The beauty of a life lived

Throughout our lives, we are taught to fight age, to do whatever we can to rage against the years. I’ve always thought that there is something beautiful about a life lived; it is our story, our own evolution.

Although there was a time when my reflection felt like my enemy, these days I look in the mirror and smile at the passage of time. Yes, I look different, but why does different have to be bad? I’m evolving, growing, ever becoming. My face is changing; my youthful freckles are fading and being replaced by more and more fine lines. My skin continues to loosen; my hair is thinning and has a completely different texture than it used to. My stomach shrinks and expands and shrinks and expands as the years go by (I’ve learned so many lessons about myself through that).

Society tells us that we don’t look as “good” when we’re older, but it seems I didn’t appreciate how I looked when I was younger, either, so I comfort myself with the possibility that it’ll be the same as now (someday I will look at pictures of me now and marvel at how cute I was).

Another harmful thing we learn about aging is that life gets easier. I promise you, that is not true. If anything, it gets harder over time. But that teaches grit and perseverance. I have known hundreds of seniors in my life and work, and they are the strongest, most resilient people I know. That doesn’t happen in a month, or a year, or a decade.

To age is to get stronger – no, not physically, but we become stronger inside, we become ourselves. A well-lived life will see you bottoming out, over and over (and over), only to rise again to see another day. The trick, I think, is to make life worth it.

I believe aging is a gift, and our faces and bodies are just wrapping paper. Inside, in our souls, is a treasure that is steadily increasing in value. (Will I still feel this way in 40 or 50 years? I’ll have to let you know. 😊)

Mrs. E

During our fire drill/evacuation at work yesterday, I finally had the opportunity to spend some quality time with Mrs. E. She calls me the ghost, because she heard so much about me before she came but all but vanished once she arrived (one of the greatest challenges of my job).

At our retirement residence, I am the one you speak with if you are considering retirement living for yourself or a loved one. My role is to be a resource as you begin your search, show you around our residence and introduce you to the lifestyle, and ultimately guide you through the move in process. While one of the challenges of my job is pulling away once that role is fulfilled, it is beyond worth it to me, because I get to meet and help the most amazing people.

Mrs. E is an amazing people. Her niece and great-niece came to me in a near panic many months ago. Their beloved Auntie and Uncle lived nearly five hours away and they recently found out that Uncle has terminal cancer. He was declining quickly and would be leaving behind his wife, a fiercely independent lady who is 82 years old, and blind. Uncle had been Auntie’s primary caregiver for nearly her whole life and he was about to die. They didn’t know what to do, and they didn’t know how much time they had to figure it all out.

Mrs. E and her husband were married for about six decades; they didn’t have children of their own but doted on their sibling’s kids on both sides of the family. They worked together as antiques dealers in a small Ontario town; retired in their late 70s and their home was stuffed to the rafters with amazing antiques they’d discovered together. Eventually we learned that Uncle knew he was dying for a while but kept it a secret from everyone. He wanted to protect his beautiful wife, but finally had to speak up because a plan needed to be put in place for his wife, caregiver to the end.

Now, every time I write the word “caregiver” I wonder how much disdain that would cause Mrs. E. As I said, she is a fiercely independent lady, strong and healthy in spite of her years, but also capable and wise because of her years. She does not need a “caregiver.” In the end even she had to admit, however, she couldn’t live alone.

Retirement living was the perfect solution – a place Mrs. E could be independent but not isolated, close to her family but where she could have her own space and do her own thing, with help close at hand if she needed it. I proposed a suite that was laid out in a long, narrow pattern that I hoped would assist Mrs. E in feeling her way around her new home. This suite also had the benefit of a kitchenette so she could make herself snacks, and a patio so she could sit outside when the weather was just right. The crowning glory of this location was that it was directly across from the communal laundry room, she could continue to do her own laundry!

I quickly developed a deep respect and admiration for Mrs. E; I cared about her long before I met her. I was fascinated by the story of her life – born with vision that started to fail at a young age and gradually declined throughout her formative years, who found love and companionship with a good man, eventually becoming a business woman with a profound love for her work. Now, at this late stage of her life, she just found out that she was going to be all alone in the world within weeks. Can you imagine the range of emotions that must have put her through? Anger, sadness, fear; complete and utter heartbreak. It still makes my chest feel heavy to think about all these months later.

Do you know what lightens my chest, though? The conversation we had yesterday. Mrs. E telling me that she is okay. The house was finally sold and it is time to sign the papers soon. They had four estate sales to sell off her antiques. She is used to her surroundings now and has developed a new routine. She likes the people here; it is good to get to know new people again, and mealtimes were always interesting as they discussed their stories and day to day lives. Mrs. E told me she appreciates the assistance she’s gotten over the past several months but she is doing nearly everything independently again now, and while she will always mourn the loss of her dear husband, she is still alive and intent on living every day of her life.

Happy birthday, Grandma

January 2nd is always special to me; my dad’s mother was born on this day in 1896 and, although she’s been gone for nearly 26 years, she is still a part of my world every day.

