How To Listen To Your Aging Parents: What They Really Want From You.

I work with seniors in a therapy group designed to deal with many issues which are appropriate and common to their stage of life, among them, how can I get my adult children to see me for exactly who I am?

If you have aging parents, think about it: Do I really listen to them?

If you're truly listening, you're likely to hear some things you already know, but don't want to accept, like: I'm not 55 any more. I can't move as fast as you think I can. It's too physically taxing to cook the holiday dinners any more--please don't ask me to do it. I miss your father (mother) terribly and I feel lonely much of the time. Getting out of the house is a challenge, especially with all those stairs. I can't hear you as well as I used to. And the list goes on.

The complaint I hear most often, as aging parents open up about their relationships with their adult children is: My children can't face the fact that I'm aging. It seems to be too much for them to handle, so they just ignore it and tell me how great I'm doing. The truth--how I really am--they just won't or can't accept it.

Conventional reasoning suggests a simple reason why you can't accept an aging parent's reality: It threatens, on some level, your own mortality.

Possible? Perhaps. Consider the fact that once your parents die, you--your generation of siblings, cousins, friends and schoolmates--are next in line to go.

I don't mean to be morbid here, just realistic. Again, these are facts that almost everyone knows on some level; but many of us have difficulty actually accepting them. And, by extension, it can be difficult to hear and accept our aging parents' actual decline.

Aging parent? Adult child? I sympathize with you both. As I've often said, old age isn't for sissies.

I truly believe that one gift you can give your aging parents is the gift of acceptance. Hear them when they say, "I can't do that any more, " or  "It's really difficult living alone," or "I'm scared of dying."
What do parents want most from you? Quit trying to fix it. Just listen.

And, ultimately, you know that they're right. It's very, very unlikely that you will be able to "fix" old age. What you  can do is meet your aging mom or dad right where they are. Offer advice when asked. Pay attention to changes in health and mental status. Offer to help them cope. Don't ignore or sidestep their limitations.

For children of aging parents, it can feel like a balancing act between doing nothing and forcing our agenda on a parent "for their own good."  This will be a dance that you do with each other. But, you will not be able to help--a little or alot--until you actually hear and accept your parents for exactly who they are now.

For some families, reaching that level of understanding may be all the "help" the parent will accept. For others that understanding, that we all get old and die, may enable you to actually talk with your parents about life and death, and how to navigate their days to come.

From a professional standpoint, much of healthy family functioning--at any lifestage--starts with listening and acceptance. From a personal standpoint, I know how important it was that, in her last years, my sister and I accept my mother's limitations, along with the natural decline that comes as one passes 70, 80, 90 and beyond. It made it easier to help negotiate her last years with dignity-- honoring her safety, her true wishes and, ultimately, her happiness. And, isn't that, fundamentally, what we want for our loved ones?

Until next time, call your mother. And, thanks for listening.

How're You Gonna Keep Em Down In Paree, Once They've Seen The Farm, Or, The Restorative Effects Of Digging In The Dirt.

It's difficult to pinpoint when it happened. It may have been late last July when our apricots came in. Or, maybe, last August, when our few precious ears of sweet corn matured.  Maybe it's been a culmination of two successful summers of heirloom tomatoes--and more on the way this summer. While I can't nail down a precise date, I am sure it's happened. Somewhere along the way, my partner and I--two erstwhile city boys--have become farmers.

Ok. I exaggerate a bit. "Farmers" is a bit extreme. Maybe, "growers?" "Coaxers of the earth for good things?" Perhaps, "weekend weeders and gopher fighters?"

The truths is, it's been mostly my partner and his continual efforts to convert so-so soil to our own fertile crescent. It's been a labor of (mostly weekend) love and sweat--and occasional swearing, including truckloads of "special" soil, augmented by countless bags of soil enrichers, fertilizers, mulch, specially researched seeds, carefully nurtured seedlings--and the list goes on.

All of the above is the tended with loving--and seemingly unending--care: tilling, watering, dusting with organic pesticides, plugging, flooding and baiting gopher holes. And finally, with the addition of
sonic technology, a modest reduction in gopher trails--symbolic of a possible detente in the war of the roses, et al?

For all these efforts we get beautiful flowers--an abundance from March through November: starting with March daffodils, April tulips, May irises, June roses, July dahlias--and more, right through the last zinnias of November! 

Our table is equally blessed with vegetables. We have had varying degrees of success with carrots, radishes, beets, potatoes, lettuce, corn, zucchini and beans. And, thanks to my partner's inherent knowledge and unending curiosity about plant material, we have had wonderful, gorgeous, juicy--delicious!--tomatoes. Seven varieties, to be exact. Each with its own unique color, texture and flavor. All welcome on our dinner (and lunch and breakfast) plates. All bringing the satisfaction of being able to casually acknowledge, "Oh these. We grew them."

Incredible flavor, and the satisfaction of growing produce with your own two--dirty--hands. I'm not sure which tastes better.  But,  I know that, despite the fact that I refer to our little garden place as "the farm," (which induces groans and eye-rolling from my partner, subtle laughter from others--and I'm perfectly ok with both), the land we tend pays us back with delicious, fresh food.

The not-so-secret fact is, almost anyone--citified or country--can accomplish this on a smaller scale--right at home. All it takes is a sunny patch (window, porch or yard), a bit of soil, some seeds or plant material, and a desire to make it all come together. Yes, it takes some investment of  money and time. And, if all of this leaves you asking, "Why not just get it at the store," then gardening may just not be for you.

But, if the idea of a tomato (or corn, potatoes, zucchini, herbs, etc.) fresh off the vine appeals to some inner part of you, then I urge you to get thee to a garden shop and begin the odyssey. Never grown anything before? Take a chance. Experiment. What's the worst that could happen? Suppose nothing grows? Then, you'll end up back at the produce section or the farmer's market. But, at the very least, you'll have a greater appreciation for where our food comes from, and the efforts made to put food on our tables.

So what does this have to do with therapy? Well, ask any gardener. The answer you're likely to get is: Gardening IS therapy. For me, digging in the dirt is rewarding. Watching the flowers and vegetables grow is elating. And, with summer heading into full swing, the idea of my first, home-grown tomato sandwich? Well, it's almost intoxicating. Ask any tomato fan.

Happy summer. And, thanks for listening.