We normally go out for a meal to celebrate my mother’s birthday; my mother, my brother, my sister and me. Not actually on her birthday of course, she was born on 14th February and on that day all the restaurants are packed and service is slow. No, we normally go out the week afterwards.

This year, however, on her 89th birthday, she didn’t want to go out. She has been honest with us – these days, with her decreased mobility, she’s not confident she can get to the lavatory in time if she needs to go. Instead of going out, she asked, could we have a fish and chip supper in her little sitting room in the apartment my brother has built for her on the family farm.

I said, “Let’s have it on our knees straight out of the packet,” but my mother has standards, so she exhausted herself by dragging out her table into the middle of the room and laying it beautifully with a tablecloth, china plates and napkins.

It was a lovely meal, and I had got her a cake, covered with icing roses, which she was pleased with. We sat there, in her cluttered room stuffed full of her memories, surrounded by all the birthday cards she had received from her many friends.

She’s beginning to feel her age. For the first time, she spoke about giving up driving. We all cried out a big “No!” The farm is isolated; the farm track is half a mile long and meets the B road into a small village. The nearest shop is miles away. Her car is my mother’s lifeline. Driving, even at 89 (and she is still a good driver) is essential for her engagement with the world.

Yet we are having to deal with the fact that she is getting older. She now wears a fall monitor, which alerts us if she has a fall. She has a grab bar near her door, and she has a reclining chair that lifts up and assists her to her feet if she needs it – so far, she says, she doesn’t.

Bless her, she’s trying to keep up with modern life. She has a tablet and email and a mobile phone. We’re trying to get her onto WhatsApp so we can have a family group chat, and all know what is going on with her. She is hesitant rather than reluctant, but technology is difficult for her.

Emotionally and mentally however, she is bearing up very well. She says she has had a good life and doesn’t resent slowing down and giving up more and more of her activities, but I don’t like to see it. I want her to stay the mother she always was and not become the old woman she is now. Unrealistic, I know.

I know many of you Moodscopers are getting older and some of you cope with wheelchairs and severely compromised mobility. What advice would you have for my mother and me? 

Mary

A Moodscope member