ELDER RESPECT AND WHY IT MATTERS

Elder respect matters because not everyone gets there, and if they do, for however long or short a time, give them their flowers while they’re still alive.

In one respect, being an elder is a privilege, especially if you’ve got any semblance of normalcy.

By that I mean still functioning in the activities of daily life. You know, the basics?

People go into assisted living facilities, or old age homes, when the challenge of getting around, keeping up with a routine, becomes too much for them, and too much for their loved ones if they have any.

What’s the alternative?

Not too many years ago I had to answer that question for my father in-law, but it was really an answer for my mother in-law.

Parkinson’s took him down and she was determined to lift him up. She made in impressive effort, the sort of effort you’d hope to see in everyone.

During this time she looked to be losing the battle with him. He got worse living at home, falling, and she called 911.

That was in LA where he found a place in a facility that cared for elderly patients. The care was all about lying in bed day after day.

When we visited we turned down a potholed ally to park and go in the back of the building. On the other side the California Dream was going full blast with the sun, the trees, and the tanned people enjoying their time.

There were three men in three beds and a TV on the wall the first day.

The second day there were two men, on the third day a new roommate had moved in. This was a place where most residents left feet first.

There was nothing alarming, just the way things were. But it got to me, thinking this was the end of life for the lucky ones.

After that visit we talked it over and decided on a life changing move. Come to Oregon and live with the family where Big Daddy would be a short drive away in a more humane environment.

So that’s what they did.

 

The Pace Of Life

We found the right house, moved in, and got on with things. But mummy was going full blast and wearing down little by little. My respect for her grew by leaps and bounds for the way she stood by his side.

Then the big event: He fell down and hurt himself, got worse, and ended up in the hospital. She was by his side in a show of loyalty that stands as a family hallmark.

The further he dropped, the more she worried, leaving home early and coming home late so he wouldn’t be alone.

When it looked like she might drop I said bring him home and I’d do the rest. I became a caregiver by default.

It was the right thing to do, but I didn’t expect it to last five years. Under my watch he got better and better, but what was I going to do, send him back to assisted living? Noooo.

I took the role of coach and assigned him the role of the player I’d make a star.

In my mind I made a few promises: He’d be the best looked after man in the state, get up every morning for a workout, and listen to me pumping him up.

We were never best friends, more like fellow travelers. He got my full dose of elder respect, and then some.

I called it the OD, Over Dave. The industry called it heroic caregiving, which wasn’t intended as a compliment.

Home visit nurses came to check-in on his condition. They all had a similar observation:

“It must be great for him, not so much for the rest of you.”

And they said it in front of him like he couldn’t understand and I came to expect it.

Every time I heard it, whether at the beginning or end of the home visit, I ended the time based on elder respect.

 

Nurse: But I’m not finished.

Me: Yes, ma’am, you’re done.

Nurse: I have more forms to fill.

Me: Thank you, go ahead and do it in your car.

 

Then I’d give the old man a chat on proper manners and how to talk to people.

 

Me: They’re not coming in here with that bullshit. This is a home, not a nursing home, retirement home, but our home, you’re home. We like it, you like it, and they can take a fucking hike. Can I get a hell yeah?

Kenny:

Me: I’ll help. HELL YEAH. Now let’s get up and take a few laps to warm up for boxing practice.

 

He wasn’t all that talkative, so I goaded him more than usual. One time stood out:

 

Kenny: I don’t appreciate your sarcasm.

Me: I’ll do better.

 

He understood sarcasm? The old possum took me by surprise.

 

Mileposts On Life’s Journey

After everyone grew up and moved on, my wife and I talked about how things might be for us in the years ahead.

 

Me: Who’s gonna be me if we need help later?

Wife: No one is going to be you. No one I’ve talked to can believe you did what you did.

 

All I did was my version of respecting my elders, just the basics. No hero, no superstar, just a guy who understood the assignment.

Call me simple, but that’s where things start: Do you accept the assignment? Yes, or no.

My yes was an uncompromising yes. Research shows Parkinson’s people die from falling, or pneumonia from aspirating fo0d.

That’s what caught my eye, and what I told him.

“Let’s make other plans for dying, because those aren’t happening. You with me?”

Kenny:

Me: Stick with me, buddy, and you’ll go places.

 

PS: If I had been a professional caregiver in a commercial institution I would have lasted maybe a week. I worked to get the old man to respond, then congratulated him on it.

PSS: The sweet talk he heard from others never came from me. He was my fighter, my Ali, and I was his Angelo Dundee. We went round after round all day every day, and he was up to it. He had to be to shut me up.