Although I am a HUGE advocate for communication between individuals, I must make a confession to begin this blog. I HATE talking on the telephone. Although it was the quickest means of connecting with friends and family during my younger years, I never quite clicked with this mode of communication. Instead, I always prefer to talk with people in person (if possible). Or write letters. In fact, I still stay in touch with at least one old friend who resides in Colorado via "snail mail." We were hall-mates in graduate school twenty-seven years ago, and even though I haven't seen her in twenty-two years, I can honestly say that I greatly look forward to seeing her hand-writing arrive in my Post Office box!
Of course, technology has advanced to the point of allowing people a number of different ways to stay in touch. Rapid growth in cellular phone technology over the past several decades has certainly made talking on the phone much more portable, (perhaps even too much so, when you look at the statistics of traffic accidents caused by cell phone usage). For a long time, I vowed that I would never get such a device, (just like I would never get a VHS player, or a DVD player, or a CD player, or an I-Pod), but I eventually gave in, and now find myself absolutely lost without it! In fact, I don't even know the phone numbers of my closest friends and family members because they are all safely stored inside the tiny device. Further advances in technology have now made even talking on the cell phone obsolete. You can simply "text message" whoever you need to get in touch with. No one talks to each other anymore!!! This is painfully evident when you visit any local mall or restaurant or public facility, where you will most likely see a sea of heads staring down at their sundry cell phones busily texting away with their fingers... usually the thumbs! And I must confess again! I am now one of those text addicts! (Although a recent bout of trigger thumb with a subsequent surgery may permanently change that.)
Luckily, I have made peace with my computer, and have thus discovered the world of blogging. It's a wonderful form of communication for me, and I immensely enjoy this story-telling method of sharing information with others, as the few of you who are reading my entries (THANK YOU!!!) have figured out by now.
So... imagine my surprise during my first shift with "V" when I saw her chatting with her grandson, the very proud father of a newborn baby, on her I-Pad. Not only were they chatting, but they were video chatting. I don't even know how to do that! There she sat, in her reclining chair (no "Prisoner's Sweethearts" on her feet that day!), verbally and visually interacting with her far-away family members! I was astonished. And even a bit jealous. I don't have an I-Pad, and even if I did, I doubt I'd be able to figure out how to use it!
It was even more amazing to watch the expressions on "V"s face as she saw and heard her newest great-grandson! Even as the precious newborn began to signal his discontent by letting out louder, then even louder, expressions of either being hungry, tired, or uncomfortable, the look of sheer delight and joy on "V"s face as she experienced this new life unfolding in front of her was a true wonder to behold. The baby may have been miserable, but "V" was anything but! I suspected that she never envisioned that in her lifetime, she would be able to experience such a magnificent means of staying in touch.
After "V"s I-Pad session ended, I was compelled to ask, "Did you ever envision that in your lifetime you would be able to experience such a magnificent means of staying in touch?"
"I didn't envision anything beyond what I was experiencing at the time," she replied with an answer that reflects the true meaning of "living in the moment." She added, "I just went along with all the changes as they happened."
"There sure have been a lot of changes in your lifetime!" I chirped in, and "V" answered with a simple smile and knowing nod. I quickly realized the irony of what I had said. I've only been around for half a century, and have already witnessed remarkable changes in technology, particularly in the area of communication. Multiply that by two, and you have the myriad of technological innovations that "V" has experienced being five years shy of a complete century.
During a subsequent shift with "V", I witnessed an eye-opening series of traditional phone conversations that brought to light the reality of what her daily life is like at ninety-five. How she managed to maintain her generally sunny outlook during her efforts to stay in touch with old friends and family members was beyond me, and I felt great admiration at the way she handled a rather sad series of phone calls. This is how they unfolded.
The first call was from the daughter of an old friend of "V"s. The two women had belonged to a social club together, and had done a great deal of traveling, along with other members of the local community. "We had so much fun together," "V" told me later on, tears brimming in her eyes. "We went to Las Vegas, and Canada, and all sorts of places!" she added with a wistful tone in her voice.
