Posted: Oct 01, 2021 11:45 am
I've just spent a fantastic weekend filled with love, sadness, some realisations, and having come to accept the inevitability of the quiet life that lies ahead.
I completely understand that this isn't a topic most people want to discuss, for various reasons, and depression and suicide ideation, are two big reasons why we don't discuss death, we just let it happen, or try to prevent it if it seems like someone we dearly love is contemplating taking control of their own destiny. There's no denying that death is sad. Hell, I have pieces of my heart chipped off from the loss of people and animals who I truly loved, at some time in my life in the past, or recently. So I get the reluctance to discuss it.
However, this past weekend had made it obvious to me, that the hardest farewell still lies before me, and while I understand that I can't say I won't go first, the odds that I will, have become obvious to me, especially over the last week. This weekend we said "goodbye" to one of our favourite places in South Africa, realising that not only won't we go there again, but we're also not going to see the sea or walk on a beach again.
Last year in March, the WHO declared a world-wide pandemic that would probably kill millions, and it did, my favourite sister-in-law included in those numbers. She was vaccinated, and didn't know to take care, so she didn't and 15 months into the pandemic, having had one vaccination shot, she died of Covid-19. She was sick for weeks before, actually almost the 40 days we had to wait between shots, and then having had it, another 15 days added. When she first became ill, there was positivity within her immediate family, that she would recover. She rallied, seemed better, then got worse, and worse, and finally hospitalised, there was a wave of infections, and a shortage of ventilators meant that hers had to go a younger person who was more likely to survive, so she died.
We were prepared, had been for two weeks, so it didn't come as a shock, but it did, and now my husband is the oldest surviving member of his family. He turned 80 on Friday.
This is about my husband, Barry. At the beginning of June, after a year and a half, almost, of taking precautions, staying home, and then when he went back to playing bowls, keeping socially distant, Covid came to us two weeks after our first vaccination.
My son who lives with us , wasn't vaccinated, so he was terribly ill, but at 45 and healthy, he recovered with the help of medication, but Barry became really sick. I wasn't too bad, just a slight cough and weakness, that now necessitates me having to use a walking stick, because I've lost my sense of balance, and my eyesight and hearing are worsening. There's help for the eyes, but I hate wearing those glasses, they annoy me. There's help for my hearing, but that involves strangers poking and prodding and making me do tests, and that annoys me too. (I'm easily annoyed). All I really want to do is to sit on my bed which is big and comfortable, and play computer games. And why shouldn't I? Teenagers do it, and their parents complain. Any complaints are likely to be met with "fuck off, I've worked all my life, and now I'm being a teenager."
I joke but really, that's what I want. I'll do the work that needs doing in the house because cleaners annoy me too. FaceTime and Zoom calls are lovely because they don't involve dressing up and making food, and sitting on uncomfortable chairs, making small talk, when I can't wait for them to go home. I like going out with people I care about, and who are kind to me, and don't care that I'm fat and wear comfortable clothes, or lecture me about my eating habits. Next week, one of these people, is coming to fetch us to their house for the day, and I'm excited about that, because that's exactly what they do. They don't make comments about how I talk too much, or how "you need to...." which is what most "friends" do. My kids know better because now I've learnt to tell them to mind their own goddamned business, I'm not their child, and if I want cereal and yoghurt for supper, that's what I'll eat. My friends know this, they've taken us places before when we could still take a day of sightseeing and eating out, and staying up late at night. Now we're looking forward to our visit with them next week, lovely people who don't expect us to be anything but ourselves. I wish everyone we know would get this like this particular couple do. I have a nephew and his wife who do this as well, and I really appreciate it when they ask to visit, and bring food with them - they know I'm beyond organising a lunch party. So we're going out to visit some people we've learnt to love for the really kind, and generous people they are.
