I recently visited a friend I hadn’t seen for more decades than I care to admit. He lives with his aging father, and when I asked him how he spent his days, he said, “Taking care of Dad.”I don’t know where he gets his income from (not from social welfare benefits, I’m pretty sure), but it sounded like taking care of Dad and getting him to his medical appointments had been pretty much a full-time job for the last few months.
I watched his father shuffle from the car to the house in his walking frame and then somehow labour up eight or ten steps to the front door. He’d had a fall and broken his hip, I learned. At his age that meant an automatic hip replacement. I thought hip replacements were wonderful and people could be up on their pins the next day; I see that’s not always the case. A month on his back in hospital, and prolonged rehabilitation. He’d also had a kidney stone removed by an operation I shudder to think about. It sounded like a hard life.
Dad lowered himself into a chair, and gave me the benefit of his experience: “Don’t get old, Ed.”
Well, I have to leave that in the Lord’s hands.
If you are my age, or even younger, you may think old age is somewhere in the distant future. As Leon Trotsky put it (and he was my age at the time), “Old age is the most unexpected of all things that happen to a man”. Yet it’s probably in store for many of us. Are you ready for it?
My own Dad had spent many years enlarging the house. With the sons grown up and gone, the house was too big. My parents had devoted a lot of time and energy to lovely gardens, but the maintenance was becoming too much work. After 40 years, it was time to move on.
They decided to move to Maranatha Homes, which is a retirement village with 11 units next to our church. The idea of losing his workshop was disagreeable to Dad, so it was a consolation that a unit became available which had a shed. He set up his workbench and lathe in there, and other tools. Mum reckons he didn’t actually do much in there – he just went and sat by the bench. I don’t know what great plans he concocted there in his man cave, but I’m sure it was a satisfying thought that if he’d wanted to actually make something, he still could have; to have the possibility taken from him would have been a loss.
As things transpired, the move was very timely: before the year was out, Dad had gone to glory, and Mum was already settled in a supportive community.
Mum and Dad were both glad they made the move. It’s a friendly little Christian community, and most residents were (or became) members of our own congregation. They look out for each other and get on well without prying into each other’s lives. It’s obviously handy to church, so remaining a part of congregational life is facilitated, and it’s also easy for family to pop in when we’re already at church for some other purpose (for instance, my son would go there for dinner on catechism nights). My mother doesn’t drive, so it’s great that it’s close to a bus stop, supermarket, medical facilities, and other amenities. The residents don’t have to maintain the grounds or fixtures themselves.
Residents purchase a right to occupy the unit when they move in, and receive their capital investment back when they vacate – minus a percentage based on their length of occupancy. There’s a monthly service fee which takes care of rates, building insurance (not contents), and maintenance costs, among other things. This arrangement keeps the units affordable and ensures turnover when needed.
Several have expressed the desire to remain in Maranatha Homes until they die, which is a good indication of satisfaction! It’s not always realistic though: it’s not an aged care facility. By private arrangement, you can get help with cleaning, cooking, personal hygiene, transport, and so forth, but there are no on-site nurses or other staff. And once the need for these arrives, things can get difficult.
You see, when people move into Maranatha Homes, it’s typically their own decision, but if they’re incapacitated by an injury or beginning to show signs of dementia, a relocation may be forced upon them by unexpected circumstances or urged upon them by concerned family members.
My wife’s grandfather, at the age of about 92, reflected on a conversation he’d had with his (yet older) wife about how difficult it was to do up buttons these days: “Are we ‘getting’ old? No. We are there.” It’s a good thing to recognise the signs for yourself. Is dressing becoming difficult? Have I gone out and left my dinner to burn up on the stove again? Do I struggle to keep the place clean and healthy? If so, it may no longer be wise to live alone.
People who live independently and are still only “getting” old – and particularly if they have no spouse – would do well to have an “exit plan” that covers a few of the more common “what if” situations. Are you willing to move to a rest home? If so, which one? Is living with family members an option? Or do you intend to see out your days in your own place?