I soon learned via the phone call that one of "V"s social club pals had been hospitalized for the past month and a half due to a series of illnesses. "V" had the phone conversation on speaker phone, which is easier for her to hear due to some deafness, and I listened quietly as the daughter of "V"s friend described her mother's recent and rather sudden descent from living independently in her own apartment to sharing a room in a skilled nursing facility.
"Mom" doesn't usually answer the phone," she explained to "V". "During the week she is usually at some kind of therapy, and on the weekends, her roommate usually answers." "V" appeared genuinely distressed at hearing what her friend had been through in the last several months, and asked, "Is there a good time that I can get in touch with her?" The daughter suggested that later that afternoon might work, as it was a Saturday and not many activities were scheduled at the facility. "V" also promised the daughter that she would inform another good friend about the situation.
"What's the phone number there?" "V" inquired of the daughter, as she tried to juggle the phone, address book, pen, and eyeglasses (which she did with amazing agility and grace!). I signaled to her from across the room that I, too, had paper and pen ready so that we could accurately write down the number. It took several repetitions on the daughter's part, but "V" finally confirmed the number. "I'll give her a call later today," "V" promised the daughter, who expressed genuine gratitude for "V"s concern and ongoing friendship. "It was so nice to talk with you," the daughter said with great sincerity, promising to get in touch again soon.
After the call ended, I could see "V"s demeanor visibly change. It was as though the ten minute phone conversation had aged her by at least thirty years. and her whole body seemed to whither with the news of her friend's condition. She looked weary, not in the way of a person who is lacking sleep, but rather the kind of weary that comes from hearing disturbing news one too many times. I was sure that this wasn't the first time that "V" had experienced a phone conversation like the one she just had. Far from it. And it wouldn't be the last.
"I have to let "L" know," "V" said in a somber but steady voice, breaking the silence that hung in the living room following the initial phone conversation.
"Who is "L?" I asked, trying to gain some information to hopefully use in later, happier, discussions.
With a heavy sigh, "V" answered that she was another close friend from the social club. "V" told me that although "L" lived in Florida now, they still stayed in touch regularly by phone.
"She's not doing too well, either," "V" disclosed, and I sensed a hesitancy in her voice about having to make the next phone call. I wondered if these type of calls had become somewhat of a familiar, and troublesome, routine for "V".
"How old is she?" I asked, trying again to gain some information about the friend. "V" replied that her friend was probably around ninety or so, but she wasn't' really sure. "I used to be so good at remembering all the dates," she told me. "Birthdays, Anniversaries, Communions..." her voice trailed. I suddenly realized that these were the dates she had devotedly bought cards for over the years, when she used to be able to drive herself to town independently.
"V" picked up her address book, which was sitting on the end table next to her chair, along with all of the other necessities she needed over the course of a day. She looked up her friend's number, and dialed it. Again, she put the call on speaker phone so that she, and I, could hear it more clearly. I suspected that perhaps "V" wanted me to hear the dialog so that we could talk about it later.
During the second call, "V"s demeanor grew even more tired looking, and I could almost feel both a sense of reluctance, but also obligation, as she initiated the conversation.
"How are you doing?" "V" asked her long-time friend with a barely audible sigh that sounded as though she were bracing herself for an all-too-familiar response.
"Well... Not so good," "V"s friend started, as she began to list her various ailments and frustrations.
After patiently listening for at least ten minutes, "V" gently interjected the reason for the call, and disclosed the news about their old friend's condition.
"Oh my Gawd! That's awwwful!" "L" responded, and for some reason, her words sounded especially loud and drawn out.
After a brief discussion about their friend, "L" dropped a bombshell. "Did you hear that "D" passed away? The service is tomorrow."
I watched "V"s face carefully as she received this unsettling news. Her expression twitched slightly, but remained mostly unchanged as she expressed her sympathy for this latest loss.
"I'm sorry to hear that," she said, adding that she doubted she'd be able to attend the service on such short notice. "I'll keep her family in my prayers."
The conversation ended with "V" assuring "L" that she would get in touch with their Florida friend, then call "L" back later in the day to let her know how the friend was doing. It was obvious that "V" played a very key role in making sure that all of her old friends continued to stay in touch, and I wondered if this was something she was comfortable with.
After "V" hung up from this second phone call, I waited a while before initiating any further conversation.. I sensed that "V" needed a few moments to process all of the news, and I wanted to allow her enough time and space to deal with her emotions. I suddenly realized that my phone conversations, as few as they were, contained far less depressing subject matter. Sure, there was an occasional call from a friend or family member about someone who was not doing well. And there were also notifications about an untimely, or sometimes anticipated, demise. But in no way were these communications part of a daily routine, as they were with "V". "How horrible," I thought, "to be one of the sole survivors of an aging group of close friends."
I decided to steer the follow-up conversation in a completely different direction, hoping it would break the heavy pall that hung uncomfortably in the air.
"So tell me about some of the trips your social club went on?" I asked "V", hoping to shift her thoughts to a happier time.
My approach worked! "V" began to come alive again as she described some of the travels that she and her club pals took. The social club included men and women, and often times "V" and her husband would go together, along with the husbands of her other friends. They traveled by bus, train, and air, and went to many exciting places throughout the country. Their experiences sounded like a lot of fun, and "V" grew quite animated as she described some of their antics. It brought to mind a bus trip I took three months ago to Atlantic City. I was one of the youngest people on the bus (an extremely healing experience for someone who just received her AARP card!), and I could tell that there were a bunch of "regulars," mostly older folks who took the three and a half hour bus trip often. The camaraderie between them was delightful, and I imagined "V"s social club travels in much the same way... full of laughter and friendship. I described my trip to her, and she nodded affirmatively. "That's exactly what it was like!" she declared with a smile.
Putting the phone calls behind us for now, "V" and I decided to have lunch in her sunny dining room and watch for the appearance of the hummingbird. We saw lots of other local birds flit by across the early Autumn sky, but no hummingbird.
"Maybe he's already headed south," I suggested, and "V" nodded slowly.
"Many of my old friends and family moved south for the Winter," she said, "But my husband and I always found it beautiful up here in the snow," she added. "The boys used to sleigh right down that hill," she pointed northward toward the end of her block. There had been a big old house there, and the owners were more than happy to let all the local children enjoy their snow-packed slopes.
"Snowbirds," I chirped in. "That's what they call the people who head south for the winter."
"That's right," replied "V", still smiling.
"V" has a warm, loving face with eyes that can light up with joy when she is truly happy. To me, she appears beautiful and ageless. I thought to myself that one of my goals in working with her would be to keep those eyes sparkling whenever possible. With that in mind, I set up our afternoon activity. DVDs of old comedy and variety specials from the 1950s! "V" had specifically asked that I bring my laptop so that we could watch these shows, and I gladly obliged. For hours, "V" and I were happily transported to an earlier, seemingly more blissful time when humor ruled the airwaves and laughter truly was the best medicine. We enjoyed episodes of shows starring Johnny Carson and Jack Benny (featuring commercials for the brand new "Jello" dessert product), topped off by a Timex- sponsored variety special featuring Bing Crosby, Dean Martin, Frank Sinatra and Mitzi Gaynor. "V"s eyes sparkled brightly as she watched them sing and glide effortlessly across my seventeen inch computer screen. Boy was I glad I brought that with me, as "V" doesn't have a DVD player.
Around 3:30pm, "V"s expression grew solemn again, and she politely asked me to turn off the computer. "I want to try calling my friend now." As she carefully dialed the number to the skilled nursing facility in Florida, I echoed the numbers back to her so that "V" knew she had written them down correctly
She did. The call went through, and within minutes, our happy-go-lucky journey into the 1950's was transformed into the stark reality of sharing sad news about old friends on the telephone.
On speakerphone again, I could hear "V"s friend detail her recent health struggles, which included a heart attack while she was already being treated for a different debilitating condition.
Calmly and gently, "V" empathized with each difficulty that her friend shared, interjecting the dialog several times with, "I know. I know. It must be very hard." And she did know. "V" had walked this road many times with other dear friends, many of whom had now passed, and it was as though she went into auto-pilot mode when replying.
