Preview of coming attractions: people shrink as they get older, and not just physically. How does it happen? What causes a vibrant, multifaceted adult to give up, bit by bit, the fullness of his or her experience and emotional life? Loss of physical stamina and mental acuity may have something to do with it, but I see a lot more voluntary contraction than can be explained by those things alone.
The inability to take for granted one’s own body, a sense of weakness and vulnerability may incite many seniors to live cautiously, but what about those fortunate few elders who continue to dance, swim, love and otherwise live life to the fullest, even in the face of physical decline? Are they merely the exceptions that prove the rule, or do they possess some wonderful secret?
I ask myself these things during weekly errands with my parents, as I witness their agonizingly slow progress from one task to the next. Every step needs to be broken down into sub-steps with running commentary until finally completed, while family and employees wait patiently for the money to be counted out one bill at a time, or the check to be written or buttons to be pushed correctly. It would take me a fraction of the time to do all the shopping myself, but their efforts are part of the ritualized self-deception, the notion that they’re still independent which for now is too meaningful to abandon.
Even at home, life is lived carefully, by the teaspoon; every move is planned from the time they get up. Meals are predictable and bizarre at the same time. White vinegar is the primary seasoning no matter what’s being prepared. The same two vegetables crop up repeatedly—even asparagus on sale doesn’t lure my stepmother, Jeannie, away from the usual broccoli and zucchini. Frozen peas or canned yams denote a special occasion.
This week’s grocery delivery did not go so smoothly. Jeannie forgot to add fresh vegetables to her shopping list, and I failed to notice that the sugar free jello didn’t make it on the final order. After a lengthy discussion, followed by enormous relief that they weren’t charged for the things that were never ordered, Jeannie announced that she can do without her regular vegetables this week and will get by on canned yams and frozen peas. The suggestion that she could ask my stepbrother, who lives a mile away, to pick up a vegetable—or even take a taxi to the store herself—was swiftly rejected.
Their lack of spontaneity is now matched by an unusual dearth of generosity. Since moving here eight months ago they have not once invited us over for any other purpose than to do their shopping or errands. Thanksgiving can hardly be called an exception given that my stepbrother’s wife did all the cooking. Even birthdays, which used to be an occasion to take us out to lunch or dinner, are noted with a gift card and nothing more.
I’m torn between pity for the smallness of their lives and real irritation at their deliberate choice in making them so. Once again, the note to self is: don’t let this happen to me. I will be generous within my means, and enjoy life as much as I can.
