I am of that age - past 40 and witnessing of my parents aging.
It’s quite a comfort to get on the phone with ones parents, hear the usual greeting “Me little flower” and realize that I feel completely like a child being hugged by a parent, just by hearing their voice.
The strands of conversation never change…the weather, the politics, the grandchildren, the sports and finally their health. As I listen to stories of medication, doctors’ appointments, various hospital visits, I realize that sometime in my near future, the habit of checking in with the parents may end. The ceremony of preparing the cuppa tea, settling in on the couch to make the Skype call with the grand kids around me, will be gone.
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My entire life thus far, has always been with a parent there to talk to... special events, new jobs, holiday plans, Christmas presents …all of it shared with the grandparents.
When one of the kids is sick, the first call is usually to my mother to check on the traditional methods of medicine passed down through our family – some decidedly questionable, but still worth a phone call. I’ve used remedies that involve poultices for splinters; cloves, ginger and milk for sleepless nights; brandy for tummy bugs, and the best one of all – Guinness for general fatigue and apathy. The latter works well as long as you don’t take it too far. I believe it’s the vitamin B that counteracts apathy.
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When I have cranky, annoying children who can’t seem to find anything to occupy themselves, the grandparent advice is always to give them a job to do. That definitely cures lollygaggers.
When I can’t figure out why I have managed to make the boeuf bourguignon taste like chewy, rubber balls in fermented wine, it warrants another call to Mum. I realized early on that baking was never going to be my strong point because the instructions require too much precision. But cooking is generally a safe bet for someone who is slightly impatient like myself and still ends up calling the parent. The instructions are usually something like “a pinch of this and a drop of that”. Usually when all else fails when trying to recover a recipe, the best advice given is “add lot of alcohol because you can’t taste the mistakes through that”.
It works.
The list of quirky advisories is lengthy when it comes to communication with my parents. But the endless amount of love, support, unconditional “oohs” and “aahs” and the odd “you’re a great mum” are more common and certainly very sustaining, as I move through years of teenagers, tweens and crazy first graders.
I realize as a parent, that I will likely have to live through the grief of the death of my parents, in front of my children. How will they see me then? Will they worry that I too am going to die? I would rather not have to teach my children the lesson of morbidity just yet but it is unavoidable that they will have to go through a family member’s death.
As I see my parents struggle with their declining health, their endless lists of do’s and don’ts, I see a lot of grace, strength and elegance, sprinkled with patience and a touch of love. They see this time in their lives as a critical time to pass on whatever useful advice they can. They take the time to respond to any requests for help I throw their way. They enjoy instructing and guiding as they have always done.
I hope my children will have many more years of listening to their grandparents. I hope they are learning to listen respectfully to elders and always make time for them.
As for the time I have left with parents in my life and every moment I speak to my parents, I hope to always feel childlike. They’ve taught me how to parent and how not to parent. I’m still listening. I’m still learning. Despite being forty plus, I am always their child.