The other day I was in the grocery store, poring over the selection of canned fruits wondering which is better — no sugar added, 100 percent juice, or light syrup? Agh. Decisions! — when a noise from behind me made me turn my head. I saw a young mother pushing one of those shopping carts with a car on the front. A preschool-aged child was in the car and a baby strapped in a car seat was inside the cart. I gave the woman what I hope was a supportive smile as I thought how fortunate it was that I had managed to escape to the store this time unfettered by my children.
No sooner had this little exchange taken place than I turned to look to the other end of the aisle and there was an elderly gentleman walking toward me, pushing a woman who I presumed to be his equally elderly wife, in a wheelchair.
For a moment all deliberations of canned fruit left my brain as I thought about the fact that I was literally standing in between two distinct life stages, each with remarkable similarities, indisputable challenges, and moments of sweetness sprinkled in.
I have much more experience as the young mom with the kids grabbing items off the grocery store shelves than I do pushing an elderly spouse in a wheelchair, but one day… you never know.
During the past year, I have watched my own mother who is now caring for my grandmother and I am amazed by some of the similarities I see.
My grandmother is losing her memory and lives in an assisted living center. I always thought those kinds of facilities meant the staff would be doing most of the assisting, but it’s overwhelming how involved my mother seems to be. Sure, the staff takes care of cooking and cleaning for my grandma, and they provide activities and respond to medical emergencies, but my mother’s help is required on a daily basis to calm her mother’s nerves, to answer questions about where she is and how she came to be there, to sort through clothes and determine what no longer fits, and to regularly tuck her into bed. I’m not suggesting it should be otherwise. This is her mother, the woman who cared for her all her life. It just sounds remarkably similar to my days in the trenches as a mother of young children.
No wonder they call it the circle of life.
The only difference is my children, their intellect and their abilities are moving forward and my grandma is not.
In talking to a variety of people who have had the opportunity to care for their aging parents, I’ve heard phrases that speak of the beauty and peace that comes from repaying one’s parents for the selfless service they once offered to their child. I’ve also heard references to this being one of the most difficult stages of life — way more challenging than the teen years. I believe both sentiments, and I imagine there are a wealth of emotions ranging somewhere in between.
A little bit like how I feel about my little ones.
Given the joy I feel as I teach my children new things and watch them moving forward toward bright, fulfilling futures, I must admit, I am grateful to be in the stage of life that I am. Still, I admire all those offering care on the other end of life, and am fully aware it’s a stage that will one day greet each of us.
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