The Little Matter of Aging

Since I didn't take a camera with me on this trip, at least the one above contain family, though in a different state.  The other one is one Billy took on a trip to Hyannis Port.




 My family flew to Alabama this past weekend to see my father and his wife. It became clear that they could use help.

What do you do when parents still believe they can do it all and refuse to listen to your telling them that info.

What happens when you have a life in a different state which requires you getting on a plane to fly to them?

What happens when the SENIOR adult children have almost as many issues as the parents?

How do you go about finding an agency where you don't have to worry that the even older parents will not be abused, robbed or taken advantage of?

Oh yes, and let's not forget, how in the world are you going to get the parents to take the help they need even though you've offered to pay for it?


Now, though all of the above are real questions, this blog would end on a downer if I were not a writer and see a story in everything.  First off let me change the tone of this blog. Because while I do want to put the words out there for food for thoughts, since every person will one day ask the same question for which I don't have answers now. When I put this into fiction perhaps I can find answers for all of us.

We did get to visit relatives in my own generation and the generation behind me. That was fun.  And it was fun taking a stroll down memory lane by returning to landmarks we'd left about 53 years ago.  We do the same thing on every visit: Go to the street where my grandmother used to live, go to the street where we used to live. Go by the church and the school.

We catch up on gossip with the relatives in our own age bracket. We marvel how the state of Ala has not resorted to cutting down all the trees in order to build. And we take a deep breath and declare we can breathe much better.  We marvel at our history, our memories and on the process of aging. We discuss the relatives who have gone, We keep the talk of aches and pain from our conversations. We try to remember all the old friends we're told that ask about us.  Too much time has passed to remember them all. Its been too long since the last visit.  But in a way it will always remain a part of us. It used to be home.  And we used to be young.

Then we return to our home state and say in unison: THERE IS NO PLACE LIKE HOME.  


Be sure to check out Cici's blog at   ciciedward.com