97, 98, 99, time to Go
My Great Grandmother visited me this morning. She turned 99 on the 4th of September 2005. She came with her accompanist, who happens to be my childhood piano teacher. She performed 5 songs this morning. Each one has a story associated with it, about people and places she remembers from the early years. Although I have heard these stories ad nauseum for the past 25 years (I'm 30), I still enjoy the way her posture changes to more correct, how her eyes get that far away look (and sometimes even well up with tears), how she is transfigured from the bleek old lady that's waiting for death, to this younger person who's more alive and glamorous, and acknowledged.
You see, she's a singer. She'll always be a singer. Sad thing is, for the past twenty years she's been nothing but a singer. In her mind, any way. The fact that she can still, on a good day, sing a B flat just below top C (for the non-muso's, that's higher than you can screech when someone pulls out one of your nose hairs with a tweezer) - that is the only way she was ever noticed, I suspect. As a child, I mean. She's clinging to this one thing that distinguished her from the rest. I suppose all very old people are like that. You are merely a collection of thoughts, activities and interests as your life draws to a close. As your ability to think, be active and interesting becomes impaired through loss of hearing, sight, cognitive ability, your person dissappears. You are no longer noticed, acknowledged, counted as part of a conversation. No one really pays much attention to you. That is certainly the case with Ouma Grootjie, despite the fact that she has a relatively busy social schedule for a 99 year old. She's constantly hinting for a lift, telling all that will hear (and has a car) that the Homecrafts of Northmead are having there year end function, and she asked so and so to take her, but so and so broke her foot, so now she doesn't know how she's going to get there. Not going isn't an option.
She lives with my grandmother (80) and grandfather (89), who is dying of lung cancer and Alzheimer's disease. My grandmother's sister passed away 10 years ago, so she has the sole responsibility of caring for a 99 year old mother and an 89 year old sickly spouse. That gets too much some days. I pray for her when I can't sleep at night. I honestly don't know how she does it. She inspires me with her ability to cope. I have a baby and a toddler, and on days when things get too much, I visit with this odd trio. Some days I want to leave as soon as I get there. But most days, my grandmother's ability to handle things (she raised 5 kids), grounds me, helps me control my flaring emotions, helps me order my thinking. I suppose as she ages, she'll remain a grounding force in our family, always willing to help out, always willing to pray for us, always willing to set another place at the table.
I am stirred with compassion for my ageing grandparents. They have a broad support structure - 3 daughters, 7 grandchildren who visit often, and yet we can't be there for the three when grandpa mistakes the waste basket for the loo at 3am, or when ouma grootjie falls from the bath stool at 7am. Then its just an 80 year old woman with nerves of steel and faith in God that needs to cope, help them up, clean the mess. How can one person have to care for people her entire life? My aunt (mom's younger sibling, 4th in line) suffered with eppillepsy from age 4. She died due to a lack of oxygen to the brain (anoxia), at age 37, being immobile with a trachea from age 34. My grandmother cared for her till her death. She died in her sleep.
My grandmother is feeling the strain of all these years of being a carer. She comes to my house to quickly see the kids, and then she says: I'm tired, right through to my soul. But then, when we look ahead to the fact that my grandfather might have to be placed in an institution, she just says: one day at a time, let's just take it like that. I think the thing that really gets to her is that her mother is still alive. It cannot be easy to live with your mother for so many years. They have a rather turbulent history, and the same old issues have repeated themselves for the past 70 years! Everyone says that they sincerely hope my great grandmother will not outlive my grandfather. It's time for her to go, they say. Where to? If you love life, you choose to wait for death. But the waiting isn't easy, and God appoints the time for it to end. So let her live, I say. Let her go to all her year-end functions and social gatherings, and sing there if she wants to. At least she is still alive. What else must she do to bide the time? I'm sure she's open for suggestions...
"I want to die at a hundred years old after screaming down an Alpine descent on a bicycle at 75 miles per hour." - Lance Armstrong
I'm not so sure how I want to die. I just want to be able to LIVE until I die. I'm hoping my body and my mind will play along.
You see, she's a singer. She'll always be a singer. Sad thing is, for the past twenty years she's been nothing but a singer. In her mind, any way. The fact that she can still, on a good day, sing a B flat just below top C (for the non-muso's, that's higher than you can screech when someone pulls out one of your nose hairs with a tweezer) - that is the only way she was ever noticed, I suspect. As a child, I mean. She's clinging to this one thing that distinguished her from the rest. I suppose all very old people are like that. You are merely a collection of thoughts, activities and interests as your life draws to a close. As your ability to think, be active and interesting becomes impaired through loss of hearing, sight, cognitive ability, your person dissappears. You are no longer noticed, acknowledged, counted as part of a conversation. No one really pays much attention to you. That is certainly the case with Ouma Grootjie, despite the fact that she has a relatively busy social schedule for a 99 year old. She's constantly hinting for a lift, telling all that will hear (and has a car) that the Homecrafts of Northmead are having there year end function, and she asked so and so to take her, but so and so broke her foot, so now she doesn't know how she's going to get there. Not going isn't an option.
She lives with my grandmother (80) and grandfather (89), who is dying of lung cancer and Alzheimer's disease. My grandmother's sister passed away 10 years ago, so she has the sole responsibility of caring for a 99 year old mother and an 89 year old sickly spouse. That gets too much some days. I pray for her when I can't sleep at night. I honestly don't know how she does it. She inspires me with her ability to cope. I have a baby and a toddler, and on days when things get too much, I visit with this odd trio. Some days I want to leave as soon as I get there. But most days, my grandmother's ability to handle things (she raised 5 kids), grounds me, helps me control my flaring emotions, helps me order my thinking. I suppose as she ages, she'll remain a grounding force in our family, always willing to help out, always willing to pray for us, always willing to set another place at the table.
I am stirred with compassion for my ageing grandparents. They have a broad support structure - 3 daughters, 7 grandchildren who visit often, and yet we can't be there for the three when grandpa mistakes the waste basket for the loo at 3am, or when ouma grootjie falls from the bath stool at 7am. Then its just an 80 year old woman with nerves of steel and faith in God that needs to cope, help them up, clean the mess. How can one person have to care for people her entire life? My aunt (mom's younger sibling, 4th in line) suffered with eppillepsy from age 4. She died due to a lack of oxygen to the brain (anoxia), at age 37, being immobile with a trachea from age 34. My grandmother cared for her till her death. She died in her sleep.
My grandmother is feeling the strain of all these years of being a carer. She comes to my house to quickly see the kids, and then she says: I'm tired, right through to my soul. But then, when we look ahead to the fact that my grandfather might have to be placed in an institution, she just says: one day at a time, let's just take it like that. I think the thing that really gets to her is that her mother is still alive. It cannot be easy to live with your mother for so many years. They have a rather turbulent history, and the same old issues have repeated themselves for the past 70 years! Everyone says that they sincerely hope my great grandmother will not outlive my grandfather. It's time for her to go, they say. Where to? If you love life, you choose to wait for death. But the waiting isn't easy, and God appoints the time for it to end. So let her live, I say. Let her go to all her year-end functions and social gatherings, and sing there if she wants to. At least she is still alive. What else must she do to bide the time? I'm sure she's open for suggestions...
"I want to die at a hundred years old after screaming down an Alpine descent on a bicycle at 75 miles per hour." - Lance Armstrong
I'm not so sure how I want to die. I just want to be able to LIVE until I die. I'm hoping my body and my mind will play along.
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