My mother and the telephone
I call my 97-year-old mother every couple of days. We talk, but the talks have a certain ritual quality.
They nearly always begin with her asking me, “How are you and where are you?” Then they segue into old reliable, the weather. Then I ask her what she’s been doing and she is politely vague—perhaps to cover the fact that she can’t recall, or that she hasn’t been doing all that much. “Oh, been keeping busy.” “Can’t complain.” “This and that.” I tell her any news I think she might be interested in: about my son, or her nieces and nephews, or a trip. Then she hurries to sign off, usually with some affectionate words. If the conversation lasts two minutes, it’s a long one.
It’s clear she’s happy to hear from me. But it’s just as clear that she’s no longer comfortable talking on the telephone. This is quite a change from a woman long-renowned (and teased) for her extreme love of the medium. For much of my life she called me every day or nearly every day, and we’d often have long talks.
But a couple of years ago the phone calls from her end stopped rather abruptly. It seemed that it was just something she didn’t think to do any more, rather than something she didn’t want to do, because she still always seems happy to hear from me. It’s just that initiation of actions has become much less likely. Whether it’s “out of sight, out of mind” or something else (her increasing deafness?) I have no idea. But it’s still a shock that I’m the one having to call my mother rather than vice versa.
This last time we spoke she ended with an interesting sign-off: “I’ll be in touch as soon as I can.” Yes, I suppose she will. But it depends on what the meaning of “can” is.
In the meantime, it’s up to me. I’m just grateful that she knows where she is, who she is, who we are, and seems to be pretty happy, all things considered. At 97, that’s quite a bit.
my 97 year old mother passed along to the great beyond last year and I know JUST EXACTLY what you mean. Keep calling; they love it and she will appreciate and benefit from your love right now; knowing you are loved it makes it all easier, which is of course what you want.
some day I can tell you, if you want, how I know she is more than ok now, too. : ) Best wishes to all involved.
Dear Mom, I haven’t
heard your voice, lately.
I suppose you’re getting
on in years. And maybe
some things slip your mind.
Never mind. Because
I love you the same.
Thanks, Mom.
My mother (88) died two weeks ago. She was a go getter all of her life. She started a business in 1963, which finally closed down when she was 86. Like many women of her generation, she smoked quite a bit when younger, but managed to stop about 20 years ago.
Last December she started to fail, requiring oxygen 24/7. She hated it but was still chipper and wanted to stay mobile. She did the best she could, but was on a downward course. I called every weekend but didn’t reach her on the Sunday before she died. I called her two hours before she died, but likewise didn’t manage to get ahold of her.
While I am happy that she no longer suffers and lived a life of her choosing, I am sad she is gone. I wish I had those two phone calls even though the conversation would have consisted of…”when are you going to come and visit.”
Indeed, after my lasst visit with her (August) she left me a voicemail while I was on the plane. To wit, “Will, I enjoyed your visit, come back soon…Times getting shorter, all the time…” I am glad I have that and hope I can get if off my phone and keep it forever. Its nice to be able to hear her voice….
Call your mom.
Talking on the phone can be challenging for some old people who don’t hear so well. Not having your facial expressions and lips to read can be stressful.
To be 97 and able to hear enough to have a phone conversation is doing very well. She sounds like my mother-in-law who lived to 95. The last few years she seemed to be letting go of the things of this world and preparing for the next act.
The fires that once burned brightly in us all begin to ebb as we age. I’m 19 years younger than your mother but perceptibly slower, less energetic, and more willing to put things off than even five years ago. Thank goodness for your blog. It allows me to participate in conversations and opens my eyes to things outside my now smaller world. And yes, I’m hard of hearing, so the written word is much easier to deal with. The best thing is, I don’t have to participate unless I want to.
I’m also blessed with a number of e-mail friends. We swap jokes, political notes, yarns, lies and good wishes. Some of them I have known since kindergarten. The time will come when it will take too much energy to keep that up. Eventually we will all pass on. I treasure these contacts now because they make life much richer.
