My father's wife, who outlasted me with enough grace and patience to become a cornerstone of my adult life, is now in her 90s. One might think - 90 - wow - her body must be hunched over with a mind that is completely unaware of her surroundings.
A dozen years back, she sold everything and moved into a very nice residence for the elderly, with a pool and gym, a 4 star restaurant, and several hundred others who were transitioning through the phases of old age. By everything I mean, she sold, gave away or donated the house she and my father shared, all the stuff accumulated over a lifetime together, and had just a little room to bring a few favorites.
And then she called me up for advice on how to date, it had been so long.
She took up the internet in earnest to keep in touch, and learned to Skype and began reading my blogs. As her hearing worsened, she sought out better phones and amplifiers, and instructed us how to better enunciate and modulate our voices. We don't bother with large family groups anymore, or restaurants, because it's no fun for her watching other people talk and laugh without her. We visit her in small groups where the quiet of her home helps the communication.
When her eyes started to go, she pursued often painful treatments to slow the deterioration. She bought floor lamps with large magnifiers to play cards with her friends, and a magnifying machine so she could read and manage her business affairs. When those tools became less useful over time, she did not give up. Even with a serious stroke, she worked hard to regain her independent living status.
There is little waste in the discussions we have together. They are rich and deep when you reach extreme old age. What is it like to be living somewhere people are all old? Death is not swept under the rug, or viewed as separate from life, I am told. It is ever present in conversations and empty chairs. Does she find that depressing? Not at all. Everyone accepts the stages of life. There is sadness, of course, but also inspiring examples by watching others cope with worse difficulties and still managing a very good quality of life. I was excited to hear her say it is a hopeful place to grow old.
Do people squabble living in such close quarters? Not so much anymore, but people are people, so sometimes. She fills her time with a large group she meets for breakfast for laughter and storytelling about grandkids and great grandkids. They talk politics, and living trusts and investments, the state of our banking system and how in the world there will be a successful bailout in Greece. Some evenings there are musicians who play, or excursions into the city for plays and lectures.
I marvel that this is 90s in the modern world of good medicine and nutritious food ... and good genetics.
She worries she is difficult to understand and it is hard to communicate with her. {Which in old speak means, she is not hearing from family as often as she'd like, and she is feeling her world contract.}
I laugh with her and tell her stories that in every way connect her to my life. What I really want to do is reassure her how blessed we are to have her so completely herself, in reasonably good health, with an active and inquisitive mind.
I begin to hear fatigue in her voice, and I know it's time to go. And then I wait for it, the sing song-y lilt in her voice when she says: I love you Nanci Anne! And give that husband of yours a big hug and a kiss for me!
I hang up thinking that I want a thousand more conversations like this, about life and love and the view looking back. I have told her this, and she smiles through the phone and says if we don't have time to finish them all, there will be plenty of time to talk to our heart's content in the next life.
