The Unexpected Gift
When my mother was younger, she had a wide social circle. As a child, I recall her playing Mah Jong with a group of women at least twice weekly. The game may have been important, but social interaction seemed to be its most important attribute.
My mother did not have hobbies; she didn’t like cooking, knitting, or gardening. She enjoyed going places and being with people; relationships and friendships were important.
As she got older, these relationships began to diminish. Her friends got older and passed away. After my father died and I moved her from her lifelong home in Brooklyn, she began to lose track of her friends. She was not skilled at finding new friends or adapting to a new place. I tried to get her involved in the local Jewish Center in Charleston, but after an initial visit, I took her on, and she never went back or expressed any interest in going. My mother talked about her life in NY, and no matter what we did, she harkened back to a life that was gone. Nostalgia has a place for all of us, but for my mom, it became the thing she would never have back. In retrospect, she started to give up on life the day she moved from Brooklyn.
In college, I studied the “Psychology of Aging.” I do not recall much of what I studied, but I recall learning about “Social Disengagement Theory.” The theory postulates that as people grow older, they naturally and voluntarily sever their social ties and withdraw. As a 20-year-old college student, this made sense.
As a caretaker for my mother, I see this phenomenon differently. I do not see it as voluntary but as a function of grief that is accompanied by the physical, mental, and social limitations caused by the mind and body wearing out. It appears to be something I would associate with grief, loss, and the inability to adapt to changing circumstances. It results in disengagement, but to call it natural seems to be the wrong frame of reference.
My wife and I have relied heavily on the human service support systems available for caretakers. Due to this support, we have been fortunate to find multiple people who visit, care for, and socialize with my mom. We have noted that when we interact with her, she tends to be emotionally flat and appears worn out. This wears on us as we get all her grief and frustration with life.
However, when her support people visit, she perks up. Social contact still has value for her.
Recently, one of the organizations working with us assigned a 21-year-old woman (Hailey) to help Mom. Anytime a new person joins our support network, they become part of our family. We welcome them in and get to know them. Our world is limited because my mother requires 24-hour care. The people who come into our home become more than “workers” supporting Mom; they are among the few who understand what we are feeling. They provide a connection and remind us that we are not forgotten.
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Hailey is energetic and talkative, easy to get comfortable with, and we welcomed her into our home. We introduced her to Mom. The test of whether someone will fit into our support network (family) is their ability to connect and see my mom not just as an old woman at the end of her life but as someone with a real personality. That personality includes someone who can be pleasant and engaging but also rude and stubborn. They need to see her as a whole person who is like all of us, has her flaws, and sometimes those flaws are on full display.
After one visit, it was clear that Hailey fit, and Mom liked her, and Hailey had a good sense of who Mom was.
We have a monitor in Mom’s room that tells us what is happening with her, allowing us to monitor her needs.
On Hailey’s first few visits to the house, we could hear them talking to each other. They rambled on about all sorts of stuff, and the conversation was continuous and varied. I am not always sure that Mom heard half of the conversation, but it kept coming. This assured me that Hailey was a good match.
As time passed, I began to feel like this relationship fulfilled something missing in my mom’s life. Hailey and Mom’s relationship started to feel like the relationship between a grandmother and her granddaughter. Hailey watches soap operas my mom likes to watch, and she talks about her life and what she does. The interchange feels natural — almost as if they had known each other for years, not weeks.
My mother does have four grandchildren, but they are busy living their lives and see her only sporadically. The gap that Hailey fills is unique, and I find it heartwarming. It gives my mother something she has been missing: an ongoing relationship with a young person — someone who comes to see and be with her.
This has made me reconsider the original premise of “Disengagement Theory.” The notion is that the elderly naturally and voluntarily withdraw. The world seems to withdraw from elderly people: technology changes, the pace of life changes, and the norms of living change. My mother lacks the physical and mental ability to go out and engage with the world as it is today. Having a 21-year-old, at a minimum, connects her to something that is predominantly out of reach for her — a connection with the modern world.
Hailey’s entry into my mom’s life is a gift. It reconnects her to the diminished role of being a grandparent and allows her to engage with the younger generation.
The end of life is filled with much loss, but in this case, Mom has received a gift that gives her back something she lost: a relationship with a young person who spends time and energy on her.
Gifts are important in life. We have all received gifts; if we are fortunate, we receive unexpected gifts. Unexpected gifts are special and feel different. Hailey is an unexpected gift for my mom and our family. Considering all the losses we are experiencing, I feel lucky to have gotten something back.