The blogosphere and e-mail, antidotes to being old and out of touch.
It may be partly a hearing problem…I understand it’s possible to get a hearing aid and a phone attachment such that there’s a direct electronic connection between the phone and the hearing aid, avoiding the intelligibility loss that occurs in putting the sound out on a low-quality telephone transducer and then picking it up again on the hearing aid’s transducer.
Will, I’m sorry for your loss.
Love your updates on your Mom, Neo.
My late mother-in-law, who was afflicted with Alzheimer’s, called my wife every day for many years. Then, I noticed that she stopped calling, though she would always answer if we called her. Eventually I realized that she no longer remembered how to make phone calls. It is very sad.
Mama was promoted to Glory on the third of this month. Every time I think of a question about some family member or some event from sixty-plus years ago, I think I need to ask her to clear it up, but she no longer can answer my questions.
My sister Janet was a trouper, though, managing Mama’s care in such a way that both Mama and Daddy were able to stay in their own house until some time after their last breaths.
I am glad to hear that your mother is doing well. Enjoy her while you can.
Henry –
I had the same experience with my mother who developed a long, slow Alzheimer’s decline. She, who was glued to the phone for 50 years, quit calling the old friends she used to chat with often. So many of her friends were ill or passed on, and my mothers’ days were long and idle. She was always cheerful when we called or visited but her memory, once so sharp, was a constant enemy. I hate that disease. With both my grandmothers and my mother having suffered it, I fear I am doomed. I hope I realize it in time to do something about it. I had a friend who ended his life before his Alzheimers ended it for him. I rather admired his courage.
My mom died at 52 of ovarian cancer, when I was 18. I’m 59.
Like the man said, call your mom.
Stay patient and keep in touch. You cannot turn back time and every minute you get to share with a loved one is precious. God bless…
To be 97 and able to hear enough to have a phone conversation is doing very well.
Agreed. My grandmother is 96 years old, and she is no longer with it enough to maintain phone conversations. Even when we visit her in person, she can’t remember who we are much of the time. It’s painful on the one hand, not to be recognized by her; but on the other hand, she seems more or less happy and contented, and relatively pain-free, and those are all blessings at any age.
Neo, I live with and care for my 95-year-old father and cared for my late life partner of over 20 years who had multiple sclerosis. I think your mother is losing the ability to converse and keeps the conversations simple and short to hide that fact. If you would like to have your conversations be longer, try eliciting memories and stories from her. Telling stories stored in longterm memory will be easier for her — it doesn’t require the amount of short term memory and synthesis that a conversation requires. Also, she may not be able to answer questions that require a comparison, such as, “Are you feeling better today?,” because that requires remembering and comparing at least two different states of being. If that’s the case, just ask questions that she can answer in the present, so she won’t feel embarrassed.
Wow, I’m having the same conversations with my mom. We stick, mostly, to a twice a week routine. Sometimes I call, sometimes she does (although lately it’s been her mostly).
We always start off with a weather report. ‘Oh it’s rainy and cold now. How is it there?’ ‘Still sunny Mom. Pretty warm.’
Then she asks me how work is. Then I ask her how my brothers and sisters are doing. Then she tells me what I should be eating. ‘Eggs are good for your brain. Make sure you buy some. Oh and peanut butter too! It’ll keep you filled up.’
This normally takes under 5 minutes. It’s the routine that bothers me. I would like to have longer, more involved conversations with her but my attempts at new topics never caught on. I would get one or two sentences back from her and then she would go back to the script. For a long time I suspected it was hearing loss, but she doesn’t want to get a hearing test so I can’t confirm that. Plus, she seems fine in person. I don’t have to raise my voice to speak to her when we’re in the same room.
I dunno. For the past year or more I’ve just stuck to the routine, but it saddens me. My Mom is getting older and is mostly alone now. I would like to be more of an outlet for her to talk, but I really don’t see how I can be.
Cynthia Yockey: so sorry to hear about your partner’s illness.