Grandma was 75 when I was born and through her I grew up knowing that age is simply a number; that grey hair, wrinkles and hearing aids do not change who a person is inside. That understanding helped mould me into the person I am today and probably put me on the path to a career I absolutely love and cherish. I will always be thankful for the time I had her in my life.

When I was 17, Grandma came to visit for my sister’s wedding and I asked her if she would return for my wedding someday. She laughed and told me, no, she expected she’d be “pushing up daisies” by then. (In retrospect, it’s probably a good thing she didn’t wait around. Lol)

The other day my wonderful boyfriend brought me a colourful bouquet of my favourite flower… daisies. I think Grandma pushed them up just for me.

Not so wonderful granddaughter

I love my grandmother. She is a strong woman who has been through a lot in her nearly-90 years. She takes it all in stride without complaint or excuse. She is no saint but, in this day and age, she’s about as close as one can get. But I have a confession to make (and it horrifies me to mention this publicly) – I didn’t call her during Christmas. For the very first time in my 44 years, I didn’t speak with my mother’s mother to wish her a happy season and tell her that I love her.

Yes, I was busy. Yes, I sent a gift. Yes, she had other relatives around her, but there is no valid excuse. I felt guilty about it from the get-go but I kept putting it off, putting it off. Yesterday I learned that my siblings also didn’t contact her and my heart broke in two.

I called her this morning and she was delighted. No attitude, no words of reproach, no judgement, she was just happy to hear from me. Which made me feel better, but kinda made me feel worse.

I’m telling you this for one reason: I get it. I’m no different than you, I get lost in my life and assume that the elderly person I love will be fine without me. But I work with seniors and see it every single day… the loneliness, the feeling of insignificance. I should know better.

This a large part of why I believe in the retirement lifestyle so strongly. Yes, it’s important to keep in touch with your grandmother, but it is also comforting to know that when you can’t, when life pulls you in all directions and best intentions get pushed aside, you can trust that she always has someone to talk to, to smile and ask about her day. There is someone to make sure she eats healthy and often; there is someone to make sure she isn’t hurting or taken advantage of; there is someone to pick her up when she falls. It’s not as good as a call from her grandchildren but it’s the next best thing.

Now, go call your grandmother. Tell her I said hi.

Heavens to Murgatroyd!

{This was emailed to me by an old friend… definitely worth sharing!}

Heavens to Murgatroyd! Lost Words from our childhood: Words gone as fast as the buggy whip! – by  Richard Lederer

About a month ago, I illuminated some old expressions that have become obsolete because of  the inexorable march of technology.  These phrases included “Don’t touch that dial,” “Carbon copy,” “You sound like a broken record” and  “Hung out to dry.”

Back in the olden days we had a lot of moxie.  We’d put on our best bib and tucker to straighten up and fly right –  Heavens to Betsy! Gee whillikers!  Jumping Jehoshaphat! Holy moley!  We were in like Flynn and living the life of Riley and even a regular guy couldn’t accuse us of being a knucklehead, a nincompoop or a pill. Not for all the tea in China!

Back in the olden days, life used to be swell but when’s the last time anything was swell?  Swell has gone the way of beehives, pageboys and the D.A, of spats, knickers, fedoras, poodle skirts, saddle shoes and pedal pushers.  Oh, my aching back.  Kilroy was here but he isn’t anymore.

We wake up from what surely has been just a short nap and before we can say, Well I’ll be a monkey’s uncle, this is a fine kettle of  fish! we discover that the words we grew up with, the words that seemed omnipresent as oxygen, have vanished with scarcely a notice from our tongues and our pens and our keyboards.

Poof, go the words of our youth, the words we’ve left behind.  We blink and they’re gone.  Where have all those phrases gone? Long gone:  Pshaw! The milkman did it! Hey, it’s your nickel. Don’t forget to pull the chain, knee high to a grasshopper.  Well, Fiddlesticks! Going like sixty.  I’ll see you in the funny papers.  Don’t take any wooden nickels. Heavens to Murgatroyd!

It turns out there are more of these lost words and expressions than Carter has liver  pills.  This can be disturbing stuff!  We of a certain age have been blessed to live in changeful times.  For a child each new word is like a shiny toy, a toy that has no age.  We at the other end of the chronological arc have the advantage of remembering there are words that once did not exist and there were words that once strutted their hour upon the earthly stage and now are heard no more, except in our collective memory. 

It’s one of the greatest advantages of aging.

See ya later, alligator!

Fraud (or, at the very least, someone you don’t want or need to know ever)

Have you ever received an email that looked something like this?

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We have all heard stories about people who have lost thousands and thousands of dollars due to email fraud; emails such as this one are usually the first step. It appears to be from someone who genuinely wants to contact you but it is most likely sent to countless people by an automated program. They wait for someone to respond to this initial pitch and they start the real push.

My very worldly former boss and friend, Joe, used to say the spelling errors and bad grammar were intentional because they want their targets to think the writer is illiterate or not very smart. They want to appear weak so you will try to help or try to take advantage of them, either way you will be conveniently distracted when they turn the tables and wipe out your bank account.

