When your parents get older

One day when I was very young, I asked my mother how old she was. She told me that she was 99 years old. I'm sure she thought she was being funny. It came as perhaps a bit of a shock a couple of days later when she ran into another mother who told her how cute I was. Ninety-nine years old! I can remember when I was just getting to the point where I'd be taller than my mother. I'd try and rest my elbow on her shoulder, even when the angle was uncomfortable. To get even she'd let it rest there a second and then try and tickle me. My father says that we always seemed to think of her as the Iron Lady. My father has always been a little less sturdy. He was born with Spina Bifida and had had surgery to correct it when he was younger. I think he's actually the one of the oldest living people with Spina Bifida. He's worn a back brace forever and has been using a cane for a number of years.

My parents have been the bed rock of my existance. They have been there to support me in all of my various and sundry endeavors. I can't remembering any sporting events, plays, or awards ceremonies that I was part of that they didn't attend. They've been together all that time which seeme unbelievable considering the number of people I know whose parents are on their second and third marriages. They've been consistent and loving. I only hope that I can be half as good of a parent to Oliver and company as they have been to me.

But now they are getting older. And they are getting to the point where they won't be able to care for themselves. My father doesn't walk without his cane. His balance isn't what it used to be. A couple of weeks ago he fell down and had to be helped up by my mother. My mother has been in terrible pain from something in her back. A couple of days ago she fell down and had to be helped to her feet by a stranger. She's going to have a surgery soon to correct her back problem. She is seriously considering getting a hotel room for the period while she is recovering so she won't have to go up and down the stairs. She's looking at questions like "How do I get back up the stairs after my surgery in the first place?" They've reserved a spot in a retirement home that will be built across the street from where we used to live. I'm glad that they made the decision on their own and I hope it all works out for them.

I just keep telling myself that as much as I don't like seeing them getting infirm that it beats the alternative.