Change: Why We Love and Hate It
Several months ago when some Obama super- fans on Facebook claimed that they already missed him, I tried to calm them down by pointing out that he still had almost two years left in his second term and would be in the White House until late January, 2017. One of the super- fans thanked me for reminding her that it was rather foolish to start missing the President before he had actually left office. Of course, the Obama haters will be as happy to see him leave as many of us were to sing "bye-bye" to Bush. Seeing Bush leave for Texas while Obama and his family marched into the White House was change that we could believe in.
Most of the time, change is not so clearly good or bad, positive or negative. It is more likely to be bittersweet. When we graduated from high school, for instance, most of us were looking forward to attending college or finding a job, but we also knew we would miss our high school friends and even some of our teachers. Our parents probably had similar bittersweet feelings about our high school graduation. They were happy to see their children become adults but were going to miss them when they left the nest.
Although I never had children so didn't experience the empty nest syndrome, I'm currently dealing with a similar change. My mother and I have been living together continuously for almost eighteen years (yes, I am aware of the similarity to the high school graduate leaving home at eighteen), and she has lived with me at least part-time for over twenty-five years. But her current condition and my advanced years make it necessary for her to move to an assisted living facility. I've been considering making this change for more than a year, but I've hesitated, I thought because I knew she preferred not to live in what she sees as "an old folks' home." But as I'm moving more determinedly toward the change, I now realize that I am also having trouble adjusting to the idea of an empty nest.
I'm surprised by how difficult I'm finding this period of transition because my mother and I have left each other several times. When I was not quite thirteen, she moved to Highland Park, Illinois, leaving my brother and me behind to finish the school year in Henderson, Kentucky; after spending the summer months in Illinois, my brother and I returned to Kentucky, where we lived with family members until my mother remarried, and we moved to Evanston, Illinois. Then when I was twenty-three, I moved to Los Angeles, leaving my mother and stepfather in Evanston. They followed me to Southern California shortly before my twenty-seventh birthday. But I moved to Cambridge, Massachusetts, for a year when I was thirty. After living with me in Claremont for more than two years when I was in my early forties, my mother moved back to Henderson, where she lived for five years, staying with me during the winter months. So you would think that we would be quite used to saying goodbye.
I guess this time is more difficult because we are both older and more vulnerable. But we've also been together much more during the years since I retired. Except during the brief times when she has been hospitalized (never for more than three nights), we have not spent a night apart since 2000 when she visited Chicago without me. As I compare myself to the parents with empty nest syndrome, I realize that our journeys are reversed. Children become more independent as they mature while seniors become more dependent as they grow older. Children learn to feed and dress themselves, they go to school (now often at three), then they start driving, and finally they leave home. My mother stopped driving at seventy-five, stopped cooking a few years ago, and now occasionally needs help taking off a blouse or a dress. So sending her to live somewhere else at this point is more like sending a toddler to boarding school than sending a teenager to college. Even the coldest, most selfish millionaires and billionaires (to quote Bernie Sanders' favorite phrase) would not send their three and four-year-olds to boarding school, so the change I'm facing is more disturbing than the one faced by the parents of high school graduates. That's probably why I've lost my composure (briefly crying) four times in the last week.
As I make this difficult transition, I have two advantages. I'm old enough to be wise and well-educated enough to be analytical. Since I've experienced many changes, I know that I will be able to adjust to my too-empty nest and to letting others be responsible for my mother's well-being. Because I'm analytical, I can figure out why I'm emotional and what makes me emotional, so I will be able to avoid having too many meltdowns.
When this change happens, there will be a period of adjustment that will be hard on both my mother and me. But I look forward to having the freedom to enjoy my golden years while they last, and I hope she will enjoy the many services and activities (Bible Study, Bingo, trips to casinos and malls) provided in one of the luxurious assisted living facilities that I have toured.
I hope that this difficult change will eventually be as good for my mother and me as the change from Bush to Obama was for our country.
Most of the time, change is not so clearly good or bad, positive or negative. It is more likely to be bittersweet. When we graduated from high school, for instance, most of us were looking forward to attending college or finding a job, but we also knew we would miss our high school friends and even some of our teachers. Our parents probably had similar bittersweet feelings about our high school graduation. They were happy to see their children become adults but were going to miss them when they left the nest.
Although I never had children so didn't experience the empty nest syndrome, I'm currently dealing with a similar change. My mother and I have been living together continuously for almost eighteen years (yes, I am aware of the similarity to the high school graduate leaving home at eighteen), and she has lived with me at least part-time for over twenty-five years. But her current condition and my advanced years make it necessary for her to move to an assisted living facility. I've been considering making this change for more than a year, but I've hesitated, I thought because I knew she preferred not to live in what she sees as "an old folks' home." But as I'm moving more determinedly toward the change, I now realize that I am also having trouble adjusting to the idea of an empty nest.
I'm surprised by how difficult I'm finding this period of transition because my mother and I have left each other several times. When I was not quite thirteen, she moved to Highland Park, Illinois, leaving my brother and me behind to finish the school year in Henderson, Kentucky; after spending the summer months in Illinois, my brother and I returned to Kentucky, where we lived with family members until my mother remarried, and we moved to Evanston, Illinois. Then when I was twenty-three, I moved to Los Angeles, leaving my mother and stepfather in Evanston. They followed me to Southern California shortly before my twenty-seventh birthday. But I moved to Cambridge, Massachusetts, for a year when I was thirty. After living with me in Claremont for more than two years when I was in my early forties, my mother moved back to Henderson, where she lived for five years, staying with me during the winter months. So you would think that we would be quite used to saying goodbye.
I guess this time is more difficult because we are both older and more vulnerable. But we've also been together much more during the years since I retired. Except during the brief times when she has been hospitalized (never for more than three nights), we have not spent a night apart since 2000 when she visited Chicago without me. As I compare myself to the parents with empty nest syndrome, I realize that our journeys are reversed. Children become more independent as they mature while seniors become more dependent as they grow older. Children learn to feed and dress themselves, they go to school (now often at three), then they start driving, and finally they leave home. My mother stopped driving at seventy-five, stopped cooking a few years ago, and now occasionally needs help taking off a blouse or a dress. So sending her to live somewhere else at this point is more like sending a toddler to boarding school than sending a teenager to college. Even the coldest, most selfish millionaires and billionaires (to quote Bernie Sanders' favorite phrase) would not send their three and four-year-olds to boarding school, so the change I'm facing is more disturbing than the one faced by the parents of high school graduates. That's probably why I've lost my composure (briefly crying) four times in the last week.
As I make this difficult transition, I have two advantages. I'm old enough to be wise and well-educated enough to be analytical. Since I've experienced many changes, I know that I will be able to adjust to my too-empty nest and to letting others be responsible for my mother's well-being. Because I'm analytical, I can figure out why I'm emotional and what makes me emotional, so I will be able to avoid having too many meltdowns.
When this change happens, there will be a period of adjustment that will be hard on both my mother and me. But I look forward to having the freedom to enjoy my golden years while they last, and I hope she will enjoy the many services and activities (Bible Study, Bingo, trips to casinos and malls) provided in one of the luxurious assisted living facilities that I have toured.
I hope that this difficult change will eventually be as good for my mother and me as the change from Bush to Obama was for our country.
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