Infants and Elders: Clues to living fully.

Infants give us clues about the person they might become.

Elders give us clues as to who they might have been.

At the end of life, everything is stripped away to the essentials. Days before the pandemic and within three weeks of each other, my elderly parents passed away.

One of the hardest things I had to do was tell my dad that my mom, his wife of 65 years, had died. It was the first time I saw him cry. His mental facilities were in place; hers had not been for years.

At the end of their lives, we saw many clues as to whom they might have become if things had been different. They were of the greatest generation, deep-rooted conservative WASP New Englanders. A generation that didn’t talk about themselves. WWII changed the trajectory of my dad’s life. My mom’s dream of becoming a forest ranger didn’t fit into the culturally accepted norm of women being good wives and mothers.

For the last years of my mom’s life, she didn’t know who I was. We never had a close relationship. She taught me essential life rules, such as being nice and grateful. Being nice meant always seeing the best in every situation. She rarely got angry or said bad words. Hate and damn were swear words. She constantly told us never to hate anyone or anything.

Even the mean neighbor who came over for coffee and spread negative gossip she was grateful for and never said anything negative about her. She would sigh and say, oh, she’s Mrs. M is just venting.

Because she was an agreeable and sweet dementia patient, we were to keep her home until her end. She constantly smiled, did what people told her to, and didn’t wander off.

At the end of her life, long after she knew who I was, it was white rocks, my dad, and Publisher’s Clearing House she cherished most. She spoke quietly and was always smiling. At the height of her Publishers Clearing House Sweepstake obsession, she was spending over $800 a month. The highlight of her day was searching for white rocks and waiting for the mail to arrive. When asked what she would do if she won a million dollars, she replied, “I’d buy a house on Lake Winnipesaukee in the woods.” Publishers clearing house was a means to the things she wanted most, to be in nature. Her publisher clearing house obsession ended when she stopped remembering her daughters.

She often stated that rocks and trees were like people; they all had different personalities. She’d shake her head; she couldn’t understand the world and why people behaved poorly. She would mutter, “atrocious,” “disgusting,” and “terrible.” She would say people should be like trees and rocks, peaceful and grateful.

Being a good girl in the society she grew up in, a middle-upper-class New England town, she did what her mother and society told her. She went to secretarial school, got married, had kids, and did what her husband told her most of the time. Kids ruin your life; she confided in me several times after having too many alcoholic drinks. She wanted to be a park ranger.

The person my mother might have become did not happen. She did become a mother to two daughters and taught them gratitude. She was loyal to her husband and loved her job as a secretary. After she passed, many people said how nice, friendly, and helpful she was. She showed gratitude till the end of her life, even when dementia stole her soul away. In the end, she only remembered her husband and nature. The things I believe she cared about most.

My dad was the opposite. He stayed mentally sharp till right before he passed away at age 93. Nobody ever called him a grateful person. He could be self-centered, exacting, and demanding.

He could also play a perfect gentleman if the situation called for it. I appreciated all my dad did for me; he was not easy to be around.

When hospice was called in, I gathered my thoughts, held his hand, and told him things I appreciated about him being my dad. They were simple memories of sailing, woodworking, and hiking. I told him I loved him for the first time. He replied and said he loved me. It was the first time he had ever said that. At the end of his life, a surprising thing happened. He softened. For the first time, he spoke highly of his mother-in-law and how wonderful she was. She used to be the butt of his jokes and a frequent target for his anger.

He reminded me to bequest money to his neighbor and friend Tom, who he finally appreciated as a friend rather than his handyman.

My dad was a WWII Vet, serving in the Pacific theater as a hospital corpsman. He received wounded Marines from battle. He was eighteen years old. When he returned from the war, the family rumor was that his mother nursed him physically and mentally back to life. We suspected he had PTSD, which contributed to his anger and pushing people away. The week he died, my sister and the nurses witnessed him hallucinating about being in battle.

At the end of his life, his anger lifted, and he spoke of appreciation for those around him. His life would have been very different if he wasn’t angry all the time. My parents did their best with what they had, and gratitude made it bearable.

Me being an introvert and raising an extra-extroverted child was challenging. It became clear that going out in public, in a stroller, or grocery shopping, would take longer because my older son needed to interact with everybody!

Before his first birthday, he would lock eyes, pull strangers over, and converse. I felt like the pied piper with people following us wanting to chat with that baby in the carriage. He cracked the veneer of an elderly neighborhood gentleman who didn’t speak to anyone but my son.

My oldest son’s job aligns perfectly with who he was as a baby. He is in an event management job where he interacts with thousands of people, putting on hundreds of events yearly for a professional sports team. He is comfortable and confident in talking to and friending the homeless, celebrities, CEOs, and everyone.

My next son was born five years later. From the start, it was clear he didn’t have that extreme extroversion. As a baby, he was in constant motion and gravitated toward anything he could throw, kick, catch or use as a sword. He excelled at every sport possible and even made some up. He played sports in college and is still moving.

As infants, my sons revealed clues as to who they were as people and what careers and lives they grew into. My parents showed us who they might have become whom the end of their lives.

I wish every person had opportunities to become the person they were meant to be. The first step is knowing who you uniquely are. The clues are there from the start. If you look hard enough, you can see the clues. When there is clarity on who you are, more choices and opportunities to live more fully into your potential appear.

Don’t hide your light, don’t conceal your talents and skills. The world needs your unique brilliance. Every day, between infancy and death, is the time to become the person you were meant to be.

Society and life circumstances put blocks on my parent’s life trajectory. They did the best they could with what they had.

Gratitude is what my mother taught me. It can ease our life circumstances and difficulties. It can help us get on track to living the life we were meant to. The clues are there from infancy. It’s our job to find them.

How do you search for clues in your life? What do you do when you find them?