As a few of you know, a family health concern came up last week and I had a little over 24 hours’ notice before I dashed off to the Bay Area with my mother, to visit my aunt. We drove back yesterday; with six stops along the highway, it took all day.
This was all due to silly, sweet heroics on my mom’s part—she may have fewer health concerns than does my aunt, but she is also several years older. She is no longer in any condition to drive 350 miles in a single day, much less twice in eight days’ time. Hence, this mad dash up and down a big state by two ladies: one about a half-century old, and the other closing on three quarters of a century.
I couldn’t let her do this alone, and alerted Dan and Bruce (who may be angry, but don’t appear to have revoked my posting privileges . . . yet).
And I groaned, for many reasons. One of these was that I’m very invested in this website, and I knew there would be no internet connection at my aunt’s place, and I would therefore be largely offline for about a week. Another is that my biggest allergies are to dust and mold. Dust is a big feature in many households run by the elderly. Mold is the single largest component in Bay Area air.
Yet I went.
The good news? The doctors appear to have figured out why my aunt was passing out, and being discovered—bruised and sometimes bloody—by my cousins on their respective ways home from work.
The bad news? We are all getting older. More difficult. Sometimes cantankerous. Capable of lashing out at those who try to help us.
For some, there is an ability to look very closely at everything around us. Recognize imperfections. Rant and rage over them.
There remain, when one is being a good niece, certain defenses against harsh criticism: after all, one meant well and ought to get partial credit. This line of reasoning is less available when the guilty party is one’s daughter. It is nearly impossible to deploy when the miscreant is oneself.
Strive for perfection, my dears. Please do. But at the end of the day, remember to rinse the East Bay dust off in a cool shower. Sit on the balcony, look at the moon—and remember what is important in life: People, always people.
Not things.
Transcend the details; look forward.
There will be a Harvest Moonrise at 2:27 a.m. Pacific this Monday morning. That is, it will effectively occur on the evening of September 11th. I’ll be up to watch it; I’ll even smile from time to time, bitterly and warmly, as my rather useless tears stream down my face in the 85-degree heat.
And then I’ll be up again, and posting, by 10:00 on the 12th, because that is what I do.
So you do what you do, as well. And as best you can.
Because we all have choice—and still, no real options.
“Only connect.”
- Excited
- Angry
- Not as Angry
- Bored
- Indifferent
- Sad
Best of wishes to you and yours, young lady.
Thank you, Sir.
Angry? Not at all … that’s life. Glad you’re back? You betchya. Hope all is well.
Are you telling us that you have an actual life that does not involve the internet?
I am shocked, I tell you. Shocked!
It’s good to hear that they have (hopefully) gotten your Aunt’s problem figured out.
Thanks, guys. There will be a bit more of this sort of thing, with my mother moving six blocks away from me this autumn.
One hopes, however, that it will all be a bit more low-key in future . . .
After the dust settles, get a good family law attorney, and tie up all the loose ends, while everyone is thinking clearly. Not loads of fun, confronting mortality, but it’s much less fun, or impossible, later on. Nobody guarantees another tuesday.
Well, my mom’s estate is pretty much in order. I’ll ask about my aunt’s.