There's No Place Like (Old Folks) Home

August 4, 2010

Visiting Mark’s grandmother is not the first thing that pops into my mind when I wake up each morning. I know that it shouldn’t be a grudging duty, and yet it’s one that none of us relishes much. There are several reasons for that, and I’m not sure any of them is a good one.

Visiting an old folks’ home forces us to face certain, not-so-pretty truths. For one, old folks homes are filled with, well, old people. Broken people. Lonely people. Confused people. Smelly people. Now that I think about it, I could use the same descriptors to describe a high school. . . . They’re also filled with people who’d rather be somewhere else (again, the similarity is almost creepy).

Still, I’m pretty sure that no one wants to live in an old folks home. I’ve never once seen a line forming at the front door—unless it’s a line of folks who’d like to leave. No one’s clamoring to weed their belongings so that they might fit into a small closet. (Yeah, so what if mine already do?!) No one’s anxious to meet new people, especially others who are just as confused, hurt, broken. And who wants to watch “Matlock” reruns all day long?

It should be obvious that our society doesn’t do “old” right. Granted, there are a few retirement homes that have taken steps to become something more than just depressing, last stops on life’s tour. Each day, most of our newspapers have ads promoting the latest musical or theatrical performance at some area retirement home. There are even television advertisements selling up these places, always filled with robust-looking older folks who are enjoying the golden years in style! However, I’ve noticed that, usually, only the woman talks, while her husband sits back, tight-lipped and unforthcoming. These days, retirement homes offer computer classes, exercise sessions, road trips and gourmet food. And yet, how many old people can afford such luxuries? Heck, I know that I couldn’t afford to live in one these places, and I’m currently pulling in an income.

Still, it was good to visit Evelyn last night. She seemed relatively lucid and spoke kindly of the other residents and staff who fill her days and nights. She’s not so hot on the food, but, at 96, how much eating can a person do? Our conversation was a repeat of those we’ve had before, but it didn’t seem to really matter. She continued to marvel at how tall Eric and Allison have grown, only occasionally mistaking Eric for his father. Not a horrible mistake, when all’s said and done. She could have thought he was Gomer Pyle, after all.

And so, I suppose we’ll continue to resist and then give in to the need to visit Mark’s grandma in this, her “new” home. We’ll do our best to overlook the signs of death, to ignore the scent of urine that pervades these places, we’ll readily ask the same litany of questions, offer up new takes on old answers and bend down to kiss her velvety soft cheeks, glad to make the connection, in spite of it all.