Memoir Contest
January 24, 2010 | Leave a Comment
In the quest to find a literary agent I have run across a creative opportunity offered by Chuck Sambuchino of the Guide to Literary Agents. January’s contest is for memoirs and narrative non-fiction, details available on his blog. Much appreciated, Chuck!
Shelf Life Expectancy
January 9, 2010 | Leave a Comment
Just before departing on the Panama cruise, my mother received a promotional postcard from a local assisted living facility. “Spend the winter with us!” it beckoned. “I wonder how it compares to cruise fare?” my mother speculated. She jotted off a note to the facility, not quite ready for a one on one discussion. Picking my way across an ice-slicked parking lot, I realized it was time to make the call. A month at a nice facility, no worries, no cares, would be a good way for my parents to spend the worst of the remainder of winter when they returned; no driving, lots of indoor activities and stimulation for my mother; a taste of what they might expect, should they decide to make a permanent move in the future.
The receptionist quickly and efficiently transferred my call to the marketing director. I imagined her cuing the director, “We have a hot one here!”
“How old are they?” the director queried. I dutifully recited details: he will be 93 next month; she will turn 90 in May.
“Oh, dear, you’re doing the right thing. You know, one fall and it’s all over.” I began to have my doubts right then and there. What was I doing? What would be over? Sweet as pie and so very helpful, but wasn’t this woman jumping the gun just a bit? I was just making a preliminary phone call. I wasn’t doing anything.
She asked a few more questions including some financial details and then spit out an astronomical figure for a monthly fee. I heard her punch some numbers on a calculator. “They could stay for year and a half,” she said briskly. “And then who knows, at their age.” I had sort of liked her until that moment—until she sounded as if my parents were two matching containers of yogurt who could be stored on a refrigerator shelf for so long and then tossed when their expiration date was passed. A year and a half? And then what should they do? Turn into cheese?
This was definitely not the proper facility for my parents.
On Their Own Terms
December 25, 2009 | Leave a Comment
“It seems strange to not be able to chat with mom,” my sister emailed. Didn’t I know it. On the other hand, how lucky to know that they were somewhere out there, enjoying themselves. I dared not complain, especially in the holiday season, that my parents were cruising somewhere off the coast of Mexico, comfortable ensconced in deck chairs, listening to Christmas musak as it floated over balmy breezes. It is inarguable that they could have been in worse places and, rather than temporarily incommunicado, gone forever.
Still, a pressing ache squeezed my heart where their hugs belonged. I missed them terribly this Christmas day. An undeserved feeling of self-pity enveloped me, as if I had a right to miss them more than my siblings did. Living in closer proximity to my parents, with the exception of a single brother, I have hosted them for recent holidays most often. This day I will not greet them at my door, my mother with her hat pulled down snug around her tiny face, my father with his stubbly whiskers. I long for their presence at my dinner table, to hear their stories of where they had just been and where they would be off to next. But there was comfort in knowing they were on a grand adventure of their choosing, alive and well on their own terms. They would be home in a few weeks; their safe return was the only gift I needed.
The Caged Bird Flies Free
December 18, 2009 | Leave a Comment
I woke, reached for my Blackberry and noted the time was 1:45 AM. Perfect. I dialed my parents’ phone number. After an unusually long number of rings, I heard the phone rattle out of its resting place.
“Did I wake you?” I asked my mother when at last she had the receiver securely in hand.
“No. I’ve been watching the clock every five minutes, though I think you woke your father.” Her voice was strong and clear and devoid of any sleepiness. She was elated to be heading out on a new adventure. In 45 minutes, the hired town car would be at their doorstep to whisk them through the predawn darkness to the airport.
