Once upon a time, in a land close by but many years ago, when my parents-in-law were still living, my then-husband, our daughter, and I went for a weekend visit to their home outside of Greencastle, IN. My in-laws were lifetime Hoosiers in semi-rural Indiana. Frugal people. Good people. Hard-working people with a local reputation of integrity and honesty. "Grandpa Artie", as my father-in-law came to be known, was small in stature and trim, even in his old age. He amazed me with his spunk, sense of humor, and work ethic, and I loved that old man. On this one particular visit, he was trying to tell us something but couldn't think of a particular word he had known all his life, and it frustrated him. He threw up his hands and said, loudly, "MY MIND'S GONE!" Well, no...his mind wasn't gone. He didn't have dementia. He was just experiencing the effects of aging. He was aware of it, and it killed him that he didn't feel as mentally sharp as he once was.
My sister's first husband had an engineer's temperament, complete with attention to minute details and respect from his career community for his brilliance. He wasn't that great a spouse or father, but when it came to getting things done, he did it, both with and without help from family and colleagues. After a while, he began to be treated for depression, but when he began to "lose" words on a regular basis, he started seeing a "memory doctor". His diagnosis was dementia. Over time, it was determined to be Fronto-Temporal Degeneration--FTD. In short, his brain was literally shrinking. He was sharp enough to think he could beat the disease, but he was terrified. Why? Because his "mind was gone" and he could tell it. He was officially diagnosed in 2011, and died in 2016, as a result of complications. Looking back, there were signs before the diagnosis. We just weren't looking at medical reasons for seemingly unreasonable behavior. (What does that tell you about what was "normal" for him?)
So, here I am in my old age--the same decade as Grandpa Artie's declaration that his mind was gone, and bro-in-law's diagnosis--beginning to see the effects of memory losses. There is no history of dementia in my blood line. My parents and my grandparents--at least the ones that I knew--were as sharp when they passed as they had been while alive. Was there a history of stubbornness? Yes. Alcoholism? Yes. Autism Spectrum? Yes, probably. (We just didn't know about it in those days.)
*It frustrates me when I can't think of a word or have to look up a spelling that I have known for ages.
The words come, eventually, but not when I need them!
*When I am driving, I am aware that I'm simply not as sharp as I used to be. To compensate, I don't take chances. I don't drive after dark or in bad weather. Every once in a great while, as my mind is wandering when I drive, I come back to reality and wonder if I've missed my turn. Oh, no...there it is.
*Sometimes, my daughter will ask me a question about our past, and I can't remember. I remember impressions but not details. Impressions are often wrong, so I look like an idiot. It often takes days of thinking for me to remember stuff.
*I write lists now to help me remember what my focus or purchase for a day should be. And then I forget to look at the lists!
The scary part in all of this--as was true of Grandpa Artie and Bro-in law Roger--is that I can see it happening. I make fun of it, as if the future is passing me by...as if I'm just a dinosaur trying to live in a modern world...as if I can't compete in today's society because I'm trapped by the society in which I was raised. Actually, that is somewhat true, but my self-deprecating humor is fraught with fear. I laugh, you laugh--we all laugh until it isn't funny anymore. No one wants to listen to my fears. If they do listen, they want to know what I'm going to do about them. I don't have the financial resources to give myself over to a "home". I have worked my butt off in life to leave SOMETHING to my daughter and grandchildren. I have no intention of giving my resources to some institution just to keep me alive and out of the way.
I'm not dead in the water, yet.
I'm still viable and can participate in life, with help.
But I'm scared. I am 100% sure that other elderly unmarried people who live alone worry about the same things I worry about. So, where are they? Where do I go to seek validation for my feelings?
I have come to understand that Old People just don't matter anymore. Doesn't matter how I look when I go out because no one notices. My feelings are discounted. ("Ok, Boomer.") I am expected to adapt to the modern world with no real adaptation to mine--even out of respect. (I am excluding my own family from this because I think they try to understand.)
So while my life as I've known it slip-slides away, I pray daily that it might be useful to someone. I wasn't put on the planet just to soak up resources. There has to be a reason for my being. Time to start looking for it!
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