A Little-Discussed Part of Aging: Becoming Our Parents
You know how you go through that phase of life when you look in the mirror and think, I'll never be like my parents? But then, you grow older, and one day, you're shocked to see your mom or dad looking back at you?
Yea, that.
While taking care of my father, I questioned why he had continually postponed plans to fulfill his dreams. He had been retired for 20 years and he didn't spend much. If he had wanted to, he could have afforded to visit the three countries he yearned to over the years. But, there was always something he had to do. There were piles of paperwork, endless repairs around the house and he had to "make sure the bank doesn't forget about my money." Despite my offer to accompany him overseas, he never made it to Armenia, Germany or Russia.
After losing my mother to congestive heart failure, I grew disappointed by my father's inability to make a decision. "Why won't you travel now that you no longer have to care for Ma?" He was 83 and in good physical health. Heck, when I was 30, we ran a foot race and being the competitor he was, he won! He was 80.
[See: 14 Ways Caregivers Can Care for Themselves.]
Being the first of his three children to leave home, I didn't want to push him away. He was fiercely independent and I wanted him to trust me, his youngest rebellious daughter. So, I asked questions and gently cajoled him before stepping back.
A couple of years later, our telephone calls were punctuated by an unusual threat, "They're after me," he'd say. I wondered who "they" were and why "they" were after him. When I asked, I didn't get a clear answer. It wasn't until I visited him that I discovered months of overdue gas, electric and water bills. (He hadn't been filing his taxes either, but I wouldn't learn that until the IRS mailed a notice with penalties.) I also learned that my father was worried the bank would forget about him and his money. Every day, he walked to the bank to request a copy of his statement.
Still in my 30s, I didn't understand. As a result, I judged him unfavorably for his lack of decisiveness and commitment to act. In those moments, I'd think back to a lesson he taught me about judgment when I was a child. One morning, trying to coax him out of bed so we could get on with a fun day, I expressed surprise at his nearsightedness. He couldn't see the clock at the foot of his bed. "Now, little girl," he said, putting on his glasses, "don't judge too harshly. One day, you might need glasses, too." Since then, I've learned to limit my judgments.
As an adult, I wanted to preserve his independence. Unknown to me at the time, he was already showing signs of dementia such as periodic bouts of disorientation and forgetfulness. Together, we gathered his overdue bills. I then called the billing department of each utility and explained that I was visiting and trying to organize his papers after hearing his repeated concern of "being shut off." Given his lengthy record of prompt payments, his late fees were forgiven in return for immediate payment in full. I helped add up the total amounts minus the late fees so he could write out the checks. We put each payment in its respective envelop and dropped them in the mail on the way to the bank.
To my surprise, the bank teller told me other stories, such as when my father brought in a copy of a check but couldn't understand why he couldn't deposit it. The staff respected him and didn't want him to feel disappointed. Yet, they didn't know what to do for their customer who had been with them for decades. She pleaded with me to get a power of attorney to help manage his accounts.
Facing limited options after a Milwaukee County Department on Aging caseworker got involved and informed us he was showing signs of dementia and should be assessed, my husband and I moved my father from his Wisconsin home into our California home.
[See: 5 Ways to Cope With Mild Cognitive Impairment.]
Afterward, I returned twice to clear his house of 45 years of accumulated possessions before arranging to sell his home. During those days of emotional and mental anguish, poring through things I recalled from my childhood, I finished feeling overwhelmed and exhausted.
In some ways, I've improved due to what I've learned from my parents. For example, I've learned not to accumulate possessions. I've learned that free is not really free. Things require a place to be stored and occupy our time and energy. In other ways, if I'm honest with myself, I'm almost the same as them. Yes, that reflection in the mirror bears uncanny similarities.
[See: Easy Ways to Protect Your Aging Brain.]
It wasn't until my 50s that I began to see some of these similarities. Just as my father had postponed his dream of visiting three countries, I, too, have put off a long-held desire. It's been more than 10 years since I returned from Mexico and set a goal to visit a tropical island like Fiji. I want to experience a couple of nights in an over-the-water bungalow. I still have not done it.
This is dangerous because the river of time flows faster the older we get. We can't swim back up the river like salmon in spawning season. Time bears down on us.
Life's reality is, no matter our age, we're all moving in the same direction. However, the older we get, life's experiences take on greater urgency. Contrary to popular belief, elders don't have all the time in the world, so move aside hurried youth. If we're fortunate, we'll live long and healthy lives with few regrets of things we have yet to do.
Brenda Avadian, M.A., is the president of The Caregiver's Voice, bringing family and professional caregivers knowledge, hope and joy since 1998. She is a caregiver expert speaker at state and national conferences. The author of nine books, Brenda's career includes university professor, executive coach, keynoter, corporate strategy consultant and caregiver. She also serves as a STUFFologist at STUFFology 101, where she advises people on how to declutter, while helping elders prepare to downsize. Born and raised in Milwaukee, Wisconsin, Brenda resides in rural Los Angeles County, California, and frequently hikes in the Angeles National Forest.
