It's Getting to the End
Title
It's Getting to the End
Creator
Jacob Schlitt
Description
"My mother used to say, 'You are going to the fair, and I am coming from the fair.'"
Date
2013-03-17
Format
application/pdf
Type
text
Language
en
Identifier
IT'S_GETTING_TO_THE_END
Text
IT’S GETTING TO THE END
My mother used to say, “You are going to the fair, and I am coming from the fair.” She was telling me that my life is ahead of me, and hers is winding down. I didn’t care for that observation; it sounded like self-pity, and I never cared for the “fair” analogy. In fact, I wanted to ask her when do we know we are at the fair? Does “the fair” represent the high point of our lives? Pleasure, joy, happiness? When we have achieved everything that we strove for? Children, friends, satisfaction from our work? After having achieved, our children grow up, our friends grow old, and our work is done. The fair is behind us. The music stops. The lights go out. Everyone leaves.
At 85, I have left the fair some time ago. But I am hanging around, outside the fairgrounds. I have several different choices. There are those who head for Florida, which I have heard referred to as God’s waiting room. Others move into independent living or assisted living facilities. Living is easier when there is someone to take care of some of your needs, which is getting harder to take of yourself. Or, as we are doing, aging in place at the Brook House which is very convenient: a luxury condominium, no stairs to climb; no snow to shovel, an indoor garage, lots of room, nice neighbors, a health club, a pool in the summer. It is also near public transportation, the senior center, Symphony Hall, Jordan Hall and the Museum of Fine Arts.
And at 85, I am slowing down. I used to go to Boston University’s Evergreen program, taking all kinds of classes, especially sculpting. No more. I used to attend the Boston Workmen’s Circle Executive Board meetings. No more, I used to bike and play tennis. No more. I used to walk to the library and the post office. No more. I used to go to the health club on a regular basis. It has become irregular. And what about the brain? I used to be able to memorize. No more. I don’t bother with crossword puzzles, or other puzzles, but I still read the paper, I read lots of stuff on the computer, and read books for our book club. And I still write. I have promised myself to pull all my memoirs together and have them printed in one volume for friends and family.
So what is my life like as it is getting to the end? Not much different than it was a few years ago, but I am doing less and at a slower pace. I have tried to accommodate to Fran’s condition. Neither she nor I consider myself a “caregiver.” In fact, Fran insists on doing much of the food shopping, which enables her to go out for more than doctor’s appointments. But I clean up, fix things, get the car when she goes out, answer the phone, and take care of the bills and the mail. Fran is having a much harder time walking, and has very little energy. Everything she does is taking a much longer time. I am trying to learn to be patient and understanding.
I go out less frequently, but still attend Jewish Labor Committee, Workmen’s Circle and other organizational events and Yiddish Vinkl meetings. On Wednesday mornings, I look forward to the discussion group at the Senior Center, followed by our writing group. We eat out a couple times a month, go to the movies, and concerts and plays from time to time, but it is an effort, and it is more frequently matinees, rather than evening performances. When I was younger, I wondered why people went to matinees. Now I know, And when I was younger, I always sat in the balcony. Now we sit in the orchestra. I take public transportation less, but I still do. It is getting harder getting on and off the T. Of course, when I get on, carrying my cane, I almost always get a seat—usually from a young woman.
I am sleeping more, I am forgetting more, I am hurting more, I am having more trouble walking. I can’t bend down easily, nor can I get up on a ladder. I can’t stand on one foot, nor can I put one foot directly in front of the other, or rise up on my toes or heels. (I was asked to do them by a physical therapist. My balance is shot.) I worry about what my doctor and dentist will find when I next visit them. I am accomplishing less, I am absorbing less. I cannot retain technical information. Almost everything connected with the computer, the cell phone, the digital camera and even the remotes for the TV and the DVD, have eluded me.
All around me, people my age have the same complaints, and worse. Fortunately I know lots of people who are younger and who are in much better shape, and who reassure me that I don’t look my age, and are amazed at all that I am doing. But eventually, I will stop taking the T, I will go out even less, I may even have to stop driving, I will read and write less, I will sleep even more, I will be more dependent on my cane, and perhaps on others. I will have left the fair far behind me. Look who is accusing his mother of self pity!