Now getting back to my husband. I'm beginning to recognise the signs: he sat in the car for the four hours it took us to get to the venue, in front with my son, chatting with him, before we stopped for a long breakfast, and then afterwards to the park. No pressure, he just enjoyed the scenery, something you can't do when you're the driver. Then on arrival at the camp, he needed help, where before he was able to make choices, to take control of unpacking and settling in, he simply couldn't. He sat again, in the front seat looking out at the scenery, enjoying the wildlife, and the lunch break, but I had to make a lunch choice for him. He can't do it himself. He can choose if he's given two options, but faced with a menu, no. He just says he can't decide, and he really can't, too much information is confusing. He's also deaf, more than I am, so he becomes angry because he can't understand what the waiters are trying to tell him, I interpret and explain to the waiter that he's deaf. He needs to be taken to where the bathroom is, he got lost in the campsite, trying to find his way back.
That night, after dinner, again having to have it explained to him that the beer he wanted was a "draught" but the bottled kind, not the keg draught kind. He couldn't understand that. For breakfast the next morning again, I had to make choices for him.
The long drive home saw him collapsing into bed and a long night of sleep, but still exhausted the next day, and it's taken him all of this week to recover. He has a routine that helps him get through the day. With being deaf, he has the tv up loud, which is fine, I just close the door so it doesn't bother me. He won't sit in his recliner anymore, prefers his bed. He takes his meals there with him, doesn't read books anymore, just plays the same card game while he watches, Briitbox at night. But he can't remember how to find the channels on the Apple TV device, sometimes, then at others, now he has only our satellite service and Apple to watch, it's less confusing. He's forgotten that Netflix is on there as well, so I'm leaving him until he does remember.
This kind, previously sharp-witted, mathematically capable, easily taught man, is battling to remember how to call up the keypad on his iPad. He doesn't remember how to make a post on Facebook so he didn't, and then forgot to ask me, to thank people for all his birthday greetings. He needs regular checkups with various specialists but now just says "I'll go, remind me", and then forgets, and when I ask him for a date to go, he says he "has to play bowls". He tells me about how irritated people become with him at bowls and rather than give it up with some dignity intact, he gets angry, and shouts at people playing in his team. He corrects people thinking he's still the coach, and I sense that it won't be long before they, perhaps a little hurtfully have to tell him he can't play anymore. This is what he lives for. I've insisted he can't drive to venues he doesn't know and that he can only play in league games if he goes with someone else, but this means coming home in the dark, which is hard with his deteriorating eyesight.
I guess I need to talk about this because no one wants to talk to me about how hard it is to face, but also that I'm aware of the inevitability of old age, and the after effects of covid, shortening what time is left to him, and that I actually, probably, am going to have to live on without him.
My kids are great. They're kind people who one will see to it that he gets out and doesn't need to take himself to strange places, now I can't drive anymore, another who'll drive across the city to fetch my camera to recover my lost photos, another who brings technical help as it's needed, and the one who lives with us, who checks on his daily needs, that he eats, and will take him to strange shops he doesn't know but wants to visit when I'm not up to going out again. So we're fine with this, but it's reached the point where we need to divest ourselves of the things that we wanted but really don't need anymore, and that the kids don't want, and having to convince him that he should donate his formal clothes to a charity, that perhaps the stress of playing competitively isn't something he should have to deal with now. Previously he was one of a club of old people, he was the youngest, then one of "middle" age in his early 70s, but now he's one of the oldest members, and he's cantankerous, and annoying to people who are 30-something and seeking national recognition as bowlers and don't want him on their teams.
This is what I need to get off my chest, to talk about how we don't think about what will happen when our lives are running out, and how all the stuff we own is actually worthless even though we regularly replaced interior decor, or bought new dinner services, or new cars, or changed wardrobes for different seasons..They really all mean nothing when the world is becoming an unfamiliar place, where an old guy can't talk about "ladies' team" anymore and doesn't get that calling an 18 year old woman a "girl" is an insult, and that there are more than two genders just doesn't compute, so he says inappropriate words which offend the woke people, while he doesn't have a clue what "woke" means (I don't either I just don't care how people identify, it's none of my business). But he'll still make comments that are now highly offensive and then become confused when you try to explain the offensiveness of what he saiid. This is the truth of old age. When insurance companies tell you about insuring against living too long, you eventually reach a point where you realise, you have indeed "lived too long", and that you are no longer relevant, except to the person who used to go skinny-dipping with you, spent weekends drinking wine, and barely leaving the bedroom, and who is now seeing you at your most vulnerable, and you realise it's really almost over.
