One more day, one more grocery run, one more haircut, and one
more quiet lunch with my dad. It’s not my usual practice to write about something before
it happens, but I’m willing to bet that the scheduled events for today will
unfold as predictably as the sun’s rising and setting. The details might differ
slightly, but not enough to change the overarching sameness of the experience.
With old people, new experiences—changes of most types—aren’t
usually welcomed. Routine becomes the comforting friend, the “if it’s Tuesday
it must be Belgium” feeling. Rigidity
sets in, and the slightest snag is cause either for alarm or dismay. Even a
happy change can be upsetting.
Last week, Jeannie’s ATM card wasn’t accepted at the
supermarket. She was first frustrated, then panic stricken, as one attempt
after another was denied. If I hadn’t been there to walk her through the best alternative,
the manager may have had to call 9-1-1.
We got through it. I pointed out that she could use her
credit card (“But I never use my credit card to buy groceries here!”) and helped her understand that we could drive
1 block to the bank where she could sort things out as well as getting cash
there. Finally, the dust settled. By the time we reached the car, Jeannie realized
the problem: she had an expired ATM card that she kept in her wallet along with
the new one and had just used the wrong card.
Mystery solved, I showed her how to use the ATM at her own
bank, something she’d never done before—and while apprehensive, she was pleased
to see all that money coming out of the machine, along with her balance statement
(totaling almost $30,000.) “Well, I learned something today. That’s my
attitude; always keep learning as long as you’re alive…” And on, and on.
Having dealt with the first crisis, I now wonder about the
next one (which could be related to keeping such a large balance in her
checking account.) Will she listen to reason if we explain how easy it would be
for someone to clean out her account by just stealing one check? Or would it be
better to wait and let that happen? After all, I wouldn’t want to deprive my stepmother of a learning
experience.
Now looking back, we made it through yesterday staying
mostly on script. At lunch, I asked Gene if he ever wanted to visit San
Francisco, or perhaps take the ferry across the bay. “No,” he said. “I’m pretty
much homebound now.” When I suggested a
quick drive to see our new (world-class) concert hall, he declined, and then
said, “I guess you can see that my interests are slipping away.” I nodded.
“Does that concern you?” I asked. After a pause: “A little…but not really.”
Losing interest in the fact of losing one’s interests…that
must be the ultimate. In the end, I persuaded him to let me take the short
detour, and he seemed to appreciate the view.
