One More

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.