I completely understand that this isn't a topic most people want to discuss, for various reasons, and depression and suicide ideation, are two big reasons why we don't discuss death, we just let it happen, or try to prevent it if it seems like someone we dearly love is contemplating taking control of their own destiny. There's no denying that death is sad. Hell, I have pieces of my heart chipped off from the loss of people and animals who I truly loved, at some time in my life in the past, or recently. So I get the reluctance to discuss it.
However, this past weekend had made it obvious to me, that the hardest farewell still lies before me, and while I understand that I can't say I won't go first, the odds that I will, have become obvious to me, especially over the last week. This weekend we said "goodbye" to one of our favourite places in South Africa, realising that not only won't we go there again, but we're also not going to see the sea or walk on a beach again.
Last year in March, the WHO declared a world-wide pandemic that would probably kill millions, and it did, my favourite sister-in-law included in those numbers. She was vaccinated, and didn't know to take care, so she didn't and 15 months into the pandemic, having had one vaccination shot, she died of Covid-19. She was sick for weeks before, actually almost the 40 days we had to wait between shots, and then having had it, another 15 days added. When she first became ill, there was positivity within her immediate family, that she would recover. She rallied, seemed better, then got worse, and worse, and finally hospitalised, there was a wave of infections, and a shortage of ventilators meant that hers had to go a younger person who was more likely to survive, so she died.
We were prepared, had been for two weeks, so it didn't come as a shock, but it did, and now my husband is the oldest surviving member of his family. He turned 80 on Friday.
This is about my husband, Barry. At the beginning of June, after a year and a half, almost, of taking precautions, staying home, and then when he went back to playing bowls, keeping socially distant, Covid came to us two weeks after our first vaccination.
My son who lives with us , wasn't vaccinated, so he was terribly ill, but at 45 and healthy, he recovered with the help of medication, but Barry became really sick. I wasn't too bad, just a slight cough and weakness, that now necessitates me having to use a walking stick, because I've lost my sense of balance, and my eyesight and hearing are worsening. There's help for the eyes, but I hate wearing those glasses, they annoy me. There's help for my hearing, but that involves strangers poking and prodding and making me do tests, and that annoys me too. (I'm easily annoyed). All I really want to do is to sit on my bed which is big and comfortable, and play computer games. And why shouldn't I? Teenagers do it, and their parents complain. Any complaints are likely to be met with "fuck off, I've worked all my life, and now I'm being a teenager."
I joke but really, that's what I want. I'll do the work that needs doing in the house because cleaners annoy me too. FaceTime and Zoom calls are lovely because they don't involve dressing up and making food, and sitting on uncomfortable chairs, making small talk, when I can't wait for them to go home. I like going out with people I care about, and who are kind to me, and don't care that I'm fat and wear comfortable clothes, or lecture me about my eating habits. Next week, one of these people, is coming to fetch us to their house for the day, and I'm excited about that, because that's exactly what they do. They don't make comments about how I talk too much, or how "you need to...." which is what most "friends" do. My kids know better because now I've learnt to tell them to mind their own goddamned business, I'm not their child, and if I want cereal and yoghurt for supper, that's what I'll eat. My friends know this, they've taken us places before when we could still take a day of sightseeing and eating out, and staying up late at night. Now we're looking forward to our visit with them next week, lovely people who don't expect us to be anything but ourselves. I wish everyone we know would get this like this particular couple do. I have a nephew and his wife who do this as well, and I really appreciate it when they ask to visit, and bring food with them - they know I'm beyond organising a lunch party. So we're going out to visit some people we've learnt to love for the really kind, and generous people they are.
Now getting back to my husband. I'm beginning to recognise the signs: he sat in the car for the four hours it took us to get to the venue, in front with my son, chatting with him, before we stopped for a long breakfast, and then afterwards to the park. No pressure, he just enjoyed the scenery, something you can't do when you're the driver. Then on arrival at the camp, he needed help, where before he was able to make choices, to take control of unpacking and settling in, he simply couldn't. He sat again, in the front seat looking out at the scenery, enjoying the wildlife, and the lunch break, but I had to make a lunch choice for him. He can't do it himself. He can choose if he's given two options, but faced with a menu, no. He just says he can't decide, and he really can't, too much information is confusing. He's also deaf, more than I am, so he becomes angry because he can't understand what the waiters are trying to tell him, I interpret and explain to the waiter that he's deaf. He needs to be taken to where the bathroom is, he got lost in the campsite, trying to find his way back.
