Waiting Room

In wheelchair he sits and reads the list

Of medications he takes;

Should Prednisone be listed because he only

Took it four days?

His wife, caregiver, or both sits beside

Him trying to pronounce each prescription.

She sits taut and ridged like the

Words she speaks;

Germanic or Swedish some

Language that’s hardly romantic.

Her son, definitely her son, sits beside her

Affirming roadblocks for each new drug.

A young woman sits there by the window holding

Her phone and talking;

She’s alone except for the voice on the phone

And the company of a cough.

She doesn’t seem to fit with the others though

She shares a sense of the same despair.

I sit and watch them all as they wait for the nurse

To call their name;

Wondering if this waiting is better because

It’s a first world waiting.

Bound to the others by common infirmity still

I bounce and dance out into the rain.

Slipping, Sputtering and Aging

Our mental gearing sputters and slips as we age. Things get muddled. A skinny old lady I know confuses the words genealogist and gynecologist. Granted they’re similar---one looks up your history and one looks up your...

A long life history gets condensed. “It’s from that great little store in the mall,” my 88-year-old Mother in law says.  “We used to pop in there all the time!”  She hands me the battery charger and has me read the product logo---Radio Shack. I inform her that Radio Shack has gone the way of the dinosaur.  Age old events merge with events from last week.

Time-lines shrink so there is only what was and what is---and they connect. A vacation taken thirty years ago is recounted like it was last week. Last week’s adventures have dropped off the time-line altogether. Whatever grey matter tethers time to memory dissipates.  The belts slip maybe or connections misfire.

RAM is disrupted. Roughly 40 per cent of people over the age of 65 experience some form of memory loss. Oddly enough professionals say this isn’t an issue unless you don’t think it’s an issue.  Being cognizant of loss is good. 

“Unfortunately, in most cases, there are no obvious signs a timing belt is near death; it will just break.” For cars you replace the belt before it blows.  We just fray. Experts say routine helps.  An investment in life helps. Both body and brain strengthening exercises.  Then the last seconds; power doesn’t come, engine seizes, body stops with a jar as hitting a wall. Cam, crankshaft collapse. “Furthermore, men are afraid of a high place and terrors on the road…For man goes to his eternal home while mourners go about in the street.”

The Cabinet Keeper

The stubble on his face was razor sharp.  Not his memory.  That was growing soft---not growing really but diminishing. He couldn’t remember what he didn’t remember. Wasn’t sure that what he recalled was ten years ago or ten minutes. Frustrating. He didn’t mean to lash out in anger. Irritation comes as he tries to tether to the old memories and connect with the new.  The rope keeps unraveling before he can tie it all together. Hair and memory both graying out.

 My sister and I have shared the same moments…and we have different memories.  I can access complete experiences if I see a picture. Blocks of my childhood are absent along with chunks through my twenties.  A snapshot or a story will open those files—sometimes. Raising my daughter; full soundtracks and photos filling my personal memory cloud. My brain has archived trillions of tidbits; rock and roll lyrics, Monty Python skits, facts about writers; quotes and quirks—all easily accessed.

Memories are stored in the brain in multiple file cabinets; back of brain, front of brain.  Current events we toss into the back brain cabinet (hippocampus). After a while we give it a manila folder. Every ten years the files are shuttled to front brain storage (frontal cortex). Simple.  Unless there’s a disruption. There’s always a disruption. Current memory must be reinforced; the little file cabinet guy must scribble onto that folder. The folder properly placed in context. To retrieve it the incoming query must be clearly understood; “Okay, brain, find me the actors in eighties movie files.” Over time the little file cabinet keeper gets tired and just throws those memories into a box.

It came time to move him to smaller quarters, the movers were oblivious, the children miffed and mystified. The ‘new’ boxes in den and kitchen were filled with Hammacher Schlemmer catalogs, Hollywood Bowl librettos, miscellaneous mail along with important letters from the IRS, postcards from friends abroad and medical bills. The boxes in the backrooms were neatly organized; photos of grandchildren and family, notes from mom, lists of knick-knacks, tools and finances to be distributed ‘when the time comes.’ Temporary amusements and current finances not held tightly; not filed rightly.  Kinships and clan, close connected friends and things done by hand---these the keeper stores in the strong room.

Conversations With My Mom: On Aging

I talked with my mom tonight about getting old. We also talked about the invincibility of youth; how when you are young you think nothing bad can befall you.

" (During the war) I used to like to stay outside and watch the Russian bombs in Riga. My parents felt differently. They would come and drag me into the cellar.

One time, we were on a train, going somewhere, to nowhere. The train had red crosses on the top of it. Filled with refugees---the wounded.

I was laying down in the forest with this girl. I didn't really know her that well. She was a well established (well versed, well known--that's the gist of it) pianist. The Americans bombed the train. The bullet went straight out her hand and through her wrist......Maybe some 0f the trains with red crosses on them were'nt really what they said they were....this one sure was.

Even that didn't affect me. It was sad.

When you're older you have a different perspective. More fears."