I’ve been thinking a lot about life transitions in the past two weeks since I returned to my home in Toluca Lake from Washington, D.C. from what, it turned out was my last visit with both my Dad and his ninety-nine-year-old wife, Sally. We had a beautiful visit, doing all the things I’d come to love doing with both of them; we drove down to Rock Creek park to watch the cyclists and joggers on Beach Road, along side Rock Creek. Dad and I went to the golf course about three times each week I was there, where he and his friends whipped through nine holes in about an hour and a half, bringing us back well in time for lunch. One day, we all went to the National Gallery, and had a great time reviewing the East Wing exhibits after a lunch in the cafe in the basement. We were accompanied by Bernadine, one of their cadre of caregivers, who have supported them for more than two years in their aging at home plan.
We “did the puzzle,” a family pass time of working away at Stave puzzles in the living room, overlooking the back yard. Even at ninety-nine, Sally was diligent and productive in assembling these diabolical puzzles. The days were routinized, arise at 7:00AM, breakfast in the lovely patio-side breakfast room, lunch at 12:30, usually soup and a small salad, but sometimes more sturdy fare, and dinner at 6:00PM. The only difference in this trip was that Sally was eating less than usual, and showed a distinct lack of energy, falling asleep more readily at the breakfast table, etc.
After I departed on the ninth of August, it became clear that Sally was losing steam, and her loving family decided to invoke hospice care at home, making her as comfortable as possible in the final week or so of her life. She passed away surrounded by her five children and spouses, and my father, with whom she had shared a vibrant and loving thirty years. The whole family and circle of friends is, of course, reeling from her loss.
This is one hell of a transition, one which my Dad has gone through twice before.
In the wake of our huge loss, I returned to a wonderful book that my brother and his wife had loaned me, called “Life Is In The Transitions: Mastering Change At Any Age” by Bruce Feiler. I thought it would be particularly pertinent now for my dad, and as I started reading it again, I remembered how well-written it was and how relevant it was when I read it almost seven years ago when I lost my husband.
One can’t underestimate the earthquake of losing your spouse of thirty years. Especially when you have children and stepchildren on both coasts. Usual counsel is that you not make major decisions quickly after losing a spouse or partner. But when you are ninety-four, the pace quickens and circumstances can and should change rapidly to ensure safety and continuation of a good long life.
In one of life’s supremely ironic twists, I have been looking at Continuing Care Retirement Communities (campuses, if you will to cement this twist) for my dad. Closer to where my brothers and I live, i.e., in Los Angeles. In other words, I’ve been looking for local “colleges” with my senior. The student body on these campuses are fully enrolled. At one of the places I visited the day before returning to D.C., the lobby was so full of happy chatting seniors and all their mobility devices that it was almost hard to get by with the director of sales as we began our tour. I gathered information, feeling out some alternatives, but with respect for his process and timing, was ready to move sedately according to dad’s pace.
However, when I saw “the perfect room,” I excitedly presented the facility to Dad as soon as I got to the house in D.C. Much to my delight, he had made the decision to come to LA, even without a specific roost to light upon. How brave! My sharing the details of the facility allowed him to feel really good about getting there. Now, we can exercise my decorating juju just like the momfluencers who are designing their college first year dorm rooms. I think there should be a follow up article about folks doing the same thing for their parents. Hey, NY Times, waddya think about a story about daughterfluencers?
I’ve been here about two days, and we’ve cycloned through thirty years of accumulated materials, with his laser focus as to what is needed and what can be jettisoned. It’s impressive. It reminds me of the time right after I’d met James Greene, my future husband, and we had made the decision to live together. He came down to the Pearl Street apartment of my college friend Caroline Turner where I’d been living for about a month and began helping me to pack. I was inclined to linger over the mementos of my youth and his attitude was “yeah, let’s get it in the boxes….” Dad, I’m happy to report, is not lingering over mementos of his youth during this process. He is remarkably clear-eyed about the process we are in.
Our plan is to pack up and in another week or two, begin driving across the country in dad’s car. It will be myself, and my oldest brother Don, and Dad. Oh goodness gracious, says my antiquarian writerly brain. This will be great material! See Dad’s and my last adventure together here and here. And as though the planets were aligning, the NYT book review today has a review of “18 Great Road Trip Books That Aren’t ‘On The Road‘” , so that will be wonderful. I’ve been reading a lot lately, and one of the beautiful books I just finished last week was Just Like Glass: A Family Memoir by Amy Wight Chapman. It’s a lovely account of a Maine family in the transformative year following her father’s untimely death. It is a unique format, as the book is a compendium of all her family’s accounts of this time, including her mother’s, who was gone by the time the book was written. But Chapman spent enough time with her mother to share her voice effectively. And the twist? The entire period was prior to the author’s birth. Unexpected, right? It is actually a profoundly powerful tale about resilience and hope and the fortitude of family which I enjoyed so much and was very timely. Highly recommend!
In the meantime, hug your closest close to you. Remember to tell them you love them at every opportunity and relish each moment. I know that recent events have taught me this directly. By the way, the photo above is the view from Sally’s seat at the breakfast table, a view she looked at for over fifty years.
lifeinthethe8tre 