Old age
After Rose and I got back from BrockVegas yesterday, we stopped in Ile-Perrot to drop off the car. We ate at an Italian restaurant with delicious food that I was tasting 14 hours later. For some reason, it didn't go down all the way, so after having some water, I was able to successfully transfer some of it from my stomach to a plastic bag. (I didn't feel like driving the porcelain bus. That's only appealing if you are roaring drunk.) I generally have a rule, in two parts: a) If you are out and you puke, it's time to go home, and b) if you are at home and you puke, stay there. So what am I doing here at work? Firstly, I have been sick recently and I didn't want it to look as though I were playing hooky from the one day this week that I will be at work, even though I could just come in tomorrow. Secondly, and mainly, it was in support of Rose, who has to work the rest of this week. As I am writing this, though, I am regretting my decision. Even though I drank de-fizzed Sprite to settle my stomach and push yesterday's food down, I can't eat, my belly feels funny, I'm hungry and I think that my temperature is going up.
So I might as well weigh in on our trip to Brockapulco. When I got there I saw that my parents were noticeably smaller than usual. My father is about 5'9 1/2, where before he was 5'11". 6 feet when I was young. He sitting in his chair with a blanket covering his legs. He fell asleep watching the game, and awoke with a start when I approached. Not only did he seem shorter, but he was just small in general. It was as though I were looking at him from eight feet in the air.
I went to the other end of the house to say hello to my mom. She was lying on her side in bed watching TV. She, too, was smaller in all dimensions. In fact, I saw just how small the next day. She's in fairly good health for a 70-year-old, but since the last time I saw her (October), I think she's lost about 20 pounds. She says that her appetite disappeared.
My father has two very bad knees. He won't be able to live there in a few years if he has to go to a wheelchair. There are stairs everywhere. He's on a waiting list for knee surgery, but it seems to be taking a really, REALLY long time. His knees can't really support his bulk. If he didn't have that cane, he wouldn't move at all. He does things they way he's always done them: Friday night he does laundry, which involves bringing the clothes in a hamper downstairs. He still shovels the driveway. But to see him move around like that is painful. He refuses help. It takes a huge effort (and almost three minutes) for him to get up and down the stairs. I hate watching him do that. But he won't ask me for help.
Mom is usually lying down watching TV, or out at her bunka class. Despite being a fairly sociable person, she is a very lonely woman. Her kids don't call enough just to talk to her. Her husband disappears for hours at a time. Her siblings are a bunch of damn ingrates and her local friends are quite a bit less than bright. She goes to Toronto to see her niece once in a while. I didn't get to see her this weekend, much, though. The time I did spend with her was much appreciated. I spent too much time with my nephews, brother and sister, although I enjoyed every second. With the boys, I played video games, with my siblings we ate, drank and watched movies. (By the way, March of the Penguins is not nearly as good as La Marche de l'Empereur. If anyone has information on why they changed the format and music completely for the English audiences, I'd be interested in knowing. If it's because Americans aren't ready for the points of view that the original has, then that's really sad.)
In some cultures, it's the duty of the youngest child to give up their lives to take care of their ailing parents, and in this case, that would be me. Could I do that? It could be years before they die. I know that sounds cruel and callous, but could I give up 10 years like that? I'm not getting any younger. I can't imagine how I would make a living in Brockville. And the life would get very monotonous and boring very quickly. But when they do die, I will be CRUSHED. I won't be the same person. Something will disappear from me, never to be replaced. I'll randomly start fighting back tears of guilt. I have some memories of them that I can't even talk about because they are that precious. All my mom ever wanted in life was for her family to prosper and to be loved. All my dad ever wanted was to live comfortably and enjoy the things he enjoys. And sometimes I feel that it's my responsibility to give this to them in their later years.
Let's hope that they have long and comfortable lives.