My mum will be 91 this year. Every so often, she tells me she wants to go to her Tata or grandfather’s house.

It’s a story she has created in her head. Part imagination and part memories. My mum’s Tata story has grown manifold since she first started talking about it when she became unwell in 2021. I think it’s my mum’s defence mechanism or safe haven. An alternative home/place that is hers to visit/stay when she wishes. My mum speaks about going to Tata’s house, more so, when she thinks I need relief/respite.

Why? Because she says she’s an imposition. This, despite all my assurances and reassurances. I’ve made it amply clear to my mum that while full-time caring is no walk in the park, I wouldn’t want to be and will not be anywhere else but with her. She knows that only too well. A comforting thought for both her and me.  

That said, I understand. I empathize. I’m sad. Being old is not nice. Being old and reliant is doubly not nice.  Not for my mum.  Not for anyone.  Not especially for the elderly, who’ve already lived a lifetime of normal or exciting, challenging or boring episodes/experiences before arriving at this stage of their lives.

Older people, the ones we sometimes see being pushed in wheelchairs or having their hands held as if they are children, yes the same ones, have had jobs, careers and businesses. They were young, giggly, shy, and romantic once. They loved and were loved by their boyfriends/girlfriends and spouses. They fed, clothed, cooked and cared for their children and grandchildren. They enjoyed outings, holidays, and parties with their families and friends. Yes, they were lively, multi-dimensional and independent individuals. Some still are. I know a few over 80s and many over 70s who go about their daily lives capably. They are self-sufficient and self-reliant.

But age catches up with all of us. Invariably, retirement happens. Physical and mental changes take place. Ailments monopolise, some debilitating. Energy, strength, and flexibility decline. Memory is less than sharp. There’s a gradual inability to grasp and retain new information. And, a lack of interest to keep up with current technology. Deaths of family and friends. A narrowing of family relationships and social circles. From fewer to no responsibilities. Some elderly live with family, some in public-funded homes. Others in private facilities. Some are destitute. I see one homeless older gentleman quite regularly.

I’ve painted a rather bleak picture about ageing and being older. Anecdotally, I think the not so welcome decline is more towards the latter years, late 80s and into the 90s. My up close and personal reference is my mum. Things took a turn just before she celebrated her 88^th birthday. She’s always had chronic illnesses which she somehow managed alright. Falling off the bed changed her life.

Now, my mum is an old girl. She needs 24×7 care, and is reliant on others for her food, medicines, and personal care. She can’t walk without support. She is frail. Her footprint is limited to her sofa, bed and bathroom. Although she was never one to venture outside her condo too frequently, she and I did do weekly lunches and grocery shopping. We visited shopping malls during festivals to watch shows and view decorations. She went on holidays and travelled abroad.

Now, it’s the same-same every day. There’s no newness or difference in her life. Newness and the outside world must come to her. By way of visits and phone calls to her. Thankfully, she’s compos mentis. She has memory loss but is still cheeky when she chooses to be. She told me going to bed early on Saturday night was reminiscent of WW2. Back then, bar any mode of modern communication, lay people were assigned to physically go around the houses telling residents to put out their oil lamps and stay quiet to avoid being sighted and bombed. And, she laughed at her own joke. Hmm.  

Still strong willed and strong minded, she also tells me she’s ready to go. That she cannot understand the point of being in this world at her age. She’s had her life. She’s lived it. She’s enjoyed her children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren. She prays to God to take her. She prayed to God to have her instead of her son, brother number 1.  Brother number 1’s passing has been very hard on my mum. She sometimes finds it difficult to express her sense of loss but when she does, it’s heartbreaking. She’s also tired. She sleeps more. She’s finding it increasing arduous to breathe comfortably even at 5 lpm, the maximum level on her oxygenator. Her breathing is more laboured after the smallest movement, and always after a shower. She says she’s just tired of being dependent, and of life.

I empathize. I understand. I’m sad.