After getting in touch with her ailing friend, "V" fulfilled her promise to call "L" back to update her on the situation. "Oh my Gawd! That's awwwful!" "L" responded, and began to talk about her own health issues again. "I know. I know. It must be very hard," "V" repeated.
After that phone call, "V" and I resumed our walk down memory lane with some Rat Pack members, but the blissfulness of our earlier stroll was gone, replaced by much heavier steps. I could tell that "V"s mind was elsewhere, and that she was having trouble concentrating on the DVD.
"We could watch this again another time?" I suggested. "There are four DVDs, and I can always bring my laptop. It's no trouble at all."
"V" nodded affirmatively, and said that she would just like to read for a while. This is something she does voraciously, and it can be a challenge for her daytime caregiver to keep up with obtaining large-print books from the small local library. Most of the books were of a murder mystery or crime-drama subject matter, and "V" said that the stories were easy for her to follow. I suspected that they were also a somewhat, but not completely, adequate distraction from being one of the sole survivors of an entire generation of family and friends.
Dinner time came, and it was rather short and simple, with "V" asking for leftover pasta and meatballs from the night before.
"Are you sure that's all you want?" I asked, eager to try ands. whip up anything that could possibly cheer "V" up.
"No," she said sofly. "This is fine."
After dinner, with "V" comfortably seated in her living room chair for the evening, the phone rang again. This call was from "V"s one surviving brother, "B". The two siblings, separated by at least a three hour car ride geographically, spoke at least once a week, and I had already observed some of their conversations during previous shifts.
At the age of ninety, "B" was "V"s baby brother. Growing up, she had been one of six children, with one sister and four brothers. From the way "V" had described her childhood, it sounded as though all of the siblings had been very close, and maintained that connection throughout their lifetimes. There were moves, of course, with many of the family members landing in nearby New Jersey and others relocating to sunny Florida and other warmer climates when they got older. "B" was one of the Jersey group. According to "V", there had once been quite a few relatives within a relatively close range of "B" and his wife, but that was no longer the case. "B" and his wife were now the only members of the family still residing in that area, with most of the older generation having passed away and much of the younger generation having moved away.
"It's not like it used to be," I heard "B" tell his big sister on the speaker phone. He had used the same words in their conversation last week. "It's just us down here now, all by ourselves," "B"s voice was melancholy, clearly longing for the good old days when the family was all together.
"I know. I know. It's hard," "V" said to her baby brother consolingly. "But what can you do?"
"Yeh," "B" replied. "What can you do?"
I had heard this exact conversation before, and sensed that it was a familiar routine between "V" and "B". And although the dialog was typically the same, there seemed to be a sense of comfort in its repetition and consistency.
"B" went on for a while about his wife's various health issues, as well as about how difficult it is to get good help. "We had a housecleaner for a little while," "B" told his sister. "Twenty bucks an hour we paid her, which is pretty good money! And for two full hours" "B" exclaimed, a hint of anger in his voice. "And she would always rush through the work and leave early!" He added, "It's hard, "V"... Very hard."
"V" continued to console her brother. "You live too long, and you see too much."
"You're exactly right!" "B" whole-heartedly agreed. "You're exactly right!"
"I'm lucky, "V" added. I've got very good people to help me here. She went on to describe her wonderful weekday caregiver, as well as the nice woman who stayed overnights during the week. "And now I have Lynette here on the weekends to keep me company," she added, smiling over at me. For the first time, I felt as though "V" was coming to value my presence in her life. I know I was certainly coming to value her presence in my life, more and more each week, and looked forward to many more weekends together.
"V" finished up her conversation with "B" just in time for her two favorite Saturday night television shows, two British programs on PBS, each half an hour in length, and interestingly, both featuring characters who were dealing with issues of aging, among some other more laughable problems (all of which would be resolved within thirty minutes, of course). It seemed that a common theme in both programs was staying in touch with good friends and family members, and I wondered if that was what resonated with "V" when she watched both shows. One show, in particular, featured a lead female character who often spoke with unseen relatives by telephone. Having the relatives remain unseen seemed to be a clever plot twist, and it certainly kept my interest, not to mention "V"s. It was very nice to see "V" relax and enjoy herself after a tiring day of not so good news.
