Just got back from spending a week in Florida with my own aging parents and the whole time all I could think was, "My dad's going to fall and then everything will get so very much worse." He hasn't yet, but I see it around me with all my friends and their parents. It's coming and there's really no way to prepare. And no path laid out for how to negotiate any of it. So, yeah, we're all so very alone in it and so very together.
My heart goes out to you. My Dad was 87 when I returned from a trip to have the doctor tell me Dad had mesothelioma and two weeks to live. I decided moving in with dad in his own home so he could die peaceably at home was the best idea. My husband would bring groceries and sometimes cook for us. It was anything but peaceful as Dad slowly lost his ability to reason, to speak in sentences and frequently got frustrated that he couldn’t say what he wanted to say. He constantly asked me why he was so stupid and was fighting the death sentence the doctor gave him. Dad fought so hard he lasted three months. It wasn’t easy but in his lucid moments I enjoyed the time where we could talk and although it was sleep depriving and exhausting, I would do it again to have more time with him.
I'm so so sorry., Lisa. This perfectly captures the reality of the end of life for my parents and many parents. I too have seen The Fall as a harbinger, a no-going-back, slow, painful slide into dementia and death. And in the aftermath, there's the relief you don't tell anyone about, followed by guilt. May this never happen to us (but of course it will).
Time helps, time heals. Will be thinking about you. Thanks for writing this.
I'm so sorry. It's all so sad and frustrating and sad and stressful and sad. We waded through an elder healthcare crisis a year ago. My mom with dementia was mis-medicated at her facility (stunning how many physicians disregard warnings about drugs and their effect on dementia), sent to the hospital because they couldn't control the behaviors they brought on with the drugs, and then they wouldn't take her back. She was sent to rehab while we tried to find a new place for her to live. A fall, a broken shoulder which made the use of a walker impossible. Now she's in a wheelchair. It's never ending. And there's never enough support. And all the while she is already gone, dementia has stolen her away. I am so, so sorry for what you're going through. And so grateful to you for writing about it. There has to be a better way to care for our elders and a better way to support the caregivers. The system is broken and it, in turn, is breaking us.
Each paragraph of this essay found its way to the core of me. I know, I wanted to say. This is a pain I've felt and am feeling again. This, however, doesn't do anything to help you. I am glad for the strategies you've found: One Day, Devotions, Fellowship Point (I liked it very much), and the understanding that it is better sometimes to watch the stupidest thing both you and your husband can handle because that solidarity is necessary and worth it. As you say, nothing sticks anyway.
What might stick is the understanding you've given us with your last couple of paragraphs: "The living, the dying, the suffering, and the grief. Better get at the living when you get a minute. It’s the best part." Peace to you and your dad.
Like many others with aging family members, I’ve seen how The Fall can become such a stark dividing line in one’s life—there’s “before the fall” and then “after the fall.” I’m hoping for the very best for your dad.
I’m gladdened to hear you’re enjoying Fellowship Point, that novel was such an edifying companion for me during a difficult stretch in 2022.
I imagine those of us who understand what you are going through who are also dealing with the anxiety of having octogenarian parents, also know how exhausting this must have been to write. So thank you for putting these wonderful words down and sharing how it feels.
Your writing is so superb that I sometimes find myself thinking about you between reads. Which is why, this morning, I wondered how your father was and realized I'd missed this post. So many of your lines hit home - so true that we divorce our parents and then become enmeshed in relationships with them again - and as you've made clear, it's all-consuming. I will keep you in my thoughts and will look out for your next post, whenever it comes. Thank you for sharing so eloquently what so many of us in the middle have gone through (or fear going through.) Lastly, like you, I watched One Day during a time when nothing was sticking, and it engrossed me too.
