Driving my dad across town this morning I felt the clouds’ ashen oppression. He was in pain. Blame rested with a company, whose representative had not been sympathetic when explaining that their cream for soothing his terrible neuropathy was on back order.
I was sorry and said so, but I had no further contribution available for the situation.
All I could think about was my growing impressions regarding their senior living apartment complex, which employs so many younger people, and how this industry is unsustainable. One thing that brought this up was realizing I am the same age my mom was, 27 years ago, when she was diagnosed with stage four breast cancer. That in itself is mind-boggling. Mom had surgery the day after Bill Clinton was elected. So ancient history, and yet only yesterday.
The second recognition came after a friend, who teaches at the university, shared that fellow teachers are being let go, due to plummeting college attendance. “People don't choose to have babies,” she said, “and we can’t sustain schools the same way anymore.”
Twenty-seven years from now, I realize, there will not be an elderly care industry like we’re seeing today. The numbers won’t support it. Not that I was counting on anything. Honestly, I’ll be quite surprised if I make it into my seventies. This is just my health history talking, but to my mind it’s not morbid. And I know we never know.
I know it really scared me to hear those years ago about my mom’s cancer. And I’m very thankful she went through surgery and treatment and was healed.
Mom fervently asked God to let her watch her grandchildren grow up. Would I be so intent in her shoes? I love the grandchildren we are accumulating (one by birth, and others coming along in ways I will share about at an appropriate time).
I don't tend to worry that they will miss knowing me into adulthood, but I can understand where Mom was coming from. I think I'm more like my father. When things hurt, I'd rather tell stories. After Dad and I finished his errands this morning he reminisced, as we drove along West 2nd Avenue, about selling door-to-door there when he was very young. He sold pads to keep moths out of closets as well as a toilet bowl disinfectant. He earned a nickel for every sale. He'd then treat siblings and other neighborhood kids to an afternoon swim at a pool on Franklin Boulevard. (Franklin is now the main drag in front of the university, with hotels, restaurants, and an arena.) The kids could swim for an hour for 10 cents. When time was up, they had to get out and stand in line to pay for another hour with another dime.
Dad's stories as I drove him home ushered the sun from behind the clouds. We were both hungry. He met Mom in the dining room, while I took a few groceries up to their apartment and then came down to say goodbye and head for home. Another story in progress with a fellow resident, Dad's face beamed, and I loved hearing his laugh.
The sunshine lasted for my return drive and nearly burned the clouds away.
I was sorry and said so, but I had no further contribution available for the situation.
All I could think about was my growing impressions regarding their senior living apartment complex, which employs so many younger people, and how this industry is unsustainable. One thing that brought this up was realizing I am the same age my mom was, 27 years ago, when she was diagnosed with stage four breast cancer. That in itself is mind-boggling. Mom had surgery the day after Bill Clinton was elected. So ancient history, and yet only yesterday.
The second recognition came after a friend, who teaches at the university, shared that fellow teachers are being let go, due to plummeting college attendance. “People don't choose to have babies,” she said, “and we can’t sustain schools the same way anymore.”
Twenty-seven years from now, I realize, there will not be an elderly care industry like we’re seeing today. The numbers won’t support it. Not that I was counting on anything. Honestly, I’ll be quite surprised if I make it into my seventies. This is just my health history talking, but to my mind it’s not morbid. And I know we never know.
I know it really scared me to hear those years ago about my mom’s cancer. And I’m very thankful she went through surgery and treatment and was healed.
Mom fervently asked God to let her watch her grandchildren grow up. Would I be so intent in her shoes? I love the grandchildren we are accumulating (one by birth, and others coming along in ways I will share about at an appropriate time).
I don't tend to worry that they will miss knowing me into adulthood, but I can understand where Mom was coming from. I think I'm more like my father. When things hurt, I'd rather tell stories. After Dad and I finished his errands this morning he reminisced, as we drove along West 2nd Avenue, about selling door-to-door there when he was very young. He sold pads to keep moths out of closets as well as a toilet bowl disinfectant. He earned a nickel for every sale. He'd then treat siblings and other neighborhood kids to an afternoon swim at a pool on Franklin Boulevard. (Franklin is now the main drag in front of the university, with hotels, restaurants, and an arena.) The kids could swim for an hour for 10 cents. When time was up, they had to get out and stand in line to pay for another hour with another dime.
Dad's stories as I drove him home ushered the sun from behind the clouds. We were both hungry. He met Mom in the dining room, while I took a few groceries up to their apartment and then came down to say goodbye and head for home. Another story in progress with a fellow resident, Dad's face beamed, and I loved hearing his laugh.
The sunshine lasted for my return drive and nearly burned the clouds away.
3 comments:
Dear Deanna, I've been away from blogging for a couple of months because of an operation and a grueling recuperation. When I returned to yours today, I found a totally different look. Also, your most recent posting seems to be in November. I'm hoping that all is well with you and that your life is filled with other important and interesting and necessary events that make putting blogging aside for now or forever. We never know. Peace, pressed down and overflowing.
Oh, Dee, I’m sorry for what you’ve been through! Today I’m home trying to get over a cough and fever, but generally I’m in good health. Thanks for asking. Sometime in the fall I deactivated my Facebook account, not with negative feelings, but because I realized I would be able to focus more on many other things going on. I didn’t intentionally stop blogging, but I’m ambivalent about keeping it up. As you say, we never know. I truly hope you are feeling better, and I wish you peace and joy in 2020.
Dear Deanna, I started blogging back in 2011 and twice I've stopped for over a year. Once it was nearly two years. Periodically, also, I don't post for several weeks. Life happens as you and I both know and our heart wishes and dreams of being change also. So I wish you well as you go about your life. E-mail me if you ever want to stay in touch. Peace.
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