As I helped her get ready for bed that night, I commented to "V" that it must be very difficult to continually hear about old friends getting ill and passing away, as well as to be one of the last surviving members of what was once a large group of friends.
She sighed a little, then said, "You get used to it." Then she added, "I was always the one who helped everyone stay in touch."
And based on the phone conversations I had heard that day, "V" still maintained that role.
"Is it hard to be one of the last survivors of your generation?" I asked as respectfully and earnestly as I could.
"Of course," "V" acknowledged in a soft voice. "But I also get to see my new great-grandson thanks to that whatchamacallit next to my chair." I knew she was referring to the I-Pad. And I was very grateful to have watched her interact with the next generation of her family on the newest technological gadget designed to help people stay in touch (among so many other things).
"V" smiled and wished me a good night, and I started to leave her bedroom so that she could read one of her large-print books for a while.
"You know..." I began. "You can read books on your whatchamacallit, too!"
"Nah!" she said. "I prefer the old-fashioned way."
"Me too," I concurred.
After that, I went upstairs to my bedroom away from home and made sure to plug my I-Phone into its charger so that I could stay in touch with my friends and family if needed during my shift. And as I got ready for bed, I wondered, "What technological advances will I witness if I happened to live another forty-five years?
The thought was too overwhelming for me, so I picked up my large-print book and read until I fell asleep.
During the second call, "V"s demeanor grew even more tired looking, and I could almost feel both a sense of reluctance, but also obligation, as she initiated the conversation.
"How are you doing?" "V" asked her long-time friend with a barely audible sigh that sounded as though she were bracing herself for an all-too-familiar response.
"Well... Not so good," "V"s friend started, as she began to list her various ailments and frustrations.
After patiently listening for at least ten minutes, "V" gently interjected the reason for the call, and disclosed the news about their old friend's condition.
"Oh my Gawd! That's awwwful!" "L" responded, and for some reason, her words sounded especially loud and drawn out.
After a brief discussion about their friend, "L" dropped a bombshell. "Did you hear that "D" passed away? The service is tomorrow."
I watched "V"s face carefully as she received this unsettling news. Her expression twitched slightly, but remained mostly unchanged as she expressed her sympathy for this latest loss.
"I'm sorry to hear that," she said, adding that she doubted she'd be able to attend the service on such short notice. "I'll keep her family in my prayers."
The conversation ended with "V" assuring "L" that she would get in touch with their Florida friend, then call "L" back later in the day to let her know how the friend was doing. It was obvious that "V" played a very key role in making sure that all of her old friends continued to stay in touch, and I wondered if this was something she was comfortable with.
After "V" hung up from this second phone call, I waited a while before initiating any further conversation.. I sensed that "V" needed a few moments to process all of the news, and I wanted to allow her enough time and space to deal with her emotions. I suddenly realized that my phone conversations, as few as they were, contained far less depressing subject matter. Sure, there was an occasional call from a friend or family member about someone who was not doing well. And there were also notifications about an untimely, or sometimes anticipated, demise. But in no way were these communications part of a daily routine, as they were with "V". "How horrible," I thought, "to be one of the sole survivors of an aging group of close friends."
I decided to steer the follow-up conversation in a completely different direction, hoping it would break the heavy pall that hung uncomfortably in the air.
"So tell me about some of the trips your social club went on?" I asked "V", hoping to shift her thoughts to a happier time.
My approach worked! "V" began to come alive again as she described some of the travels that she and her club pals took. The social club included men and women, and often times "V" and her husband would go together, along with the husbands of her other friends. They traveled by bus, train, and air, and went to many exciting places throughout the country. Their experiences sounded like a lot of fun, and "V" grew quite animated as she described some of their antics. It brought to mind a bus trip I took three months ago to Atlantic City. I was one of the youngest people on the bus (an extremely healing experience for someone who just received her AARP card!), and I could tell that there were a bunch of "regulars," mostly older folks who took the three and a half hour bus trip often. The camaraderie between them was delightful, and I imagined "V"s social club travels in much the same way... full of laughter and friendship. I described my trip to her, and she nodded affirmatively. "That's exactly what it was like!" she declared with a smile.
