Since moving to Northern New Hampshire seven years ago, I have observed an unusually large number of my friends and neighbors, many of who are of so-called Baby Boomer age, dealing with the myriad of issues associated with elderly parents. I have been struck by the great dignity and grace with which they have done this and wish I could somehow document it. Of course it is a very personal thing to discuss and each of us has our own way of dealing with it. Yet, if we can learn from each other’s experiences, perhaps in some small way it can help make this difficult phase a bit easier.
Whether it’s rural New Hampshire or urban Boston or wherever, it’s something many of us have to do when our parents reach an age where they can no longer care for themselves. Back sometime in April 1980, my dad approaching ninety, found himself in this situation so it was time for me and my siblings, only one of whom lived in Chicago at the time, to make a difficult and collective decision about locating a nursing home in the Chicago area. That particular sibling, my sister, would assume the awesome responsibility for watching over dad. We honed in on one in Rogers Park area of Chicago that seemed appropriate, but we had our own litmus test and that was that the attitude of the people in charge would need to be responsive to my father’s special needs and would endeavor to provide him with full dignity in his final days. After all, “Big John” as he was known, was our hero and we were determined to give him the very best we possibly could.
Before flying to Chicago from Boston, I arranged an appointment with Father Ballwebber, the home’s young director, to discuss these things having outlined beforehand a number of questions. I had been told that the good father was a realistic man knowledgeable about the sometimes hardscrabble life and mean streets of Chicago and would be straight with me. On the way I stopped to buy a bottle of something stronger than tea so that our mutual comfort might be a bit more positive…. if he were so inclined.
When we met, I was surprised to find we were both about the same age and that our backgrounds were not all that different. Both of us were first generation Americans and we had both grown up in the same Chicago neighborhood. We had been athletes in high school and college and were vaguely aware of each other’s reputation in that regard. So we started on solid common ground.
Well, I never got around to my specific questions, but we talked a lot about the Vietnam War, politics in general and corporate and Papal politics in particular. Wediscussed Papal Encyclicals, Jesuit Intellectualism, prejudice, love, divorce, annulment, death, and a whole lot of things in between. We used some coarse language when we hit on growing up in a tough city as we both had memories we just as soon forget. On a different level, he described how politics were not all that different from those in the business world and that sometimes people of the cloth were passed over for promotions for the same dubious reasons…and something, a nuance…..passed between us. We discussed excommunication and how unfair I thought it could be. We hit on how difficult it was for both a lay person and a priest to be a “good Catholic” and just what being a good Catholic meant.
Father Bill had placed two glasses on his desk when I first entered his office and we worked my bottle pretty good along with a pack of Salem’s. We sipped as we discussed the responsibility children must assume for their parents. I talked about how dad and I were very close despite our great age difference. I mentioned how he would always come to watch me play football and baseball and how he cheered wildly during my many amateur boxing matches and how he would jump into the ring after a fight and put ice on my face if I had lumps or bruises and towel me down. We talked about going smelt fishing in Lake Michigan, going for Sturgeon in Northern Wisconsin, and spending time at a hunting cabin in frigid Yankton, South Dakota or Lake Zurich, Il. Father Ballwebber said he had similar experiences and remarked how his father had nurtured and coached him as he became a college-bound halfback and pro prospect, but how his father was so proud when he had decided on the priesthood as his life’s work.
We went back and forth like this for a another hour or two, sometimes laughing, sometimes with moist eyes. At one point he said, “you truly love him, don’t you?” I nodded and said I want him to live out his days peacefully and without suffering.” He said he would do his very best but that was something no one could really guarantee. I knew he was right. I also knew right there and then that we had made the right choice. Finally, I said I had to return to my sister”s home and meet with the siblings, as I had a flight the next day and was starting to feel just a tiny bit lightheaded. He said he was as well and we both laughed and shook hands firmly. He didn’t say anything else but looked straight at me in a way that left no doubt he understood what I wanted for my father. Curiously, I had never asked him one single pre-outlined question.
On the way to my sister’s, I reflected on our lengthy conversation and the soulful quality of the priest. It wasn’t as much about religion as it was about two 43 year old men finding a common ground on something upon which neither of us could probably put a handle. For me, it was about finding a level of comfort and confidence that made me feel my dad would be just fine in this man’s care.
After reaching agreement with my siblings, making final arrangements and visiting with my dad, I drove to my hotel knowing that I might never see him again, for I would soon be going to Switzerland on a lengthy business trip. I had tears in my eyes and prayed mightily to my God that I had done the right thing. Well, “Big John” passed away just a few months later and he did so peacefully and with grace and dignity.
So as many of you find yourself in a similar situation, there are many different ways to make this excruciatingly difficult decision. This was simply one way of engaging it, and I thought I would share it with you. If there is anything that resonates in some useful way, then I will have achieved my purpose.
“The greatest gift I ever had came from God, and I call him Dad!” Anonymous
Ted Sares, PhD, is a private investor who lives and writes in the White Mountain area of Northern New Hampshire with his wife Holly and Min Pin Jackdog. He writes a weekly column for a local newspaper and many of his other pieces are widely published.
