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In one of my former lives, I worked with adults who had Downs Syndrome. One of the things my new friends emphasized to me is that they knew something wasn’t right with them, but that they were still adults, after all. They said the person who came in before I did, treated them like little children and taught them simple children’s songs like “Jesus Loves Me.” I taught them simple, but adult hymns like “All Things Bright and Beautiful” that they appreciated much more. We also did real art projects instead of cut-and-paste or glue-and-glitter. As one of them shared, “We aren’t in kindergarten!”

When friends or family members grow older and become childlike, it’s hard to remember they are still adults with a history, that they are not in kindergarten. Now that I’ve reached that age, I want to be treated like a woman who has accomplished a great deal in life, someone who is highly educated and still has something to contribute. Somehow, when people see me using a walker to get around, they automatically think my disability applies to my mental abilities as well. I don’t want to be treated as some drooling old lady who simply has mobility issues.

This past spring, I visited my 99-year-old aunt in the retirement home where she lives. One of the women who sat at our breakfast table lit up when I asked what her career had been. She’d been a history professor – and I doubt if a single caregiver in that place had any clue, or ever talked to her about it.

Years ago, I regularly visited a parishioner who had been a social worker traveling the world and had written books on her topic. But in her late 90s, she was bedridden and helpless. When I asked about some of the artifacts she had in her living room, her eyes brightened significantly! Not one soul had ever bothered to ask about her artifacts.

Another parishioner had been a Navy officer, never married and had no children, but she did have very selfish nieces and nephews. The minute she went into the hospital, with every intention of going back “home” later, they sold her house and everything in it. I remember her raising her fist and telling me, “Don’t ever get old!” She felt that life had become totally out of her control.

After my visit with my aunt, I realized how much she still had all her mental faculties. She was simply having a difficult time getting around (like me). I came away depressed from being around all these other “nursing home” people. My aunt had a college degree and had studied eight years of Latin, and yet at almost 100 (February 2024) had nobody to have an intellectual conversation with in her facility. I think she appreciated my visit more than I realized. Six months after my visit, I hear that she is showing signs of dementia, and I’m almost certain it’s because she has very little mental stimulation in her current living space.

I’m such an advocate for the elderly!!! They/We are simply cast aside because of so many misperceptions. We do not want to be invisible!

<Stepping off my soap box now>

A hui hou!