Old folk – Part 2
One enlightening oldies experience in my life is having been involved with Whitianga Continuing Care. My Dad moved there from Auckland in 2003 after a quadruple bypass (one of the less enjoyable possible consequences of growing old), and later, some mini strokes which left him able to understand what he heard, but unable to speak and put sentences together. He would laugh at my stupid jokes, but couldn’t say “Hi Ross.” So, our conversations were a bit one-sided, as you can imagine. I used to push him in his wheelchair down to the pub on Friday nights to watch super rugby.
He always got excited when the Blues scored even though I had told him when he moved here that he had to cheer for the Chiefs and vote Green.
I don’t think he did either but I didn’t hold it against him.
Two things he could do were count to 10 in Japanese, (he was at Hiroshima in J Force after the war), and sing the words to Pokarekare Ana. During the singing sessions we had with the other residents, he would sit there singing away with tears streaming down his face. I have sometimes noticed other residents doing the same thing when singing other songs. I guess singing triggers old memories and acts as an emotional release for folks whose futures may be quite short and whose memories may be fading.
Recently, another resident was brought to singing sessions and, for several months, I never saw her open her eyes. She had advanced dementia, but on some days, I saw her foot moving in time to the music. Something was registering, and one day she opened her eyes. I smiled and told her what I thought was quite a funny joke (What do you call a pile of kittens? – A meowntain), and asked if she thought it was funny. She looked at me and said quite clearly without smiling, “No, not really.” I laughed but nearly cried, feeling very privileged to have communicated with her even though it was for just a brief moment. A few weeks later at her funeral I found out that her passion in life had been music.
Of course, not all old people like music. I was greatly entertained by one old bloke who was a new resident and who, on seeing me for the first time, asked what I was doing there. I told him I was there for a singing session with the residents. He replied, “I don’t like music and don’t want you to sing here, so please leave.” Every Monday as he passed the door of the singing room he shouted out in a similar manner until the staff finally managed to sort him out.
Some old people may look as if they are not there, so we often just leave them be, but unless we engage with them, we never know if that is true or not. Often a smile or some other acknowledgement makes someone’s day. A brief chat might be the only communication that person has had for a while. Some have family who don’t live in the area or are just not interested enough to visit their whānau. So, it’s important that they receive some acknowledgement, some communication from someone who cares about them and their condition of growing old.
We must value the old folks in our lives, realising that they have all had experiences we know nothing about. Sometimes, it’s astounding to hear their stories.
We must value the old folks in our lives, realising that they have all had experiences we know nothing about. Sometimes, it’s astounding to hear their stories. I had one elderly friend who had been one of the renowned dambuster pilots during World War II, and another whose fiancé was captured by German soldiers and shot for being a member of the resistance. Everyone has their stories if we just take the time to sit with them and listen – and even if they cannot communicate, just sitting with them may mean more to them than we can imagine.
I really treasure the time I have spent with old folks over the past 20-odd years and when I grow old and slow down, I hope that someone will sit beside me and listen to my stories, if I can remember any; but if not, then they can always grab some old copies of Coromind!
words by Ross Liggins
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