Liquor and Babies and Men, Oh My!

We were three professional women visiting twelve assisted living residents in southern Virginia. I’m not sure exactly what I personally expected but I know one thing for sure: I never expected to have the fun, the laughs and the impromptu

history lessons.

To sit down with these gals and listen to their personal and collective stories was both an honor and an antidote to any sadness or depression I may have been experiencing. There was no subject off limits. We talked about it all. I consider it a real gift to have been a part of this experience. My gift to you is to share it. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I have enjoyed writing their words. Hold onto your shorts; these gals hold nothing back!

They were all sharp. Some sharper than others due to medical concerns but all together mentally none the less. All had lost their husbands. A couple of them had been married four times each!

One had a stroke nine years ago. “When I first came here, I couldn’t walk or talk” she explained through her hesitant speech pattern. Her cane and brace were now badges of her victory over her demon. She was still dealing with her son – her only child. He had stopped contacting her ten years ago. What makes an adult “child” do that I wondered? What crime could this woman have committed that was so heinous as to be sentenced to ten years of silence from her child? She shared

this sad life chapter when I asked her if she had any grandchildren. Her strange response, “I don’t know” allowed her story to unfold. Sad, so very sad.

What crime could this woman have committed that was so heinous as to be sentenced to ten years of silence from her child?

The hoots and hollers that rose from our throats collectively when they shared their growing up life events was enough to bring the caregiver running down the hall. It was like a sorority reunion....or a group of gals out on the town for the night.

Growing up in the 40s life was hard but as children they never knew it. Many of them lived in the rural areas of Virginia. Large families were common. Help was always needed on the farms. Abuse was not uncommon; unspoken, maybe but not

uncommon.

Perhaps the abuse went hand in hand with alcohol. Almost everyone had a parent who drank – a lot. Additionally, and not surprisingly, lots of them married a man who also drank. “That’s just how it was.” While no one said it, it seems to have been “accepted” among the “men folk.”

One resident offered that “my daddy made his own (liquor), thank you very much.” After the foot stomping laughter and belly holding calmed down, she said her daddy “had a rather thriving business behind the barn till it blew up one day and

that was that.”

Because one of the professional women was a psychologist, she asked if by any chance there were any support groups for families with an alcoholic family member during that time. Confused looks gave way to head shaking. “There was no such

thing; you just dealt with it.”

One of the residents grew up as an only child. Her only playmate was “a little black girl whose family lived nearby.” They became fast friends. Even now, almost 60 years later, they still see each other. When she shares this information with the rest of us, her voice grows soft, her eyes moisten, and the corners of her mouth turn up ever so slightly. I can almost see her memories of them running barefoot down the dusty road, kicking up miniature tornados of dust.

We were all saying our goodbyes when a resident returned from her doctor visit. Her fainting spells were on the increase and her numerous visits to as many specialists were not revealing any desired answers. Her entry into the foyer that

was providing our exit was echoing with laughter and sincere hugs. The smile she shared with all of us was contagious. As only women can do, everyone simultaneously asked her where she had been in a chorus of different words and different inflections. We all knew, but we asked anyway.

She pulled herself up to her stately 5’8” frame and adjusted her walker. She shifted her weight as her 80-year-old feet were firmly planted. She turned up each corner of her mouth into a mischievous grin. We braced ourselves. These gals had seen

that look before and we knew something hilarious was about to erupt. We weren’t disappointed. “I was at the doctor. He needed to play with my boobs.” Mouths fell open...gaping, silent “O” shaped mouths. Finally, as air reached our lungs and the impact of her words registered in our brains, wild laughter from every belly filled the air. We all agreed she had no limits and that was only one of her most endearing qualities.

Oh, my! What we do and say in order to not feel “old.”

What a wonderful group of “senior” women. They weren’t what society calls “old old.” There were “young seniors.” Is that a contradiction in terms? Oh, my! What we do and say in order to not feel “old.”

These women lived together in their “senior” years because of so many individual reasons. Some of them were only in their late 60s. They went up in age to over 80. Every size and shape was represented. Most have grey hair but not all of them. They are living with walkers, cancer, strokes, roommates, and boredom. But every one of them knew they had to live there or some place like it due to life circumstances and every one of them was very, very grateful.

Where will you live out your “senior years?” Have you made plans? Do you have them in writing? Does a reliable family member and/or professional know your plans? Consider consulting with an elder law attorney, your doctor, your spiritual leader or financial advisor. Never assume others "will know" what you want!