Mom @ 90

Mom and her sons
 

My Mother celebrated her 90^th birthday this month.

She has been living in one of those rehabilitative centers – f.k.a. nursing homes -- for about the last two years.  Before that, she was in and out of the hospital with a variety of health issues. We thought several times that we were going to lose her, but she rallied every time.

“She’s like a cat; she has nine lives,” is how my wife describes her, which is a little ironic because Mom is really afraid of cats.  Growing up we had canaries as pets, because Mom didn’t like dogs either, although she’s now very fond of my brother’s dog, Roscoe.

About 10 years ago, my folks moved to the suburbs and next door to my brother and sister in law, finally getting out of second floor living in the Brighton section of Boston.  Sadly, Dad was diagnosed with cancer shortly after they moved and enjoyed the house for only 18 months.

Mom understands her limitations, but on occasion talks of wishing that she could still be in her own home. I’m sure she never imagined being her age and assigned a roommate, as if she were a first semester college freshman.

Like many of her generation, she doesn’t readily volunteer stories about her childhood.  I do remember her commenting during the bussing crisis that gripped Boston during the 1960s, that she had difficulty understanding the issues between blacks and whites.

She said that there was little difference between the races when she was growing up in the Roxbury and Dorchester neighborhoods of Boston, because “we were all just poor.”

My favorite story about my Mom is how she went on her first date with my Dad.

Two young men had asked her to go on a fall hayride. She couldn’t decide who to pick, so she put their names in one of my grandmother’s hats and pulled out my Dad’s.  The rest, as the cliché goes, is history…

Mom’s had the joy of living long enough to see her great grandchildren. But, she is also the last of her generation. I’m sure it must be lonely at times.

She’s pretty much confined to her wheelchair and her memory and eyesight aren’t quite what they used to be. I’m sure that’s frustrating.

But she’s made the best of her situation.

She takes advantage of every excursion the facility offers; plays blackjack several nights a week, and often doesn’t get back to her room until after 9:00pm because she’s been watching TV or just talking with the many friends she’s made.  {Unless it’s Thursday, when she’s back early, because that's weekly shower night “whether you need it or not.”}

Dancing at the Totem Pole Ballroom

I don’t know how I would handle being 90 and in my Mother’s situation.

Instead of reminiscing about dancing at the Totem Pole Ballroom at Norumbega Park in Auburndale, I’d no doubt be talking about my first concert, Jimi Hendrix in August 1968 at the tent in Framingham called the Carousel Theatre.

{I saw Led Zeppelin there a year later. I snuck in a cassette recorder and taped the show. I’d be living at the beach on my own private island, if I could ever find it!}

If I were 90, I’d consider myself blessed to know my great-grandchildren, but would surely be lonely for family and friends, who meant so much to me.  I'm sure I would also struggle with the latest technology, as I often do now.  

Maybe the best approach to old age comes from 95 year old Betty White:

“It’s not a surprise, we knew it was coming – make the most of it. So you may not be as fast on your feet, and the image in your mirror may be a little disappointing, but if you are still functioning and not in pain, gratitude should be the name of the game.”

If I ever live that long, I hope I can remember that.