Firstly, I'm so happy I found you here! I've missed reading your beautiful work on Medium. Secondly, we just went through this with my father in-law, all of it, until the hospital induced delirium became late stage dementia and he could barely swallow. That was the line, that's when palliative care became hospice and then he faded quickly and peacefully and all the (his, ours) suffering stopped. But it's brutal and painful and yes, the elephant in the room. I'm sorry you're all living through it, it's no way to live (or die).
Lisa, I am moved by your beautiful words and my heart is with you as so much of this resonates. I always love seeing your name show up in my inbox and look forward to what you'll share. This was no exception. Thinking of you, your dad, your family. Thank you for writing this and sharing your experience. And as for One Day...I had the same experience: hadn't watched the original movie, didn't read the book first, just decided to watch this new series with my 23-year-old daughter. Loved it so much (wasn't it interesting to see the timeframe of the late 80s-90s early on?) and the ending did us in. I hadn't cried that hard in awhile, and I am someone who cries. It was unexpectedly cathartic. Sending much love to you.
I am one of the PT's that work with people like your dad, as well as one who has finished the journey of walking this place with my own parents.
This essay is the best I have ever read articulating this era of life with our parents. It causes me to stop short, and hold onto the realization of the holy space we hold with the elderly(and sometimes not so elderly) people we care for. Please keep writing. These words need to be shared far and wide.
You gave us so much in this post when you are already giving so much to those close to you. I am so grateful for your honesty, for speaking up about the lack of elder care, and the struggles caregivers are left to process while a parent is ill. I have jotted down your recommendations: Being Mortal and One Day. I will pass back my recommended good book: The Five Invitations: Discovering What Death Can Teach Us About Living Fully by Frank Ostaseski. Here's a brief quote: Death is not waiting for us at the end of a long road. Death is always with us, in the marrow of every passing moment. She is the secret teacher hiding in plain sight, helping us to discover what matters most.
Your piece has reminded me of what matters most. Take good care, be kind to yourself.
Just got back from spending a week in Florida with my own aging parents and the whole time all I could think was, "My dad's going to fall and then everything will get so very much worse." He hasn't yet, but I see it around me with all my friends and their parents. It's coming and there's really no way to prepare. And no path laid out for how to negotiate any of it. So, yeah, we're all so very alone in it and so very together.
My heart goes out to you. My Dad was 87 when I returned from a trip to have the doctor tell me Dad had mesothelioma and two weeks to live. I decided moving in with dad in his own home so he could die peaceably at home was the best idea. My husband would bring groceries and sometimes cook for us. It was anything but peaceful as Dad slowly lost his ability to reason, to speak in sentences and frequently got frustrated that he couldn’t say what he wanted to say. He constantly asked me why he was so stupid and was fighting the death sentence the doctor gave him. Dad fought so hard he lasted three months. It wasn’t easy but in his lucid moments I enjoyed the time where we could talk and although it was sleep depriving and exhausting, I would do it again to have more time with him.
Thank you so much for this heartbreaking story of your family. I will be 70 soon and I have no children and I am beginning to wonder...
I'm so so sorry., Lisa. This perfectly captures the reality of the end of life for my parents and many parents. I too have seen The Fall as a harbinger, a no-going-back, slow, painful slide into dementia and death. And in the aftermath, there's the relief you don't tell anyone about, followed by guilt. May this never happen to us (but of course it will).
Time helps, time heals. Will be thinking about you. Thanks for writing this.
I'm so sorry. It's all so sad and frustrating and sad and stressful and sad. We waded through an elder healthcare crisis a year ago. My mom with dementia was mis-medicated at her facility (stunning how many physicians disregard warnings about drugs and their effect on dementia), sent to the hospital because they couldn't control the behaviors they brought on with the drugs, and then they wouldn't take her back. She was sent to rehab while we tried to find a new place for her to live. A fall, a broken shoulder which made the use of a walker impossible. Now she's in a wheelchair. It's never ending. And there's never enough support. And all the while she is already gone, dementia has stolen her away. I am so, so sorry for what you're going through. And so grateful to you for writing about it. There has to be a better way to care for our elders and a better way to support the caregivers. The system is broken and it, in turn, is breaking us.
