Alone, in a familiar place…

During a recent conversation with a client, I was asked “why, at this point in your life are you still working?” That bad little voice inside my head immediately wanted to reply with “are you fucking kidding me?” but my well-behaved voice replied politely, hidden behind an orchestrated smile. Difficult, overall, considering that I had bitten my tongue in the process. Down deep inside, the comment left me feeling very alone, in a familiar place.


In all fairness, do most people look at those of us who are in our older years and visualize us traveling some continent or, worse yet, sitting in some pasture, waiting for the sun to rise and set again? The question posed was understandable, yet, still kind of thoughtless. Since the start of the manufactured pandemic a few years ago, the entire workplace structure has been fairly impacted, something I’ve railed on about previously and continue to do so; it has not and will not die easily, at least not in my remaining lifetime. People look to work longer, some, out of necessity or boredom. Also, they still have the ability to remain useful in their chosen field of employment but the big issue is just how older individuals are honestly valued at their given place of employment! Too many find themselves slowly phased out, both where a given schedule is concerned along with reduced financial compensation. Employers feel that once retirement age hits, there’s a huge money cushion that older employees can fall back on, as such, salaries and associated benefits are greatly affected. In addition, companies constantly bring in younger, inexperienced, hires on a lower pay scale and use the older, established employees to train the proverbial new kids on the business block. The next move is to just about always offer the senior employees a buyout or simply terminate their employment.

The unfortunate situation is that, very often, one becomes an outsider in their current work environment, looking in from an uncomfortable distance with each passing day. Job loyalty no longer exists and any continuation of employment finds itself entirely on new terms with a take it or leave it scenario. We often hear about “60 being the new 40”, a popular expression that reflects a societal shift in how people perceive and experience aging, particularly in their 60’s and beyond. It suggests that older individuals today are often as active, healthy, and engaged in life, more so as in previous generations, all capable of bringing their expertise in their chosen field of employment. Most, like myself, work to feel useful, to make a difference, and for decent financial compensation. While the advancements in healthcare, along with lifestyle changes bring a more positive outlook on aging, the operative word is “positive”, except in today’s workplace, where it should be easy enough for an older person to remain productive. Unfortunately, that’s not always the case.

What’s the end result? Working in a limited position, looking in on all that was once familiar from a detached perspective, feeling excluded and not fully understanding that what you once managed and created no longer matters. Now, you find yourself nothing more than an underpaid familiar face with so much still left to offer, yet completely out of place.

From the Writer’s Workshop: Where is the last place you’ve been where you felt completely out of place? What’s something that you find difficult, but you think in your mind should be easy?

Signature

A doubtful path…

Possibly, feeling a great deal of uncertainty is something many of us feel when we land on the back nine of our lives. The days of looking into a mirror and seeing only our image, not our inevitable mortality starting back, well, they’ve dwindled down significantly. That was a bonus of being young, never having to look too far forward, especially when our feet were firmly planted in whatever the present had to offer. Now, as the years continue to speed by, looking forward is a doubtful path.

Is it retrospective? Sweeping thoughts that bring so many questions about all we might have done differently on so many levels. Memories in the form of music remind us of simpler times when we had a large open window of growth and exploration ahead of us. Growing older brings about a range of concerns and doubts about our physical abilities, serious illnesses, loss of our independence, financial security, social and emotional well-being and loss.

Wrapped up in our doubts is the fear of death and dying. We have so many thoughts about mortality and the end of life that we often fail to find meaning and purpose in life, reflect on our legacies and accept that death is a natural part of the human experience.

Growing older doesn’t necessarily mean a decline in our quality of life and I personally attempt to accept and acknowledge the inevitable change by reframing any in a positive manner. Staying mentally and physically active while enjoying social connections helps to address any challenges and embrace the aging process, living a productive life as long as possible. Still, the doubts linger, gathering like a crowd of unanswered questions, as life’s hourglass keeps measuring the passage of time.

From the Writer’s Workshop: What are you currently doubting in your life?

Signature

I’ve fallen and I can’t get up!

Have you ever fallen?

I don’t mean a stumble, you know, one of those quirky missteps where you quickly managed to compose yourself, hoping no one was looking?  Hell no, I am talking about a full-blown, body-twisting, head-banging header here.  You haven’t?   

