Elderly P

I spent most of my father-daughter time growing up watching television with my dad, particularly, BBC shows on PBS--Doctor Who, Good Neighbors, Fawlty Towers, As Time Goes By--it gave me a vocabulary that did not always translate over to 1970s suburban California. One of the terms that stuck with me to this day was the reference to elderly people as, "old age pensioners" or "elderly P."  In my mind, anyone over say, 78, became an elderly P.

Over the years riding the subway around town, I would spy elderly P couples on the train and think to myself, is that what James and I will look like in our 80s?  Some were European tourists with Met metal admission tags (sadly, now stickers) on their wind breakers or opera loving upper west side couples clutching their programs from the matinee.  I would watch how they interacted with one another. At times, the wife seemed to be the partner in charge, keeping track of the subway map or brushing dandruff flakes off her mate's shoulder.  At other times, the husband would rouse his mate from slumber to disembark at the next stop.  I imagined that James and I would be the robust couple that had snacks packed in their backpacks and a long list of museum shows to see, operas and gallery openings to attend, film screenings and lectures--that we would be busy with our interests despite the exhaustion of climbing sets of stairs throughout the day.

James's illness has made me look at those couples now with extra tenderness. They have survived into their older age with their health and strength.

James has always loved the famous Yeat's poem about the endurance of love, When You Are Old.

When you are old and grey and full of sleep,
And nodding by the fire, take down this book,
And slowly read, and dream of the soft look
Your eyes had once, and their shadows deep;

How many loved your moments of glad grace,
And loved your beauty with love false or true,
But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you,
And loved the sorrows of your changing face;

And bending down beside the glowing bars,
Murmur, a little sadly, how Love fled
And paced upon the mountains overhead
And hid his face amid a crowd of stars.

James is preparing to come home to me and we are both nervous. He has the luxury of forgetting this anxiety because of his short term memory deficits.  I told him the story about the Bob Dylan loving priest that visited in the NICU again today, despite the fact that I shared it with him not that long ago.

Imogen and I took James out into blustery Central Park.  Robins were fluttering in and out of the undergrowth with their mating rituals.  The open grass was empty but for two red flags warning park-goers to keep off.  Imogen ran a lap around the wet grass, tree limbs leaning with the wind and water droplets falling on our shoulders.  We bundled James up in a fleece jacket but he still felt the chill.

Back safely in his bed, we shared a quiet afternoon as I massaged James's feet and hands.  He asked me a few times to remind him what day of the week it was and wondering how the following days would flow forward.

I have been scrambling now to organize the apartment for his homecoming. Imogen and I moved furniture around the apartment which allows our cat B to charge through the bedroom as if it were the open savanna.

I placed grips beneath the rugs to keep them from sliding and installed a lock on the freezer door, to insure that it does not pop open and defrost everything inside it!  I had to throw away the entire contents of the freezer last night because the door, which has a tendency to pop open unnoticed with the fridge door, had been left open and everything had defrosted while we were out of the house in the heat of the afternoon.

I am keeping busy with my tasks to prepare for the transition but the reality of it hit me, truly, yesterday.

I will be James's caregiver.  We will not know the level of the recovery of his cognitive capacity until about four more months from now. I will need help. I cannot leave James alone.

Friends have wanted to visit and the time has arrived--after June 6.  I will need to attend events for Imogen--her soccer games, elementary school graduation, end-of-the-year school events. For those friends with flexible schedules, I would love it if you would be able to visit with James during the times in which I am not able to be with him.

James is almost ready to be independent but he's still a bit wobbly on his feet.  The visitor need not care for him other than keep an eye out for his welfare.

I look forward to hearing from you, if you have time in the coming summer months from June through early August.  Imogen will leave for California at the end of June for around seven weeks so really, the month I will need the most assistance will be in June.

Peace out to you all on this memorial day holiday.