I am so sorry that we, as Americans, do not revere or respect age the way it seemingly is respected in so many other countries around the world. In many Eastern societies, age brings with it honor, love, and respect so much that very often the elders of the family not only live in the same household as the children but are treated as the focal point of authority for everyone in the household and given the utmost respect, honor, and care. Living in a multi-cultural city such as Houston, I have seen this with my own eyes. On the other hand, so many Americans would never consider bringing their parent(s) into their home and disrupting their style . . . their schedules and routine. . . their way of LIFE!
And so, assisted living housing and nursing homes become the prisons for the American elderly. I wish I could stop there, but, I can't. As if this isn't concerning enough, the number of residents in these "transition" structures who get seldom get visited by their children, grandchildren, and other relatives is deplorable. It's as it their children have to squeeze into their crowded schedules and life style "token" visits. The subscript to this picture could read, "I love you, but you're not an active part of my present routine . . . and, because you are my parent, I will stop by occasionally (and at the most convenient times for me) to see if you're doing okay. Because I lived in Houston and my mother, in Columbus, Ohio, I was not able to physically visit with her as much as I would have liked to; my sister who does live in Columbus did visit mom everyday! (Now you get a slightly better idea of why I dearly love my sister)
I remember the special times when I would be driving in my car in Houston and would call my mother to see how she was doing. There were the times when she, in her feeble voice, would say, "Lanny, I'm not doing very good today." Somewhere in the conversation I would always work my way around to, "Mom, let's sing!" which often was followed by, "But, I don't feel like it today" which would always be followed with, "That's okay, Mom. I'll sing for me and you and you just listen." I would hear a small voice answer "Okay! It never failed! Amazing Grace would start out as a "Lanny solo" but by the time I would get to "that saved a wretch like me" it turned into a "long-distance-phone" duet with my mother singing the alto part as if she were singing in front of several thousand people at Carnegie Hall in New York.
When I would visit, I would always make arrangments with the nursing home to allow all who would want to join us meet in the fellowship hall. I would stand at the piano and have the assistants place my mother in the chair of honor right next to the piano.
I would sing hymns and songs that I knew would brighten up my mother's day . . . and they always did! I would hardly get the first few words of a hymn out of my mouth and my dear mother, Precious, would start singing along with that strong alto voice . . . just as if she were singing with her guitar at a revival meeting like she did when she was a teenager. Some of the other folks would sing along, some would just smile; some were just happy to be out of their room, while others would pat along and I could see their eyes dancing even though their feet were like concrete blocks anchored to wheelchair platforms.
With each visit, in spite of all the efforts of the nursing home to do all of the things they were supposed to do, I could always sense loneliness and rejection throughout the facility. As I would walk the halls and peer into rooms with so many almost-empty shells occupying beds, my heart would break thinking that so many of these, as well as thousands of other elderly folks in facilities like my mother's, were both forgotten, neglected, or degraded to such little or practically no value. And so, when I ran across the following story, I was so vividly reminded that beyond the wrinkled faces, and the arthritic bodies that can hardly walk, in many cases, there is a REAL person who has feelings, likes, dislikes, hurts, joys, and the gammet of emotions that a child or a teenager would have, but housed in a deteriorating body whose mind won't cooperate or a mind whose body won't cooperate. To many a pet cat or dog is the closest they will get to feeling love.
Today, if you have a parent who is still with you, love them . . . show them you love them . . . take care of them like you really love them. It may not make sense for you to take care of them in your home, but, if they are in a nursing home, remind yourself daily that you will want to love the only parent you have in every way possible to the best of your ability. You will not want to join the thousands who put flowers on the grave of their loved-one with the regretful sentence . . . "I wish I had spent more time with my mom/dad while they were with me. Listen to the heartbeat of this "crabby old man" and see if it makes you "see" him . . . and them . . . differently.
Lanny Wolfe
Crabby Old Man!
When an old man died in the geriatric ward of a nursing home in North Platte , Nebraska , it was believed that he had nothing left of any value.
Later, when the nurses were going through his meager possessions, they found this poem. Its quality and content so impressed the staff that copies were made and distributed to every nurse in the hospital. One nurse took her copy to Missouri . The old man's sole bequest to posterity has since appeared in the Christmas edition of the News Magazine of the St. Louis Association for Mental Health. A slide presentation has also been made based on his simple, but eloquent, poem.
