It is a given in the parent-child relationship that the nurturing and guidance flows from the older generation to the younger. But time changes that dynamic. And the once invincible parents you looked up to become frail with age, and you become their beacon. Molly wrote about this in her last Suburban Millennial column, and I was filled with both pride and emotion. Oh how quickly the tables can turn, and how swift the passage of time.
My father was a Korean War refugee who escaped border guards and journeyed across the Pacific to make a new life in America. He went to graduate school, earned a good, steady job, bought and sold and lived in successfully larger houses and landed the American dream. My mother has lived almost 50 years in an adopted country, where the nuances of custom and language still evade her. Nonetheless, she maintains her shining spirit; optimism has always been her lead.
But it’s harder these days, and increasingly, with every year, there is a new and different kind of challenge that’s fallen to me as their eldest and geographically closest child. The problems can be logistical — how to get my dad to his medical procedure when he wasn’t allowed to drive and my mom stopped driving years ago.
The problems can be procedural; for example, accompanying my parents to the local courthouse to guide them through a plea concerning a moving violations traffic ticket when they felt the police officer had been outside his bounds.
The weather has been problematic in recent years. Last winter, after the great blizzard of Jan. 23, my parents had trouble engaging their new snow blower, and it took several days before I could drive up to north Jersey and plow them out. There are issues that are compounded by pride and stubbornness, and I always have to remember my place as the Korean daughter and move forward gently, so I don’t offend my father’s sensibilities.
This is the man, after all, who was the hero of my childhood. The guy who carried me on his shoulders and fed me caramels at the zoo. The scholar who could explain the rigors of advanced calculus. The M.I.T.-educated engineer who drove me to every single piano and dance lesson as well as Girl Scouts, because my mom was never truly comfortable behind the wheel.
These next few years will be ones of transition, and we are girding up for the challenges that I imagine will be just around the corner. For example, for now, my dad drives just fine, and in fact, loves the freedom and mobility that his car gives him. But what will happen when that will no longer be the case, and their house in the woods becomes their prison instead of their castle? They don’t travel any more, and the task of managing their has fallen to me. It was too confusing to keep up with all the maintenance fees and reservation rules, especially when it all went online.
As for the subject of “online” — now there’s a sore subject. As much of a technology klutz as I am, I try to embrace new skills and learn as much as I can, even though the processes keep evolving more quickly than I can keep up. My parents have never embraced the technology boom, and have simply given up on what we might consider the simplest things: opening emailed photos, clicking on a new website, conducting banking online. Their philosophy is why change the way they’ve been doing something forever, but in some cases, the old way of doing things has disappeared, and they simply have been unable to adjust. They are out of their world, and there is great discomfort in that.
It is life’s way of evening things out — that just as your children grow their wings and fly out of the nest to assert their independence — your parents become unable to fly out of their own nest so you have to stop by and take care of them. I’m lucky to be able to do so. At my age, I have too many friends who have lost one or both parents. The patience that I had to learn to be a good parent to my children was well learned, as I now I have to call it in to be a good child to my parents. The circle of life is logical in the lessons that it teaches.
I stopped by my parents house once again to check in on the ongoing house project, one that has consumed too much time and a lot of agitation.
Suddenly, my mother who has always been so robust is looking frail, too frail. Molly had estimated her weight at about 95 pounds; in reality she is a whopping 97 pounds, and that’s down from her usual 103. Now I’m worried because what causes a mother to lose weight like that? Again, the tables have turned, and it is my time to fret about getting her to the doctor and making she is taking care of her health.
I’m lucky to have children who care about me and I’m blessed to have parents to care about and who give me love in return. It is the bonds of love that keep us together at both ends of life.
suburban mom,