3-17-13
My mother used to say, “You are going to the fair, and I am coming from the fair.” She was telling me that my life is ahead of me, and hers is winding down. I didn’t care for that observation; it sounded like self-pity, and I never cared for the “fair” analogy. In fact, I wanted to ask her when do we know we are at the fair? Does “the fair” represent the high point of our lives? Pleasure, joy, happiness? When we have achieved everything that we strove for? Children, friends, satisfaction from our work? After having achieved, our children grow up, our friends grow old, and our work is done. The fair is behind us. The music stops. The lights go out. Everyone leaves.
At 85, I have left the fair some time ago. But I am hanging around, outside the fairgrounds. I have several different choices. There are those who head for Florida, which I have heard referred to as God’s waiting room. Others move into independent living or assisted living facilities. Living is easier when there is someone to take care of some of your needs, which is getting harder to take of yourself. Or, as we are doing, aging in place at the Brook House which is very convenient: a luxury condominium, no stairs to climb; no snow to shovel, an indoor garage, lots of room, nice neighbors, a health club, a pool in the summer. It is also near public transportation, the senior center, Symphony Hall, Jordan Hall and the Museum of Fine Arts.
And at 85, I am slowing down. I used to go to Boston University’s Evergreen program, taking all kinds of classes, especially sculpting. No more. I used to attend the Boston Workmen’s Circle Executive Board meetings. No more, I used to bike and play tennis. No more. I used to walk to the library and the post office. No more. I used to go to the health club on a regular basis. It has become irregular. And what about the brain? I used to be able to memorize. No more. I don’t bother with crossword puzzles, or other puzzles, but I still read the paper, I read lots of stuff on the computer, and read books for our book club. And I still write. I have promised myself to pull all my memoirs together and have them printed in one volume for friends and family.
So what is my life like as it is getting to the end? Not much different than it was a few years ago, but I am doing less and at a slower pace. I have tried to accommodate to Fran’s condition. Neither she nor I consider myself a “caregiver.” In fact, Fran insists on doing much of the food shopping, which enables her to go out for more than doctor’s appointments. But I clean up, fix things, get the car when she goes out, answer the phone, and take care of the bills and the mail. Fran is having a much harder time walking, and has very little energy. Everything she does is taking a much longer time. I am trying to learn to be patient and understanding.
I go out less frequently, but still attend Jewish Labor Committee, Workmen’s Circle and other organizational events and Yiddish Vinkl meetings. On Wednesday mornings, I look forward to the discussion group at the Senior Center, followed by our writing group. We eat out a couple times a month, go to the movies, and concerts and plays from time to time, but it is an effort, and it is more frequently matinees, rather than evening performances. When I was younger, I wondered why people went to matinees. Now I know, And when I was younger, I always sat in the balcony. Now we sit in the orchestra. I take public transportation less, but I still do. It is getting harder getting on and off the T. Of course, when I get on, carrying my cane, I almost always get a seat—usually from a young woman.
I am sleeping more, I am forgetting more, I am hurting more, I am having more trouble walking. I can’t bend down easily, nor can I get up on a ladder. I can’t stand on one foot, nor can I put one foot directly in front of the other, or rise up on my toes or heels. (I was asked to do them by a physical therapist. My balance is shot.) I worry about what my doctor and dentist will find when I next visit them. I am accomplishing less, I am absorbing less. I cannot retain technical information. Almost everything connected with the computer, the cell phone, the digital camera and even the remotes for the TV and the DVD, have eluded me.
All around me, people my age have the same complaints, and worse. Fortunately I know lots of people who are younger and who are in much better shape, and who reassure me that I don’t look my age, and are amazed at all that I am doing. But eventually, I will stop taking the T, I will go out even less, I may even have to stop driving, I will read and write less, I will sleep even more, I will be more dependent on my cane, and perhaps on others. I will have left the fair far behind me. Look who is accusing his mother of self pity!
3-17-13
Original Format
application/msword
Collection
Citation
Jacob Schlitt, “It's Getting to the End,” Autobiographical stories & other writing by Jacob Schlitt, accessed April 25, 2024, https://tsirlson.omeka.net/items/show/213.