Putting the phone calls behind us for now, "V" and I decided to have lunch in her sunny dining room and watch for the appearance of the hummingbird. We saw lots of other local birds flit by across the early Autumn sky, but no hummingbird.
"Maybe he's already headed south," I suggested, and "V" nodded slowly.
"Many of my old friends and family moved south for the Winter," she said, "But my husband and I always found it beautiful up here in the snow," she added. "The boys used to sleigh right down that hill," she pointed northward toward the end of her block. There had been a big old house there, and the owners were more than happy to let all the local children enjoy their snow-packed slopes.
"Snowbirds," I chirped in. "That's what they call the people who head south for the winter."
"That's right," replied "V", still smiling.
"V" has a warm, loving face with eyes that can light up with joy when she is truly happy. To me, she appears beautiful and ageless. I thought to myself that one of my goals in working with her would be to keep those eyes sparkling whenever possible. With that in mind, I set up our afternoon activity. DVDs of old comedy and variety specials from the 1950s! "V" had specifically asked that I bring my laptop so that we could watch these shows, and I gladly obliged. For hours, "V" and I were happily transported to an earlier, seemingly more blissful time when humor ruled the airwaves and laughter truly was the best medicine. We enjoyed episodes of shows starring Johnny Carson and Jack Benny (featuring commercials for the brand new "Jello" dessert product), topped off by a Timex- sponsored variety special featuring Bing Crosby, Dean Martin, Frank Sinatra and Mitzi Gaynor. "V"s eyes sparkled brightly as she watched them sing and glide effortlessly across my seventeen inch computer screen. Boy was I glad I brought that with me, as "V" doesn't have a DVD player.
Around 3:30pm, "V"s expression grew solemn again, and she politely asked me to turn off the computer. "I want to try calling my friend now." As she carefully dialed the number to the skilled nursing facility in Florida, I echoed the numbers back to her so that "V" knew she had written them down correctly
She did. The call went through, and within minutes, our happy-go-lucky journey into the 1950's was transformed into the stark reality of sharing sad news about old friends on the telephone.
On speakerphone again, I could hear "V"s friend detail her recent health struggles, which included a heart attack while she was already being treated for a different debilitating condition.
Calmly and gently, "V" empathized with each difficulty that her friend shared, interjecting the dialog several times with, "I know. I know. It must be very hard." And she did know. "V" had walked this road many times with other dear friends, many of whom had now passed, and it was as though she went into auto-pilot mode when replying.
After getting in touch with her ailing friend, "V" fulfilled her promise to call "L" back to update her on the situation. "Oh my Gawd! That's awwwful!" "L" responded, and began to talk about her own health issues again. "I know. I know. It must be very hard," "V" repeated.
After that phone call, "V" and I resumed our walk down memory lane with some Rat Pack members, but the blissfulness of our earlier stroll was gone, replaced by much heavier steps. I could tell that "V"s mind was elsewhere, and that she was having trouble concentrating on the DVD.
"We could watch this again another time?" I suggested. "There are four DVDs, and I can always bring my laptop. It's no trouble at all."
"V" nodded affirmatively, and said that she would just like to read for a while. This is something she does voraciously, and it can be a challenge for her daytime caregiver to keep up with obtaining large-print books from the small local library. Most of the books were of a murder mystery or crime-drama subject matter, and "V" said that the stories were easy for her to follow. I suspected that they were also a somewhat, but not completely, adequate distraction from being one of the sole survivors of an entire generation of family and friends.
Dinner time came, and it was rather short and simple, with "V" asking for leftover pasta and meatballs from the night before.
"Are you sure that's all you want?" I asked, eager to try ands. whip up anything that could possibly cheer "V" up.
"No," she said sofly. "This is fine."
After dinner, with "V" comfortably seated in her living room chair for the evening, the phone rang again. This call was from "V"s one surviving brother, "B". The two siblings, separated by at least a three hour car ride geographically, spoke at least once a week, and I had already observed some of their conversations during previous shifts.