That night, after dinner, again having to have it explained to him that the beer he wanted was a "draught" but the bottled kind, not the keg draught kind. He couldn't understand that. For breakfast the next morning again, I had to make choices for him.
The long drive home saw him collapsing into bed and a long night of sleep, but still exhausted the next day, and it's taken him all of this week to recover. He has a routine that helps him get through the day. With being deaf, he has the tv up loud, which is fine, I just close the door so it doesn't bother me. He won't sit in his recliner anymore, prefers his bed. He takes his meals there with him, doesn't read books anymore, just plays the same card game while he watches, Briitbox at night. But he can't remember how to find the channels on the Apple TV device, sometimes, then at others, now he has only our satellite service and Apple to watch, it's less confusing. He's forgotten that Netflix is on there as well, so I'm leaving him until he does remember.
This kind, previously sharp-witted, mathematically capable, easily taught man, is battling to remember how to call up the keypad on his iPad. He doesn't remember how to make a post on Facebook so he didn't, and then forgot to ask me, to thank people for all his birthday greetings. He needs regular checkups with various specialists but now just says "I'll go, remind me", and then forgets, and when I ask him for a date to go, he says he "has to play bowls". He tells me about how irritated people become with him at bowls and rather than give it up with some dignity intact, he gets angry, and shouts at people playing in his team. He corrects people thinking he's still the coach, and I sense that it won't be long before they, perhaps a little hurtfully have to tell him he can't play anymore. This is what he lives for. I've insisted he can't drive to venues he doesn't know and that he can only play in league games if he goes with someone else, but this means coming home in the dark, which is hard with his deteriorating eyesight.
I guess I need to talk about this because no one wants to talk to me about how hard it is to face, but also that I'm aware of the inevitability of old age, and the after effects of covid, shortening what time is left to him, and that I actually, probably, am going to have to live on without him.
My kids are great. They're kind people who one will see to it that he gets out and doesn't need to take himself to strange places, now I can't drive anymore, another who'll drive across the city to fetch my camera to recover my lost photos, another who brings technical help as it's needed, and the one who lives with us, who checks on his daily needs, that he eats, and will take him to strange shops he doesn't know but wants to visit when I'm not up to going out again. So we're fine with this, but it's reached the point where we need to divest ourselves of the things that we wanted but really don't need anymore, and that the kids don't want, and having to convince him that he should donate his formal clothes to a charity, that perhaps the stress of playing competitively isn't something he should have to deal with now. Previously he was one of a club of old people, he was the youngest, then one of "middle" age in his early 70s, but now he's one of the oldest members, and he's cantankerous, and annoying to people who are 30-something and seeking national recognition as bowlers and don't want him on their teams.
This is what I need to get off my chest, to talk about how we don't think about what will happen when our lives are running out, and how all the stuff we own is actually worthless even though we regularly replaced interior decor, or bought new dinner services, or new cars, or changed wardrobes for different seasons..They really all mean nothing when the world is becoming an unfamiliar place, where an old guy can't talk about "ladies' team" anymore and doesn't get that calling an 18 year old woman a "girl" is an insult, and that there are more than two genders just doesn't compute, so he says inappropriate words which offend the woke people, while he doesn't have a clue what "woke" means (I don't either I just don't care how people identify, it's none of my business). But he'll still make comments that are now highly offensive and then become confused when you try to explain the offensiveness of what he saiid. This is the truth of old age. When insurance companies tell you about insuring against living too long, you eventually reach a point where you realise, you have indeed "lived too long", and that you are no longer relevant, except to the person who used to go skinny-dipping with you, spent weekends drinking wine, and barely leaving the bedroom, and who is now seeing you at your most vulnerable, and you realise it's really almost over.