Leave the gun take the cannoli (9)

Not all senior citizens have Alzheimer’s.  There are other forms of dementia listed in the DSM-IV.  While some octogenarians are as sharps as tacks, it is possible that others choose to forget as a way of denying their depression.  The greatest challenge of aging is not the degeneration of the mind or body; its  loneliness.   

I’m far from being an expert on the subject of the elderly.   My experience with this age group is limited to monthly volunteering at Methodist Hospital and my role as primary caregiver to my mother.  

People are always quoting that old cliche about our parents turning into our children for me.  That idiom was coined to advise us  about the corporal aspects of caring for our families.  Yet, those words ring true when observing the quirky ways the elderly command our attention.

When  greeting  volunteers the male patients are chatty and  inquisitive.  The women are demure.   In seconds you can tell if  a woman has raised a family or not.   Women who’ve spent their lives alone  initiate the conversation.  They scan our hands for wedding and engagement rings and keep the conversation light, rarely alluding to the personal.  There may be evidence of a failing memory, but these women never  lose the people skills they acquired by going  solo to  social gatherings.  The mothers in the group are shy and inevitably need the most cheering up.  It is easy to gauge how long its been since a mother has seen her child by the height of the pedestal she puts him on.  The greater the distance between visits,  the stronger the idolatry.    

  Last Sunday some of the patients got up on the wrong side of the bed.  A beautiful Latina was frustrated because she wanted to wash her face and brush her teeth before receiving her guests.  My heart sank when I realized that her attendant didn’t understand her.  I quickly translated and she was whisked off to freshen up.  When she returned she was like a new woman.   During brunch she was animated, witty and the center of attention at the table of Spanish speakers I’d attracted.   

I admire this woman’s vanity and I understand why she wasn’t dressed and ready for us.  This woman is just   like my mother.   She  waits until the last minute to put on their party face because  she’s not sure anyone is going to show up for a visit.        

For several years,  I’ve watched my mom get all dolled up to go to a sibling’s house for  dinner.    I usually leave her  sitting on the sofa with the phone  on her lap and I go off to a soup kitchen.   When I return she’s still  in the same spot waiting for the phone to ring.  When I offer to take her out she refuses because she doesn’t want to miss her call.  Eventually,  the phones  ring  and her other child  offers a flimsy excuse, without apology for standing her up.    

 It always reminds me of the visiting day  scene from that old Judy Garland movie, “a Child is Waiting,” where one boy is left sitting by himself. That image haunts me every month as l leave the hospital.

 When I’m staying good-bye, I  make it a point to tell the patients  the date and time of my next visit.  It doesn’t matter that  some of the patients will be released before I return.  I just want them to know that they won’t be forgotten.   

This entry was posted on Sunday, October 7th, 2007 at 11:07 am and is filed under the disenfranchised. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.