Larry was devastated when he lost his wife, Edna. He’d spent almost every day with her for 67 years, and when she was gone he felt as though he’d lost part of himself. Larry had always been a quiet man—he wasn’t one to share his feelings or speak his mind, but over the years he had learned to open up to Edna. Without her, he fell silent and felt isolated from the rest of the world.
When her grandfather gets out of bed and is unable to fall asleep for hours at night, Stella knows that he is struggling with anxiety. Sometimes his heart will race, and he’ll be preoccupied with the noises he hears outside, concerned about whether the doors are locked and the house is secure. It began shortly after his wife passed away, and it got worse with time until they addressed the issue with his doctors. Even with treatment, her grandfather still has bad days sometimes, but Stella has seen so much improvement in his symptoms. And she can tell that he feels much more confident and connected with his life as a father and grandfather.
Leona was worried about her mother. At 85 years old, Marie was had just lost her husband, George, of 60 years. Since George’s death, Leona noticed a marked difference in her mother’s demeanor. Once a very bubbly, chatty, and enthusiastic woman, it was as though Marie’s zest for life had disappeared.
When people step up and start talking, listening, and paying attention to the challenges that are easier to ignore, real change is already happening. The more hands and minds that get involved, the more we can do. Join us for AiA 2018, the Aging in America Conference, taking place at Hilton San Francisco Union Square Monday, March 26, through Thursday, March 29.
Sometimes aging adults need someone to step up and advocate for them because of communication barriers and other disabilities. But it’s also true that our aging community needs proactive advocates because our own culture and social constructions tend to undermine the independence and dignity they deserve and underestimate the resources they should have access to.
Kendra could tell that her father was suffering. He’d dropped several pounds in the last few months, never changed out of his robe, and kept canceling their weekly lunch date at his favorite fish and chips restaurant. His once infectious energy and zest for life had all but disappeared, and she no longer recognized the man who stood before her.
Since the death of his wife two years ago, George hadn’t been the same. He’d taken to sleeping most of the day, he withdrew from his cribbage club, and his appetite had all but disappeared.
In the past several months, Helen had started to notice a difference in her aging mother. She couldn’t quite put her finger on it, but it was as if Ira, who lived alone in her apartment at age 84, was finally starting to show the effects of aging more dramatically.
We may not always be aware of it, but our way of relating to life is dependent on our way of relating to time. Breakfast comes before lunch and dinner, for example. If we haven’t already shopped for food in preparation, we know we’ll have to take care of that need before those meals. On a deeper level, our past experiences help to develop our personalities, and they provide a context for how we relate to people, places, and things around us—and how we relate to ourselves.
One of the cruelties, or at least absurdities, of dying is that while dealing with the emotional realities of death, you still must concern yourself with the bureaucratic realities of our modern society. Nothing is free, and everything comes with paperwork. During the most challenging times in your life, when you or a loved one are considering hospice care and your options for the end of life, there are forms to fill out and money to worry about.
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