Your suggestions are good ones, but I don’t think they’d work in the case of my mother. She doesn’t seem to be able to tell stories of the past very much at all, even in person. She seems much more in the present. I think with my mother it’s a combination of things that are going on, and I think you are correct that more complex conversations don’t seem to work for her any more.
Thank you Neo for the update. I absolutely relish reading news of your Mother having followed you, your blog and through it her for several years now. My Mother died at 38 when I was just 22 of a massive heart attack. It remains ‘the’ defining moment of my life. Therefor I have sort of adopted your Mom in my heart and find myself wondering how she is when you have not mentioned her in awhile. Cherish every phone call you have with her no matter the routine. Call often….it’s good for the soul of both of you. 🙂
I agree about not talking about the past. for them, the past is gone. On the other hand, eternity is before them. Talk about that. Eckhart Tolle, Ramana Maharshi – the basics of Advaita Vedanta from Shankara onwards. They are beginning to “see”, and this talk is interesting to them. Try it. Pick up a copy of “The Power of Now”. Read to her. Sing to her! That is much more comforting than dredging up the past, and it is good for both souls. This is a book to pick up http://www.rigpa.org/en/about-sogyal-rinpoche/the-tibetan-book-of-living-and-dying.html It is very helpful. The first half of the book is about how both the living and the dying handle the before death portion of time, so now is the time to read it. The second half of the book is for later. It is for both the living and the dying souls. It is comforting to both.
I call my Mother (90) every day.
She and I talk about weather, news, what’s in the Wall St Journal (she reads it, I don’t), and the sorry state of the world (lots of material there).
She constantly finds articles about cancer treatment (for me) and follows the stock market because she thinks I spend more than I can afford for her care.
Last week we had an interesting discussion about her getting a 3 wheel cycle! That was a little scary but I encouraged her to try getting on it at the bike shop before making up her mind.
Even if your parents aren’t your favorite people, you have an obligation to care for them and stay in touch. Treat everyone in your life as though you loved them (even if you don’t) and maybe you will come to love them. Regardless, God will appreciate that you tried.
Gary P
Very well said.
My father (the violinist) finally passed away at 97 fourteen months ago after a nine month hospice, he was still playing, on his feet, up till that time. My life, for many years, was preoccupied almost daily with his old age, and it was often frustrating for me in that regard, especially the last year, every evening, until near the end. Nobody loves you more than your mom and dad, especially when they are the last to go; all they care about is seeing you, even if their energy level and apparent attention span seems lagging. Spend as much time in contact, by phone and in person, as possible; you won’t regret it. Now, in addition to family portraits and other framed memories, I keep a collection of a half-dozen (wire-bound) 4″x6″ photos of him, by my computer (where I spend most of my life); from time to time rotating them depending on my mood. I marvel now at how, though gone, he (as well as my mom and brothers) comforts me at this time in my life. If the cup is half-full you are very blessed. If you can, try to make a point of seeing the recently released (digital) movie, Sholem Aleichem: Laughing in the Darkness…
After reading this post and comments, I scribbled a piece about my thoughts and feelings as my life winds down in its probable last decade. (I’ll spare you.) I looked up and listened to Willie Nelson’s version of “September Song,” which has been on my mind often lately.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7810J78TmbU
“The days dwindle down to a precious few…these days I’ll share with you.” It’s an ever-diminishing circle to a black punctuation mark at the end. I see that path to the end, and now have no strong emotions about any of it — past, present, and future.
My mother died when I was eight, so I often celebrated mother’s day with my grandmother. As kids, we used to send her long cassettes with each of us speaking in turn. I found one of those cassettes, unsent for some reason, or maybe sent and it wound up with my grandmother’s things she left us.
It was made for mother’s day, and the five of us took our turns to either tell a story or play a song on the piano. My youngest sister, who was born shortly before mom died, told a hilarious story about ‘goggies’ and ‘guckies’ at the park. She couldn’t say her d’s very well.
I must have been 12 when we recorded it for her, but the memory of having done it came back and was as fresh as any memory I have from later in my life.