Well I have, and it was a doozy!

Looking-down-oak-staircase-612x600

Allow me to take you back to around almost two weeks before Christmas in 2003.  As with most people during the holiday season, the typical seasonal madness had taken over my sensibilities which were already challenged from taking care of my mother who had Alzheimer’s and was residing with us at that time. For almost one year, her presence had greatly impacted life around us, she was in rare form those first months of living with us.  Constant escapes from the house and endless bouts of “sundowning”, night after night, allowed me little sleep. On top of it all, my work schedule had been drastically modified to allow for mom’s attendance at a local day care facility.

Six days each week involved a 100 mile round-trip rushing to and from the office.  My return trip home would often send me into a state of frenzy if I encountered heavy traffic; the facility my mother was in mandated a prompt 4:30 pick-up and had a strict rule, successive caregiver-tardiness would result in the dismissal of a given senior citizen from its program.  So, drive like the wind did I, not taking any chances of losing the little respite that I had been fortunate to find.  That was the exact scene on that fateful afternoon.

I share with you my diary entry from that fateful day.

Friday, December 12th, 2003

Secured mother from day care.  Stopped at supermarket, mother refused to get out of car.

Had to purchase just a few items so I left said parent sitting in back seat.

Ran, like hell, into market, grabbing items from shelf like a lunatic. Fast checkout, then out the door towards my car where I see mother high-tailing it across the parking lot at a fairly respectable rate of speed.

Run after parent, yelling at her to stop.  Parent gives me “the thumb”.  Either she couldn’t get her middle finger up or, for some reason, she thought waving her thumb would be much more insulting.

Catch up with mother, grab her by the arm.  Get cursed at. Person driving out of parking lot stops and gives me a dirty look.

I return dirty look and curse back at passer-by, under my breath. Get mother back into car, hook her into the seat belt.

Mother un-hooks seat-belt and tries opening door. I secure seat-belt, again, and hit the child-lock (which I had earlier neglected to do) to prevent her further escape.

Ride home proceeds without incident except for a good deal of parental cursing from the back seat.  Did I share that mumsy could cuss like a truck driver?  

Pull up the driveway, mother asks “where are we?” I tell her that we’re home, she insists “that’s a filthy lie, no we’re not!” Ignore, ignore, ignore.

Park and remove mother from the car.  Help her into the house. As we go in, she comments on the Christmas decorations.  The same comments she made on the way out the door earlier that day.

Sit her down in the kitchen with coffee and cookies.  Head back outside to gather packages but as I hit the top inside step, I become airborne.

Darkness.  For a few minutes.

Through my foggy head, I hear muffled yelling, dog growling.   Head and ankle hurting and sense a horrible heavy feeling on my chest.  Awake to Tonka, our 150+ lb. Rottie-Lab, lying across my chest as my daughter yells at him to move.

He won’t allow her anywhere near me, keeps growling.  Daughter keeps yelling.  My head is almost implanted in our front door (leaving a sizeable dent) and my left leg is, well, somewhere.  Just cannot feel it at that moment. Ankle is throbbing like a champ so I know leg is still connected to my body.

There, in the midst of all the commotion, a voice can be heard at the top of the stairs, causing even the dog to look up. A shrill voice not expressing concern or even offering help.  Not at all. Oblivious to her daughter lying in a puddle of chaos at the bottom of the stairs, my mother stood on the upper landing, yelling, in her typical, demanding form, constantly repeating “will someone get me another cookie, please?”

Fortunately, for her, I lacked the ability to climb up those steps and address her demands, face-to-face; a mild concussion and sprained ankle prevented me from carrying out any action of revenge.  When I managed to get back upstairs, I bit my lip and gave mother another cookie.  

That incident ended up becoming the inspiration for my book, and this website, Another cookie, please!

 From the Writer’s Workshop…Tell us about the worst accident you ever had.

One more older post from several years ago.  There was no need to go back into my memory banks for any other falling incidents as this one took the proverbial cake!  Dealing with someone suffering with Alzheimer’s/Dementia has mixed moments of sadness and humor.  Aside from any personal discomfort involved, this one was indeed laughable but the sad part was my late mothers inability to focus on anything but her wish for more cookies. 

Signature