The Senior Change

Well, I did it. I went through the senior change, the transition to elderhood. It wasn’t about menopause for me since I’m a feller. But it turned out ok, actually more than ok. I moved to a new cozy home that’s close to my daughter’s family — I get to see them all the time now.

It wasn’t all a rose parade, though. My old place had stuff piled up everywhere. I was up in the attic, going though a bunch of dusty, dog-eared boxes, finding everything from prom pictures to tax statements and thinking about days gone by. But there’s not a day that goes by nowadays that I’m not deeply relieved that we did it.

When I say “we” I mean me and the family. Thinking back on that hustle and bustling, I’d like to say  we all came together in our own special way to help make this happen. That would be a charitable way of putting it. Truth be told, “the change” brought out a raft of demons.

My youngest was in such a hurry, you’d think there was some kind of train she had to catch. I suppose I wasn’t exactly an angel either, especially when it was time to part with my 12’ ladder and my trusty pickaxe. I was trying to just make the point that a man without his tools, ain’t much of a man no more, but we were just talking over each other, even raising our voices sometimes. I guess we all were coming at it from our own little mindsets.

We septuagenarians have a different way of doing at things, but even when I was just doing nothing it nearly got me called down to the principla’s office and put on special senior probation. They thought I was scowling, but I was just contemplating. I can’t help what my face looks like.

Fortunately, my grandson back from college, stepped in on my behalf. He called what I was doing  “the long gaze.” He must’ve got that from his philosophy class, or maybe it was English lit. His parents though, took it to mean I was cozying up to death.

I will concede, I did my share of looking into that abyss, and I think death scared them more. Me? I’m not afraid of that Grim Reaper anymore. We had a little talk, but he was just stayed for visiting hours this time. I know he’ll be back. In the meantime, Death helped me to notice things right here on this earth that I’d didn’t pay much notice to before.  Like just staring at simple things. Sugar crystals falling off my spoon into the coffee. Did you ever really look? It’s spectacular in its own way. Funny how ordinary stuff can jump out at you like magic.  

Anyway, while I was doing all that, the family was focused on practical stuff, and we scuffled, more than we needed to. Then there I decided to write down a few tips that might help other folks make the senior change. Because in the end, it really is worth all the trouble.  

My kids, bless them, were worried about me after my fall. It was off a ladder. The ladder wasn’t all that high – I was just putting up a birdhouse in the spring like I always do. But this time I was a little distracted and set the ladder on some uneven ground. Bam. Down I went. I caught myself, but I bruised up my left hand pretty bad and raised a shiner in my right eye. It was a mistake anyone could have made, but my daughter, bless her, was livid, like I did this on purpose. It was quite a hullabaloo that day for sure. Before the sun set that night, we were making plans to move.

Thinking back, when she started actually yelling at me, I guess I was shocked, and hurt. There she was, snorting spittle like a wildebeest, but through it all, I still could see my little baby girl. I’m so damn proud of her, all she’s done with her big job, and now with a family of her own. She found herself a good man for a husband, a real solid type. They take good care of each other. And those grandkids are more precious to me than life itself. I was ready to give in to just about anything she said from the get-go, if she’d settle down and just let me get a word in edgewise.

It goes to when she was little, I guess. Back then, I was the one cracking the whip on her all the time. Getting her out of bed early, pushing her on schooling. Now I was on the receiving end of that whip. Oh boy.

It needs to be a two-way street. Just because I slipped off a ladder, my daughter wanted to call all the shots. At this stage, I don’t really want to be the boss anymore. She’s welcome to wear the pants around here, but that doesn’t mean we’re all her royal subjects. She’s a grown up, and I’m still an adult. We agreed to be “peers”.

It took some adjusting. For the last 50 years, I was the parent, which meant that around my house, I was the King of Siam, just like my daddy was when I was little. Truth is that he was a lot stricter than me. I sometimes felt like a bad dad because I wasn’t being strict enough. Now I was getting some of my own medicine, and it made me nervous. Was this going to be some kind of payback? 

I don’t know exactly how this happened, but one day I realized this transition wasn’t all about me. My little girl was wrestling with her own feelings, about getting on in years, about keeping it together with her job, her kids … and me.  She just wanted to be a good daughter in the best way she knew how.

I had to step up to a new parental duty. My job was to help her be the new queen poohbah. It would be my gift. We talked, awkwardly at first. We remembered old times as we chucked out old toys. We said goodbye to her baby clothes and stuffed animals that the wife and I bought her. We let ‘em go, but kept them in our hearts.

This was a big step for my transition — and also for our relationship. We started talking to each other like two workers discussing a complicated project. At first it was sort of loopy, but over time we both got better at it. Before I knew it, my little raggamuffin transformed before my eyes into this beautiful, strong woman that I had helped raise.

I got her to understand I wasn’t trying to slow things down, but I would like a few things. We both wanted the new place to be very close to her family, and those grandkids. She was very receptive to this request. My next biggest ask was for a bedroom window facing southeast so I could watch the sunrise in the morning, and of course my internet access. These could be arranged, she grinned. I held out for a 65” flat screen as well.

Anything else? she asked, with a gentle smile. It still melts me. I want a place where I could walk by the water, and a friendly restaurant where we know the cook and the owner by name.

Done, she said.  

Now I don’t have to worry about the big old house. No more snow to shovel. Now the big lawn is in a park close by. The city takes care of it, so I don’t have to mow it every week.  

I still have a few decades left in this old body, and I keep it together with walks, weights, and waggles. In case you’re not a golfer, I address my ball with a little waggle.

When I sold the house, I cleared a pretty penny which comes in handy, but most all of my spending money comes from social security and some work I do driving Amish folks from their farms to their jobs in town. They’re great, and I’m known as the Yoder-toter.

I also joined some online mathematics groups. We mostly talk about simple stuff from math 101, sometimes with folks in developing countries that have probably never set foot in a proper classroom. We do go through some simple math, but it’s mostly corny jokes like, “I find negative numbers so confusing, I will stop at nothing to avoid them.” I probably could have spared you that so-called joke.

Thinking back, I’m so glad I’m through the change. Now I look forward to every new day, not backwards on what I need to get fixed.

Me and The Daughter was the first of a three part series about the senior change into elderhood.  The next installment, Rainy Day, examines the shift from saving parsimony to senior indulgence. The last article – Health Care Heroics explores some aspects of managing medical treatments during the golden years.

About Operation Relo
Operation Relo provides a comprehensive downsizing services for families with elders. Senior support services include preparing older homes for sale; moving & shipping; and redistributing household possessions through cyberselling, estate sales, storage, donations, and disposal. Whatever it takes. Find us at OperationRelo.com, (877) 678 – 7356 (RELO), and [email protected].

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