And this little old man, with nothing left to give to the world, is now the author of this 'anonymous' poem winging its way across the world via internet.
What do you see nurses? . . . . . What do you see?
What are you thinking when you're looking at me?
A crabby old man . . . . . not very wise,
Uncertain of habit . . . . . with faraway eyes?
Who dribbles his food . . . . . and makes no reply.
When you say in a loud voice . . . . . 'I do wish you'd try!'
Who seems not to notice . . . . . the things that you do.
And forever is losing . . . . . A sock or shoe?
Who, resisting or not . . . . . lets you do as you will,
With bathing and feeding . . . . . The long day to fill?
Is that what you're thinking? . . . . . Is that what you see?
Then open your eyes, nurse . . . . . you're not looking at me.
I'll tell you who I am. . . . . . As I sit here so still,
As I do at your bidding, . . . . . as I eat at your will.
I'm a small child of Ten .. . . . . with a father and mother,
Brothers and sisters . . . . . who love one another.
A young boy of Sixteen . . . . with wings on his feet.
Dreaming that soon now . . . . . a lover he'll meet.
A groom soon at Twenty . . . . . my heart gives a leap.
Remembering, the vows . . . . . that I promised to keep.
At Twenty-Five, now . . . . . I have young of my own.
Who need me to guide . . . . And a secure happy home.
A man of Thirty . . . . . My young now grown fast,
Bound to each other . . . . . With ties that should last.
At Forty, my young sons . . . . . have grown and are gone,
But my woman's beside me . . . . . to see I don't mourn.
At Fifty, once more, babies play 'round my knee,
Again, we know children . . . . . My loved one and me.
Dark days are upon me . . . . . my wife is now dead.
I look at the future . . . . . shudder with dread.
For my young are all rearing . . . . . young of their own.
And I think of the years . . . . . and the love that I've known.
I'm now an old man . . . . . and nature is cruel.
Tis jest to make old age . . . . . look like a fool.
The body, it crumbles .. . . . . grace and vigor, depart.
There is now a stone . . . . where I once had a heart.
But inside this old carcass . . . . . a young guy still dwells,
And now and again . . . . . my battered heart swells.
I remember the joys . . . . . I remember the pain.
And I'm loving and living . . . . . life over again.
I think of the years, all too few . . . . . gone too fast.
And accept the stark fact . . . . that nothing can last.
So open your eyes, people . . . . . open and see.
Not a crabby old man . . . Look closer . . . see ME!!
MP3 file: "Let Me Remember" Words and Music, Dan Dean, recorded on the project Marietta "I Love To Praise Him," Paradigm Music Productions, Inc. #41502 http://paradigmmusic.net/store/index.php?cPath=37_176
In case you need a light moment . . . "An Unusually Fancy Phone"
The Chief Rabbi of Israel and the Pope are in a meeting in Rome. The Rabbi notices an unusually fancy phone on a side table in the Pope's private chambers. "What is that phone for?" he asks the pontiff. "It's my direct line to the Lord." The Rabbi is skeptical, and the Pope notices. The Holy Father insists the Rabbi try it out, and, indeed, he is connected to the Lord. The Rabbi holds a lengthy discussion with Him.
After hanging up the Rabbi says, "Thank you very much. This is great! But listen, I want to pay for my phone charges." The Pope, of course, refuses, but the Rabbi is steadfast and finally, the pontiff gives in. He checks the counter on the phone and says, "All right! The charges were 100,000 Lira" ($56). The Chief Rabbi gladly hands over the payment.
A few months later, the Pope is in Jerusalem on an official visit. In the Chief Rabbi's chambers, he sees a phone identical to his and learns it also is a direct line to the Lord. The Pope remembers he has an urgent matter that requires divine consultation and asks if he can use the Rabbi's phone. The Rabbi gladly agrees, hands him the phone, and the `Pope chats away. After hanging up, the Pope offers to pay for the phone charges. Of course, the Chief Rabbi refuses to accept payment. After the Pope insists, the Rabbi relents and looks on the phone counter. 1 Shekel 50" ($0.42). The Pope looks surprised, "Why so cheap?"
The Rabbi smiles, "Local call."
