18 Dec 2016

The lonely old lady.

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In my work as a visiting nurse in both Baltimore, Maryland and Ulster County, New York, Maryland, I often cared for lonely old ladies.

They were almost always white and 70 or beyond. They often had health problems, ranging from degrees of deafness to being wheel-chair bound. They didn’t often have visitors. One benefit of my visits was to brighten their day and introduce conversation and variety, as well as to measure their blood pressure.

Many had no family; others had family that was far away, and visited rarely. They were almost always sharp, smart, and witty, with fascinating observations about life, their’s and the world’s.

They each dealt with loneliness differently. All kept in touch with someone by phone. Some still drove. (Yikes!)  Some did needlework or gardening, read or watched TV. Some did little except sit around. Some never complained, some complained all the time, and most were in between.

(It dawns on me, as a new relationship with my stepmother is blooming, that someday, I may be one of those old ladies.)

My stepmother was unable to accept that my father had deep connection with anyone other than her. For 44 years, this was a huge barrier to any real relationship between us. I never felt comfortable in her house; for some reason, it was never my dad’s house or “their” house. The barrier was the reason my father never made a relationship with his second granddaughter, and even stopped visiting me alone. He told me that he felt guilty for upsetting his wife by spending time away from her.

I have to own that I made her life tough for the first 10 years; never accepting her, rejecting her gifts, keeping her at arm’s length. Her contribution to that mess was that she kept chasing me, always offering more gifts; co-enabling. It would be have good for her to stop after the 3rd rebuff, and give back to me what I gave to her. We both would have learned to get along better that way, as I would have had to be accountable for my own actions, and, she would have honored her integrity.

That didn’t happen. Her response was to complain to my father, who would talk to me about it. Sometimes he would take my side, and say that there were things about her that were difficult for him too. Sometimes he would gently present a different view, meant to educate me and to change my behavior. Sometimes he said that he wished I would change.

After her dear friend Janice died in the 80s, something about the impermanence of life hit me; I was in my early 30s. I wrote her a long letter, apologizing for my treatment of her, recognizing my rudeness and seeking to re-start our relationship.

Her response was tepid, a weak-voiced, “We’ll try.” I honored my change, and sought more connection with her for a while and was eventually so discouraged that I gave up. My dad and I had a discussion about it. He was said I sounded so final, “I’m done, Daddy” I said. And I was.

From then on, until his final month of disintegration and death, I was easy and polite and didn’t expect anything. Naturally, the energy around us got lighter. We were even able to stay in the same house together in July of 2016, and get along. Concern for my failing father, her mate for 44 years, united us.

The last time I saw him alive was in a nursing home; at the same time, she was in the hospital for heart symptoms and exhaustion. I ended up visiting her, and taking her home when she was discharged, and then driving her to the nursing home the next day, and staying with her.

(I just remembered that at that nursing home visit, she wore earrings and a matching necklace that he had brought her from South America. She was hoping he would remember something; when the jewelry failed to trigger any response, she gave the set to me that very night.)

After his death, I came back to help with the tidying up, driving her to the funeral home to pick up the cherry wood box that is his last bed. It was easy to be kind, for both of us, as finally now she needed me and my skills, and I wanted to give them. I felt the compassion that comes from forgiveness and understanding.

We navigated the medical/nursing home system together, aided by Vanessa’s sister-in-law’s experience and knowledge from the inside, and by Veronique’s dedication and tenacity. We three kids us found wonderful common ground, realizing that part of what our parents (grandparents) did was to keep us separated from each other. We don’t know if it was intentional or not.

Now I see my stepmother transform, from a fiercely possessive wife, into a heart-broken and grieving old lady who has lost everything: her beloved husband, generations of fine arts, the home she designed and a climate she loved. Now she lives in a one room apartment, well-cared for by her husband who set things up to keep her comfortable for as long as she lives. Now she has become one of those lonely old ladies.

Death is a great leveler.  Now, for the first time ever, she and I have a real relationship.  What are we snarling at each other about, when her husband my father has died and we are facing our own deaths?

We email twice at day, sometimes more, occasionally less. I describe my day, and send photographs. Once in a blue moon, I call her. She has given and sought my advice. If I, wearing my nurse’s hat, think of something that would  make her life better, I send information about it to her. She is part of my life now.

I know my father would be happy that we have made peace.

 

 

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