Each paragraph of this essay found its way to the core of me. I know, I wanted to say. This is a pain I've felt and am feeling again. This, however, doesn't do anything to help you. I am glad for the strategies you've found: One Day, Devotions, Fellowship Point (I liked it very much), and the understanding that it is better sometimes to watch the stupidest thing both you and your husband can handle because that solidarity is necessary and worth it. As you say, nothing sticks anyway.
What might stick is the understanding you've given us with your last couple of paragraphs: "The living, the dying, the suffering, and the grief. Better get at the living when you get a minute. It’s the best part." Peace to you and your dad.
A beautiful essay.
Like many others with aging family members, I’ve seen how The Fall can become such a stark dividing line in one’s life—there’s “before the fall” and then “after the fall.” I’m hoping for the very best for your dad.
I’m gladdened to hear you’re enjoying Fellowship Point, that novel was such an edifying companion for me during a difficult stretch in 2022.
Sending love and support. The times surrounding my father’s and mother’s passing were the hardest of my life.
I imagine those of us who understand what you are going through who are also dealing with the anxiety of having octogenarian parents, also know how exhausting this must have been to write. So thank you for putting these wonderful words down and sharing how it feels.
Sending love to you. ❤️
Your writing is so superb that I sometimes find myself thinking about you between reads. Which is why, this morning, I wondered how your father was and realized I'd missed this post. So many of your lines hit home - so true that we divorce our parents and then become enmeshed in relationships with them again - and as you've made clear, it's all-consuming. I will keep you in my thoughts and will look out for your next post, whenever it comes. Thank you for sharing so eloquently what so many of us in the middle have gone through (or fear going through.) Lastly, like you, I watched One Day during a time when nothing was sticking, and it engrossed me too.
Firstly, I'm so happy I found you here! I've missed reading your beautiful work on Medium. Secondly, we just went through this with my father in-law, all of it, until the hospital induced delirium became late stage dementia and he could barely swallow. That was the line, that's when palliative care became hospice and then he faded quickly and peacefully and all the (his, ours) suffering stopped. But it's brutal and painful and yes, the elephant in the room. I'm sorry you're all living through it, it's no way to live (or die).
Lisa, I am moved by your beautiful words and my heart is with you as so much of this resonates. I always love seeing your name show up in my inbox and look forward to what you'll share. This was no exception. Thinking of you, your dad, your family. Thank you for writing this and sharing your experience. And as for One Day...I had the same experience: hadn't watched the original movie, didn't read the book first, just decided to watch this new series with my 23-year-old daughter. Loved it so much (wasn't it interesting to see the timeframe of the late 80s-90s early on?) and the ending did us in. I hadn't cried that hard in awhile, and I am someone who cries. It was unexpectedly cathartic. Sending much love to you.
Lisa-
I am one of the PT's that work with people like your dad, as well as one who has finished the journey of walking this place with my own parents.
This essay is the best I have ever read articulating this era of life with our parents. It causes me to stop short, and hold onto the realization of the holy space we hold with the elderly(and sometimes not so elderly) people we care for. Please keep writing. These words need to be shared far and wide.
Rosie, PT
So did we...and yes indeed, life is certainly a cauldron of good bad great rotten stinking fabulous stunning and downright sad...x
You gave us so much in this post when you are already giving so much to those close to you. I am so grateful for your honesty, for speaking up about the lack of elder care, and the struggles caregivers are left to process while a parent is ill. I have jotted down your recommendations: Being Mortal and One Day. I will pass back my recommended good book: The Five Invitations: Discovering What Death Can Teach Us About Living Fully by Frank Ostaseski. Here's a brief quote: Death is not waiting for us at the end of a long road. Death is always with us, in the marrow of every passing moment. She is the secret teacher hiding in plain sight, helping us to discover what matters most.
Your piece has reminded me of what matters most. Take good care, be kind to yourself.