 and am now preparing for my own
retirement, a couple of years after my own spouse’s transition to Medicare and
Social Security.
More than anything, I am confronted with the fact that
if we are fortunate to live long enough, we often need the care of
others. Walking through the halls of a nursing home surrounds me with an
overwhelming sense of finality: no more trips to Paris, starting a new
consulting project, or ducking out for a movie. Just one day after another in
the same hallway, with televisions blaring, neighbors muttering incoherently, and
activities that feel like being back in third grade, because you can no longer
hoist yourself on the toilet or be left alone safely.
Right now, I can be smug that I will walk out the door after
each visit and return to my normal life, as I hope to for many years to come. But
I can’t forget that this was once the case for each of the dozens of names on
these doors as well, including people I love. So what could I - and each of us - do to
prepare for this day? Here are some of my thoughts:
1. Learn to live in the moment. For me personally, this will be the hardest part of my journey. I live incessantly in the future, and my good life
often revolves around my next “thing.” But we all ultimately live from moment to
moment. I see many good moments of connection between people in a nursing home, and I can perhaps best honor their worth by finding more joy in my
own moments.
2. Have a voice in our own aging process. If
there is one trait that seems to permeate an entire generation above me, it is denial.
It saddens me when people insist they are fine when they clearly aren't, or
refuse to have a discussion about possible next steps, and I ultimately watch
decisions being made for them against their will. Few people suddenly wake up
one morning with dementia or degenerative illness, and if that is my lot
someday I hope to be part of the dialogue about my own care.
3. Plan ahead. I hope that someday I will know when it is time to raise the white flag - and I am sure this will be much harder than it looks when the time comes. Especially for someone like myself who has no children to serve as truth-tellers and advocates. But if circumstances permit, I would
much rather have a game plan than just hope for the best.
None of us knows what the future holds. I could be like my
grandmother, who was lucid and funny right up to the end of her 96-year-old
life, or my late father, whose last conversation was about his field of finite
element analysis with a colleague in Europe. Or I could be run over by a beer
truck tomorrow. (Don’t laugh, I live on a major highway.) Or my wife and I
could end up like our mothers. Either way, I am glad to be growing older –
especially given the alternative. And my goal for 2015 and beyond is to start
learning to age mindfully and enjoy this mystery we call life, for as long as I
possibly can.