If you receive an email similar to this, please don’t respond. Even if you reply to tell them to go away, you will let them know they have reached an active account and they’ll try every technique they can think of to weasel you out of your hard earned money.

For more information on email fraud and other scams, click here. It is important to learn what to look for and details of what you can do if you find yourself involved in this type of situation.

Retirement living benefits the whole family

When you move toward this type of retirement lifestyle, you are entering a community. A home full of people who care about you and want the best for you. The staff are facilitators: we introduce new residents around and provide interesting activities over which they can bond with new friends. Employees of the community learn a few preferences of every resident and take the time to make them feel important and cared for. And when their time with us is at an end, we hold their hand until their loved ones arrive, and then we hold the hands of the loved ones after they are gone.

One of the things I say most often – to new residents, old residents, and their families alike – is that this is what we do. Aging is hard, it’s difficult to know where to turn and virtually impossible to be aware of all of your options, but we can help. Count on your retirement community to show you the way, This is what we do.

No gifts, please

In the retirement industry, more specifically the community in which I work, we have a very important rule about not accepting gifts from the residents. Being the type of person who regularly goes (what is considered) above and beyond, when I am done helping the men often take out their wallets and the women try to give me gifts.

It reminds me of my grandmother and the dollar bill that was always tucked in her palm when we would say goodbye after a visit. When I was a kid, my child’s mind instantly started calculating exactly how much candy could be procured with such riches and I accepted the gift with great enthusiasm. What I found really funny/interesting is that the tradition continued well into adulthood.

At the ripe old age of 22, working three jobs with a bank account and credit card of my own, Grandma would still try to slip me a fiver. I would tell her I didn’t need money, I would try to refuse but she never let me away without that $5 in my pocket. Then one day I looked her in the eye and finally understood that giving to me made her feel good, and I promised myself that I would never again try to deny her that pleasure. In fact, I would accept the donation graciously and often call or visit again to let her know what I had used that money for. And that made us both feel good.

With that lesson in mind, it truly does bother me when I cannot accept even the smallest token of appreciation from our residents. However, I work in an industry with vulnerable people, where the balance of “power” is uneven. The residents depend on the staff to take care of their needs; they are at a disadvantage because the staff have an ability to control situations that the residents cannot. Working so close day after day, it is inevitable that we form bonds but it is important that these relationships remain therapeutic and at arms-length.

What it comes down to, I think, is where do you draw the line. Say a resident attendant was to accept a gift, would that resident not subconsciously expect some form of special treatment? And when the resident received special treatment, would they not assume it was offered because of the gift? Say the housekeeper was in a resident’s suite and admired a small figurine on their shelf, which the resident in turn offered as a gift of gratitude for her services, who would they turn to when a pair of diamond earrings are misplaced? Say the resident suffers from dementia and gives away something that was important to a family member, say that family member presses charges or goes to the media or simply tells their friends that this happened, what kind of reputation would the residence have then?

As I explain when the situation arises, because it did yesterday when a lady I printed a travel itinerary for offered me a souvenir from her travels, I do these favours because I want to help, not because I want a reward. I’m already paid for being there and, when you get down to the nitty-gritty, I am there because I am paid, as is everyone else. In fact, in a roundabout way, the resident is the one paying me so I’m already rewarded for the things I do.

Most important to me personally is that I have to practice what I preach. I cannot accept a keychain one minute and then reprimand someone for accepting a scarf or a mug; I cannot receive a gift from one resident after telling another resident that it is improper to give the staff gifts. As a manager, I am aware that some residents slip small tips to their favourite staff members from time to time, but my zero-tolerance stance aids in minimizing these offerings.

Don’t get me wrong, I really wanted that super-cute keychain and I understand giving delights the giver as much as the receiver, but the rule was developed to protect us both and we must respect that.

P.S. If you want to do something nice for an employee who went above and beyond for you, drop a note in the comments box or write a letter for their file. Also, gifts that are inclusive to all staff are a great idea, too… it’s always nice to get a bonus from the boss!

This is me

You know how people always say “be careful what you wish for… you might get it”?

Well, many years ago I decided to do just that – to be careful what I wished for.

And to see if I could get it.

I wished I could be happy, deep down in my bones okay with who I was, where I had come from and where I was going, instead of just going with the flow as I always had.

I wished for a career that would be challenging and fulfilling, instead of a job that more than paid the bills but made me dread the dawn of each new day.

I wished to be closer to my family, to genuinely connect and have a solid relationship with my parents and siblings, instead of merely going through the motions.

I wished for good mental health, instead of allowing the fear of too much or too little self control consume my life decisions.

And most of all I wished to love and be loved, as my true self for the very first time.

I wished.

And I worked.

I hurt, I tried, I doubted, I dreamed.

I lost and found my way over and over.

More than a decade has passed.

Each and every one of my wishes came true.

Now I’m working on some new wishes, and I know those wishes will come true too.

Because I will adjust, adapt and persevere, knowing that being open to compromise makes me open to life.

And life is good.