Thank you to Leigh Anne for our October prompt: Transformation. You can read her reflection and find the links to others’ here.
Transformation
(words that come to mind)
aging parents
accompaniment
journey
witness
ravage
emotion
photo courtesy of pixaby
transformation
never quiescent
(like the chrysalis)
growth is glacial-slow
unseen grace revealed
–life’s rearview mirror
October 1, 2024
©draft, PJF
To accompany my aging parents as they lose cognitive and physical abilities is both a blessing and a curse. My siblings and I navigate a day-to-day journey full of emotional swings –from anticipatory grief to anger and frustration. In its most raw form, I am a 65-year old wanting my mom and dad to be who I need them to be. In its most selfish and critical form, I bemoan the lack of grace that I believed they would show at this point in their lives.
Why can’t you be more graceful in your aging? Why can’t you embrace this new season?
And why can’t I?
My parents have always been role models for me. They weathered awful parish priests, insisting on seeing the church in their community and not in the authority figure. They showed us more than once that you can uproot yourselves and build a new community in a new place. They modeled grandparenting –never once offering their opinions about how we raised our own children, just supporting us. I assumed they would model aging gracefully. How I longed for this! Instead, they seem to deny their own decline. They insist on driving. They refuse to use walkers or canes. They fight us on arranging for in-home care. It has left me mystified – my siblings and I insistent: We will be different!
And yet, I think about what they must be feeling – the fog; fear; their own grief as their lives ebb. My mom has told me, “This is hard.” She won’t elaborate. Her eyes brim with tears, stoic and intensely private all her life. How I wish she would welcome a comforting hug or encouragement to vent. And yes, I wish she would surrender to the inevitable decreasing autonomy. Instead, she fights this transformation to “old” – even though we already see it ravaging her.
The thing about seasons is, they come –no matter what the calendar says. You may not get the beautiful fall colors that are supposed to come with fall. But it will be fall, nonetheless.
Which brings me to thinking about my faith. As I age, I find myself more attuned to The Now – letting go of yesterday, of tomorrow. Being present. My prayer: Help me see holiness and grace in the ordinary, everyday nows.
Patricia Franz writes picture books and poetry. She believes children, dogs, and sourdough have a lot to teach us about life, joy, and wonder. She has raised two boys, four dogs, and holds a master’s degree in Theology with a focus on children’s spirituality. Patricia, her husband, her Bernese Mountain dog, Bonny, and her sourdough starter split their time between the Arizona desert and the Sierra Nevada mountains. 
Patricia, I feel your hopes. Here are some thoughts, written last autumn.
Joyce
Mom,
I hope you remember your
life that once glittered in its plainness
the full life you made on our country road
the fun cherished
I hope you remember your smiles, building family.
I hope you remember Dad’s
dinner music, your
Sunday night chicken
the loving life made in our busy home
the recipes followed
I hope you remember your pies, painting smiles.
I hope you remember our
barn filled with joy
horse rides through the woods
cats you adored
chaps you stitched
camping kitchen you filled
I hope you remember the clock chiming in.
I hope you remember your magic
the dogs you took in for life
birds carved for beauty
Iris grown for color
Aurora Borealis worn for dancing
sheets hung out for freshness
friends made for life
I hope you know the love we feel.
I hope you forever remember the life
you loved, the life you lived.
Playing Bridge
Hitting that hole-in-one
Hiding secrets
Sewing gifts
Sowing confidence
Painting birds
Planting hope
Writing notes
Raising cane
Caring
If you forget,
I’ll share a story
hold your hand,
sit by your side
Paint a picture,
Reminisce
Hope
I love you
treasure you forever
Beautiful. Poignant. True. I watch my sweet mother in law forget the voices of her children. I watch her forget that she has children. I send everything you write to Jody. Strength is in sharing humanity – joys and pain. PS You are not 65!
Patricia, the decline of those you love is a heartwrenchng daily issue. My Mom retired from her kindergarten teaching job to come and care for my son who was born disabled. She stayed in our household caring for her grandchildren and being happy until the aging process brought sadness. It is so difficult seeing your Mother decline. Your post is touching me and making me remember the decline. My children remember their Grandmother and so do the children of friends who called her Grandma Kay. You are right there is a transformation to “old”, a word that I do not like. Sometimes, it comes slow until the time that forces decisions. Be gentle with your feelings through the decline phase. Your prayer, “Help me see holiness and grace in the ordinary, everyday nows,” is a beautiful start. May the Lord bless you and your family during this transformation process.
Patricia, it is so hard to accept that we are getting old and can no longer do what we once were able to. It is hard to depend on others when all our lives we were the ones others depended on. Your ending prayer is one we all need to take to heart. Thoughts and prayers are with you during these changes.
Patricia, this right here: As I age, I find myself more attuned to The Now – letting go of yesterday, of tomorrow. Being present. My prayer: Help me see holiness and grace in the ordinary, everyday nows.
I need to remember this each day as well. Thank oyu for this.,
Beautifully, poignantly written, Patricia. My parents are gone and I didn’t witness their decline, but I watched my grandmother’s. There was a time my husband’s siblings whispered amongst themselves about taking their stepfather’s keys when he continued to drive long after he was really able. It’s a razor’s edge to walk, emotionally. They ARE the parents; in these cases, the remnants of the “greatest generation.” I can appreciate your raw honesty in needing them to still be so – we are ever the children, even when age out of our fifties and into our sixties (I feel my own age pulling at me more often, every day). Yes, the autumn comes. Inevitably. It comes with a curious slant of light that casts longer shadows. Yet it’s a beautiful light. The colors may not be vibrant…but the memories glow anew, rich and deep. They are threaded through and through with blessings we did not always see. It is hard to find appropriate words to convey the depth of sorrow and anxiety of caring for aging parents – but you have pulled us into the moments, into their tears and truth – it is hard. It is an ache reaching to the bones and piercing the heart. It is hard. Your prayer for help to see holiness and grace in the ordinary, everyday nows – I believe it will be granted as you pray it each day, throughout the day. God is in the business of turning the unholy into the holy. Know that your words impart much strength to all who read them – thank you. I pray grace of endurance to you.