I heard of one person who acknowledged sometimes crawling about the house because it was too hard to get up. The children would have been horrified, but… one has the right to live this way. A fierce determination to stay in your own home may pose your children a dilemma: do they honour your wish for independence, or do they honour you by helping you maintain a more dignified appearance?
If there is no plan, the onus will be placed on your children to make some of these decisions in the event of an emergency or an unacknowledged slide into senility, and it will be hard for them to “take charge” of the people whom they have had to obey in the past: the roles will be reversed.
On the flip side, parents who unexpectedly land in a rest home sometimes feel that their children have forced them into it against their will, and perhaps for reasons they don’t understand or don’t agree with.
Of course, we young ones can initiate the conversation too, and should do so if our parents are not doing it.
I don’t know about other congregations, but I think our deacons have not been involved in decisions on how our elderly are cared for. Don’t get me wrong: if they see people in need, they are there to help, and if asked for advice, I’m sure they will give it. And the Scriptures do call for relatives to take care of the elderly rather than place a burden on the church (1 Tim 5:16). But if the members don’t initiate it themselves, perhaps brokering the awkward conversation between parents and children regarding possibilities for future care might be an area where the deacons can assist.
Our habits and expectations have changed over time. In the past, it was common for aging parents to live with one of their children. A number of factors in our church and culture had made that less common. We are more individualistic than our forebears; we marry later and have fewer children, so there are fewer candidates to choose hosts from – even without considering their capability and willingness. There is greater emphasis on personal autonomy, and we are more dispersed geographically.
Furthermore, many of those in their sunset years in our churches today have an independent, pioneering temperament. They went to an isolated country with perhaps little consideration of what would happen to their own parents as they aged, and might now balk at the idea of accepting help from their children. The second generation in New Zealand didn’t have role models for live-in grandparents. There is now state-supported aged care, and of course, rest homes were a rarity back in the 1950’s but are now a vast industry with a vested interest in making people think it’s undesirable for parents to be looked after by their children.
On the other hand, skyrocketing housing costs mean it now makes financial sense to consolidate into multi-generational households. We also have more immigrants from cultures where extended families are normal, and immigration laws which make it feasible for them to “import” their parents to New Zealand to be with them – either permanently, or regularly for prolonged periods.
Then there are moral factors. Should we neglect to care for those who have cared for us? Andre Holtslag is writing in this edition on the biblical angle and I don’t want to stray too much into his territory, but Philippians urges us to consider the needs of others before our own, and to think about what is “admirable, excellent and praiseworthy”. We may need to make some sacrifices for the honour of Christ’s name. The friend I mentioned at the start of this article isn’t a Christian, but I am impressed by the care he showed for his father; should Christians do less?
Those I have spoken with who have a grandparent in the home (or right next door) speak very favourably of the arrangement. Perhaps it is not as onerous as it might seem!
There can be complications, of course. Finance and logistics need to be considered: is there a suitable room? Do we need to make alterations to the house or move to a different one? And social issues: what will the “lines of authority” be? Do we trust each other enough for this arrangement? Can my parents adjust to my domestic arrangements (if they need to)? What if we need a break or a holiday?
There are circumstances that might make having an elderly person in the home untenable. If grandma has lost her memory and is prone to wandering on the street, or can’t make it to the toilet in time, or you’re no longer young yourself and don’t have the physical strength to help her up after a fall, it may be time to consider other options.
When all’s been said, caring for the elderly has its complications, but it remains our duty and privilege to look after our parents when they are old. And for those of us who are “getting” old, it is better to think ahead than leave others to make decisions on our behalf in a crisis. The time to begin the conversation is now.
Mr Ed Havelaar is a member of the Christchurch Reformed Church.
Photo by Centre for Ageing Better on Pexels