At the age of ninety, "B" was "V"s baby brother. Growing up, she had been one of six children, with one sister and four brothers. From the way "V" had described her childhood, it sounded as though all of the siblings had been very close, and maintained that connection throughout their lifetimes. There were moves, of course, with many of the family members landing in nearby New Jersey and others relocating to sunny Florida and other warmer climates when they got older. "B" was one of the Jersey group. According to "V", there had once been quite a few relatives within a relatively close range of "B" and his wife, but that was no longer the case. "B" and his wife were now the only members of the family still residing in that area, with most of the older generation having passed away and much of the younger generation having moved away.
"It's not like it used to be," I heard "B" tell his big sister on the speaker phone. He had used the same words in their conversation last week. "It's just us down here now, all by ourselves," "B"s voice was melancholy, clearly longing for the good old days when the family was all together.
"I know. I know. It's hard," "V" said to her baby brother consolingly. "But what can you do?"
"Yeh," "B" replied. "What can you do?"
I had heard this exact conversation before, and sensed that it was a familiar routine between "V" and "B". And although the dialog was typically the same, there seemed to be a sense of comfort in its repetition and consistency.
"B" went on for a while about his wife's various health issues, as well as about how difficult it is to get good help. "We had a housecleaner for a little while," "B" told his sister. "Twenty bucks an hour we paid her, which is pretty good money! And for two full hours" "B" exclaimed, a hint of anger in his voice. "And she would always rush through the work and leave early!" He added, "It's hard, "V"... Very hard."
"V" continued to console her brother. "You live too long, and you see too much."
"You're exactly right!" "B" whole-heartedly agreed. "You're exactly right!"
"I'm lucky, "V" added. I've got very good people to help me here. She went on to describe her wonderful weekday caregiver, as well as the nice woman who stayed overnights during the week. "And now I have Lynette here on the weekends to keep me company," she added, smiling over at me. For the first time, I felt as though "V" was coming to value my presence in her life. I know I was certainly coming to value her presence in my life, more and more each week, and looked forward to many more weekends together.
"V" finished up her conversation with "B" just in time for her two favorite Saturday night television shows, two British programs on PBS, each half an hour in length, and interestingly, both featuring characters who were dealing with issues of aging, among some other more laughable problems (all of which would be resolved within thirty minutes, of course). It seemed that a common theme in both programs was staying in touch with good friends and family members, and I wondered if that was what resonated with "V" when she watched both shows. One show, in particular, featured a lead female character who often spoke with unseen relatives by telephone. Having the relatives remain unseen seemed to be a clever plot twist, and it certainly kept my interest, not to mention "V"s. It was very nice to see "V" relax and enjoy herself after a tiring day of not so good news.
As I helped her get ready for bed that night, I commented to "V" that it must be very difficult to continually hear about old friends getting ill and passing away, as well as to be one of the last surviving members of what was once a large group of friends.
She sighed a little, then said, "You get used to it." Then she added, "I was always the one who helped everyone stay in touch."
And based on the phone conversations I had heard that day, "V" still maintained that role.
"Is it hard to be one of the last survivors of your generation?" I asked as respectfully and earnestly as I could.
"Of course," "V" acknowledged in a soft voice. "But I also get to see my new great-grandson thanks to that whatchamacallit next to my chair." I knew she was referring to the I-Pad. And I was very grateful to have watched her interact with the next generation of her family on the newest technological gadget designed to help people stay in touch (among so many other things).
"V" smiled and wished me a good night, and I started to leave her bedroom so that she could read one of her large-print books for a while.
"You know..." I began. "You can read books on your whatchamacallit, too!"
"Nah!" she said. "I prefer the old-fashioned way."
"Me too," I concurred.
After that, I went upstairs to my bedroom away from home and made sure to plug my I-Phone into its charger so that I could stay in touch with my friends and family if needed during my shift. And as I got ready for bed, I wondered, "What technological advances will I witness if I happened to live another forty-five years?
The thought was too overwhelming for me, so I picked up my large-print book and read until I fell asleep.
No comments:
Post a Comment