Our conversation was short. The lists had been made. All the packing was done. There was little to say, but I couldn’t let them leave without calling. “Do you have your pills? Your tickets? And money?” I wasn’t there to help; I wouldn’t be there for the next 32 days. What was it I was feeling? Concern? Guilt? Separation anxiety? We said our good-byes. I hung up, pulled the covers over my head and curled into a fetal position. They would be fine, I told myself; and if they weren’t, there was nothing I could do about it. My chest grew tight and my lips worked in a garbled, silent prayer. I willed myself to sleep and not to tears.
The morning passed slowly. First one sister then another would call or email. “Where are they? Did they make their connection? Have they landed?” I was never more than inches from my Blackberry, willing it to ring, to hear my mother’s voice, to tell me all was well. A winter storm was rolling up the eastern seaboard complicating an already overloaded holiday schedule. Mid-morning brought her first call to me.
“I am not particularly enamored of Delta Airlines right now.” Their wheelchairs had not been readily available at Logan (nothing new). Their flight was delayed, their connection missed. Rebooked on stand-by, that flight, too, had departed without them. They expected to get on a flight just after noon. By the time they reached Miami, they would have been on the road for 12 hours and they still had to make the transfer to the ship. my mother sounded annoyed but in control. Yes, they’d be fine, I reminded myself. They’d played this gig a gazillion times before. But then, they hadn’t been so old.
It was 4 PM and I had not heard from her again. More phone calls and emails from siblings were circulating, funneling in my direction, a whirlpool of worry. I could do nothing except wait and pour over flight tracker web sites trying to determine where and when they might have landed. A number of business calls distracted me until I finished a call with a client and noted a voice mail that had not beeped through on call waiting. After all my attempts to trace their movements, I had missed my mother’s call.
Her voice mail was succinct. They had found their cabin; they were due at the requisite shipboard fire drill in five minutes; she had not fainted en-route. She was a caged bird set free, claiming her life as her own.
Escape Cruise
December 8, 2009 | Leave a Comment
Everyday living was wearing on my mother. The simple tasks of making the bed, cooking and cleaning up had become more difficult, even painful. Her body was tired. Her shoulders and wrists ached; her hips were long past due for replacement; her heart fluttered. There wasn’t a doctor in his right mind who would do elective surgery on an 89-year-old, even one in relatively good health. She was still at the helm but she was no longer the commander of her ship.
My mother wore a guilty smile as she broke the news to me one day in early December. “I haven’t told everyone yet. I’ve booked a cruise. We’ll be gone over Christmas.” Why the guilt, I wondered? It’s not like her children hadn’t seen this coming. Not many weeks prior, my mother had mentioned that if she had a choice, she would board a cruise ship and never get off. Though cruising is often said to be cheaper than a nursing home, there’s no long term insurance to cover the cost. According to our recent calculations their savings would last 111 days, and then they would be forced to disembark halfway around the world in who-knows-where. Sailing off into the sunset sounded like a better plan than it actually was; but that wouldn’t stop her from going as far as she could for as long as she could.
A Youthful Spirit
November 21, 2009 | Leave a Comment
Enjoy this spontaneous exhibition in the lobby of the Mayo Clinic by an older couple celebrating life to the fullest.
Mayo Clinic Atrium Piano Players
Navigating the Maze of Elder Affairs
September 29, 2009 | Leave a Comment
Many of my friends and I seem to be learning a lot about things we’d rather not know. Those of us involved with family and friends who are going through the aging process face issues regarding health, housing and financial matters on an entirely new level. Where can one turn for accurate and useful information?
The internet is a wonderful tool but Googling your way through serious issues is a challenge all its own. How do you know that the websites you’re reading are legitimate? Reading between the lines of many online venues I find that much of the information presented for geriatric support is actually more business advertising than advice. Paid advice seems relatively easy to locate – whether the provider is reliable, professional and honest is harder to determine.
From recent experience, I can suggest that an excellent place for anyone looking for elder care information is your local Council on Aging. The National Council on Aging is a good place to start. Look to your local agency for guidance on where to turn for legal, housing and health care information in your area.