You are receiving this on what in the U.S. is Thanksgiving Day. I am writing it, however, on the 22nd of November, a sad day in 2022, when we lost one of my great heroes, Pablo Milanes. He was 79 which seems increasingly young to me as I rapidly approach 70 myself. Milanes was one of the two great icons of La Nueva Trova Cubana, the “new” Cuban song movement that filled the air waves and certainly the background of my life, in the 1960’s and 70’s, and the airways in my various homes and certainly in my head, ever since. He is also the buttery, sweet voice of my favorite song of all time, which happens to be a song about gratitude: Tengo. As I ponder gratitude, accompanied by that timeless song, I feel the grief again, about his passing. I don’t know his story, except that he ended up in Spain and died of blood cancer. I hope he did not suffer too much.
Thinking about his age and our loss, brought to mind another developmental issue that, certainly in my country, we don’t talk about, or not nearly enough. Rather, like many essential topics, we somehow manage to comfortably ignore it and then are painfully shocked and blindsided when it intrudes into our lives, as if unexpected. It may be in the context of our abusive or neglectful parents, or even benign and beloved parents in those rare cases: the gnarly and largely taboo, unspoken subject of aging. It is as if we don’t see it coming, and then we are knocked down by it. The U.S. is a youth crazed culture, and our denial and rejection of age and aging, is glaring.
I remember several years ago I read a book called Elderhood (by Louise Aronson, Bloomsbury, 2019) probably prompted by the changes I was beginning to observe in my then aging father. The author, a local San Francisco physician, commented that we in effect have two words for life stages, in our impoverished language: childhood and adulthood. Childhood is birth to, what, 25? And adulthood is 25 to 100+? As if these are monochromatic, stable phases of development. As one who has navigated several of the post-25 decades, I can surely attest, they are anything but steady and unchanging! Many of us are first visited (invaded?) by these issues when our parents start to fail or become more difficult or decidedly ill. Others of us begin to encounter distressing changes in ourselves or our partners. There is such silence and often alarm around all this. Certainly, the child of neglect never had anyone to ask and was always expected to simply know. All too often in the case of parents, the dreaded “Bermuda Triangle” makes its stormy appearance or reappearance. For now, I will say, that the essence of neglect is loss: essential life experiences that were withdrawn, erratic, or never there at all. And to some extent, aging involves a compendium of loss.
The Bermuda Triangle, Again
You have probably heard me talk before about what I call the Bermuda Triangle, the fierce internal shipwreck that all too often accompanies neglect. The seemingly violent collision is of rage, grief and guilt in a storm of crashing conflict, all at once and all authentic and understandable, each in its own way pretty unbearable. The rage is about all that was lost, or never there, the lost years, the thousands spent, the pain and anguish of years of therapy instead of “living.” All that we miss spending years climbing out of a hole. Righteous indignation! How could they have done (or not done) what they did or did not, how could they fail to do the work, after all, we are doing it! Why on earth not?! The grief, about our own colossal losses, all the missing experiences, the failures at connection and love. The way so many of us with early neglect, right from the start, began the “race” at a disadvantage; the grief about all that our parents suffered, that “explains” (does not justify or excuse!!) but makes sense out of their tragic failures with us. My parents went through unspeakable trauma, and most of it never was spoken of, although a lot was in dysregulated eruptions of rage and out of control behavior on their part. Most of us have the devastating stories of these episodes and are haunted by them. And then the guilt. Guilt about the rage, guilt about the impulse to blame, guilt about anger at victims who had suffered so much as many of our perpetrators did. Guilt about privilege, I have so much, how could I…blah, blah blah. You know what I mean. The Bermuda Triangle is a kind of torment in itself, apart from all of its various origins.
So why do I bring that up again here, when we are talking about aging? Well, I see it often, certainly in this country where there is a large generation of adults whose parents are hitting the stage of “elderhood,” where they are starting or rapidly continuing to fail, and may be asking for, requiring more care, more attention, more intervention. I have had clients called upon to provide levels of care and support that exceed their natural emotional impulse. A sense of duty, obligation, morality or plain fear compels them/us to do more. And so, the Triangle rears up again. I had the good fortune to have my father living in reasonable driving distance. That I have two sisters who all live in the area, so we could work together collaboratively, and that our dad had his own resources, so we were not in a position to have to make hard financial decisions that would directly affect us and our own families. Many are not so fortunate.
And I will also say I was challenged. Because as he got older, he began increasingly to resemble the worst of the father I remembered from my childhood, when there “was no me.” I would arrive for my weekly visits and his wife would say loudly into his ear, “Ruth is here! Ruth is here!” But he would not look up, did not register my entrance, my presence. Now it was based on his function, his fading awareness and his dimming brain capacity. But it was chillingly familiar. And I find with clients going through it with aging parents. There is massive trauma activation, painful triggering, more work to do. I don’t want to tell you it is inevitable. But rather I am naming something that like neglect and sexuality, is not talked about enough, and is essential to be aware of to stay regulated through the vicissitudes of life’s journey. It is nature’s design, and more work for us.
Some psychologists and philosophers believe that our terror or denial about mortality are at the root of many other problems. I don’t know if I agree with that, but I know it is out there for all of us, and is the price of loving. Someone will alas, go first.
Our Bodies
As I navigate the crooked road of issues surrounding my spine, I am aware I must at least mention the personal losses, and for many of us “insults” we may experience with aging bodies. I for one have always had the hubris, denial and determination to some how feel indestructible. I was an endurance athlete, and I always said “I don’t have any talent, but I can outlast or “out-endure” anyone.” I simply would not quit. And I insisted to myself, that if there was something I “could not do,” I was “lazy” and not trying hard enough. And everything was my fault. The voice reared up quickly in my head, “don’t be lazy!” And I hate to tell you this, but now there are things I am stopped by, that I used to not even think about. And the voice might say, “you are pathetic!” But I’m learning about the natural course of nature.
So many things I was never warned about, or never learned about. Clients may come to me with shame “admitting,” too embarrassing to them, changes in their sexuality that they did not foresee or know about. I was not aware of how bladder control might change when we get into our 60’s, across gender lines. Energy, strength, vitality, intensity, all things I took shamefully for granted. Not to mention wrinkles, fatigue, bruising, unexplained spurts of bleeding, hearing loss, vision. Tech ineptitude…Oy vey! I now must have the humility and courage to face and deal with, maybe accept more help. And being a generation (or two!) ahead of many of my clients and readers, perhaps I can help, at least to diffuse the shock/surprise factor. Like the changing seasons, it is natural…
I will close with one last thought, a “tool” of sorts, if you will. Back to aging parents and the torment of the Bermuda Triangle. When we are at those painful crossroads or decision points figuring out how much we can authentically give, that is in proportion and consonant with our feeling, in response to aging parent’s needs: I ask myself, “How will I feel ABOUT MYSELF when they are gone, if I do “X”? How will I feel ABOUT MYSELF when they are gone, if I do “Y?” Then I decide. The one I will have to live with, is me. We don’t want to betray ourselves, or “fake it” anymore by over giving. And as ever, as with raising children, we cannot do any of it alone! And my grandmother used to say, “The golden age is not so golden…”
Here in the U.S. we learned we could get a lifetime senior pass to enter all the national parks in the country for a one-time fee of $20.00, simply for being over 65. A good deal for all that beauty! I am grateful for that!
Best wishes of the season to all!
Pablo Milanes sings about the passing of anos, years, change and loss as we age. Rest well, Pablo. Your music lives on and on.
Today’s song:
