my old people

My very first old person was Ann, an 80-year-old friend from church. I was in high school, and our family started going to her for chiropractic care, but after many visits I'd end up staying and we'd play Rummicub together and chat. She practiced out of her home, so half of her house was set up as a doctor's office, which meant we'd have to walk through a winding pathway to get through her crowded living room into the bright kitchen where the windows were lined with plants and produce. Ann was, perhaps, a hoarder, in that every inch of her home was filled with stuff. I found this way of living fascinating, and I loved to hear her stories, how she became the first woman naturalpathic chiropractor, and tour through her garden.

My first real job upon graduating college was as the activity director for Aurora Pond Retirement Community in Grand Rapids. I was 22, and they were...not. But we played games, exercised, and baked together, and I got my CDL so I could drive the bus to shopping and field trips. It's probably unique for a twenty-year-old to be hanging out with 80- and 90-year-olds, but I think we learned a lot from each other. I learned that old people can make me laugh, that they like to use odd terms (like "charge-plate" instead of credit card, or "davenport" instead of couch), can be super-set in their ways, are allowed to fart in public at will, and would tell their grandsons to send me flowers. Kiril, one very short Romanian man, would angrily say to me, "Why you so pudy (pretty)? Your mama pudy? Your daddy pudy? Well, that must be it then!" Looking back, he may have been in the beginning stages of dementia, but I could have been annoyingly pudy. Twilla, another resident, would walk the building a lot, but wouldn't want to participate in many activities. She would always say, "Oh honey, I raised my 5 kids. I'm done!" I never quite understood what one had to do with the other.

My favorite couple, Wes and Mildred, had been married 64 years when we met, and were both sharper mentally than I was. They had 6 kids, one of whom died from cancer in her 60's. Mildred would say she wished, if anything, that she'd had more children, because that's what you have when you grow old. We continued writing for years, and last I heard they celebrated 75 years together.

But my work wasn't always easy. One man, who had fought at Pearl Harbor, ended up committing suicide when I was there. I drove the bus to seven funerals one winter, and finally realized that if I was to survive this job, I'd have to change my perspective. I was not there to be best friends with my old people, I was there to make their senior years more enjoyable. Somehow, along the way, I was able to not have my heart break with each loss.

My mid-late thirties were spent again with my old people, this time at Freedom Village in Holland, as the resident programs coordinator (just a fancy term for activities). This time I didn't drive the bus, and spent a lot more time creating programs and entertainment opportunities for the residents. But we would do a lot of day trips and longer trips too, so while my daily interaction with the residents wasn't as much as before, I had plenty of opportunities to get to know many of them. At Freedom Village I learned that everyone has a story--many stories of great loss, great accomplishments, and great courage. I also learned that the more involved and connected a person is, the longer they live, that the most content people never stop learning and are open-minded, and that money can't buy an easy life. I also discovered that far too many seniors wait too long to give up driving, and, that for the most part our personalities, temperaments, and insecurities don't change as we age, they just get more pronounced. I know who I want to be like when I get older, but of course that means I'd have to be like that now.

And do you know one of the people I'd like to be like? My original old person:

my grandma Dykstra. She is a woman of great faith. She has lived through a lot--she watched her daughter die at 21, and when her husband became a quadriplegic from a car accident, she took care of him for over twenty-five years. But she is not bitter. A tad passive-aggressive, perhaps, but not bitter. She is funny. She is sarcastic (which is where my mom gets it from, and where I get it from). Her garage would smell like gasoline--in a good way--and her house was always a cool relief from the hot Iowa sun. (Isn't it funny how grandparents' homes are burned in our memories--the smells and sights and sounds? Like magical oasises' of life.) She would take us second-hand shopping, and out to A&W for lunch, and would give us Sprite in her plastic green cups with bendy straws. She snores like a train, and can talk to anyone.

My grandma is now 90, and has since moved to Michigan to be closer to my mom. She has pretty much lost her memory, and two weeks ago fell and broke her shoulder, so she's in a nursing home in Grand Rapids for the time being. I took my girls to go visit her last weekend, and when we walked in, she was sleeping so soundlessly that I watched to see if she had died. She had not, but Kate and Elia kept eyeing me the whole visit to see if I was going to start to cry. I did not. The great thing about my grandma is that she is still sweet even though she can't remember who she's talking to. When I told her we should call Uncle Tim, she said, "Oh, did you go to high school together?" I told her, "No, Grandma, Tim is your baby boy, only he's now 54. When your baby is 54, you know you're..." "Old!" She finished. Every time I see her I think it may be the last time, but that doesn't make me sad anymore, because I think she's been ready to go "home" for a while now.

My old people used to tell me that growing old is for the birds. I've also heard it said that we shouldn't regret growing older, as it's a privilege denied to many. I believe both are true. I believe we have so much to learn from our old people, and that we need to show grace, respect, and love to them all. Because one day, by the grace of God, we will be there too...unapologetically fartin' along with the best of them!