To my darling daughter, (and my two sons, if she allows you in on any of the decision making with regards to my care and maintenance…)
I am hoping that this day will come very far away in the future and that I will have many more days of being ambulatory (ask Madison what that means) and independent.
However, I wanted it in writing that should I become MENTALLY incapacitated, I shall not wish to remain living on this planet — and, in that case, it will be absolutely my right to not continue doing so. You must not mind, because I will have had a very long and wonderful life and I would rather you remember me that way than the other. I’ve heard Switzerland is a good place for that sort of ending.
If I become physically incapacitated, I do not want you shuffling me around from one house to another, as many families — even us — have done and endeavor to make work in this insane world we live in. No, absolutely not! You will spend some of your guys’ inheritance and find me a reasonable care home (where they serve decent food and wine — a criteria — and a facility where they will not punch or push me, because you know me, I’ll punch back!).
If you can check in once in a while, or FaceTime that would be lovely; but, know this, I will have had my life and I have no intention of messing up yours in my later years, should I live so long. Too many older folk feel entitled to have their family take care of them and I have seen first hand the ruin that can play on a marriage and household. I know you are a nurse and a most caring soul, but those are my wishes.
(And, in case, she doesn’t know who this is…)
Love,
Mum
X
My dear readers, you may be wondering why I am writing a “towards the end” letter to my daughter in a public newspaper column. (Maybe I’ve lost my marbles already?) Let’s dare to hope not.
No, just thinking ahead, should I live so long, as mother used to say, who lived to be only a measly 67. I have been reading a wonderful book called “The Correspondent” by Virginia Evans. This lady of a certain age and generation loves to communicate via letter. It came to mind that letter-writing, like handwriting, is an art that is fast dying in our society. It’s much quicker and more efficient to just shoot off an email and that’s mostly what we all do; yet it is so impersonal and cold and, frankly, impermanent.
Going through boxes of my personal belongings from the last nearly four decades, I have come across so many letters from friends and family members that are still encapsulated in their pristine envelopes with a post mark from decades ago. I love to see my mother’s scratchy hand or my sister’s rolling scribe, not dissimilar to mine. What a treat it is to uncover these gifts, now these folks are gone, and revisit the several minutes that that person took the time to think of you and what they wished to share with you so many years ago. We didn’t have mobile phones or email back then, so the post was a vital communication lifeline between parties. Ancient treasure, I call it.
At 3 a.m., fairly recently, when I was wide awake and thinking about all the things I needed to accomplish before I leave the country again, I was pondering the subject of my first paragraph and came to the conclusion that I needed to dig out all my old letters and see if there was anything there worth publishing for posterity. Having read another chapter from “The Correspondent,” I also vowed to write all my loved ones a letter before I either popped my clogs or went nuts. If they didn’t already know — which they do, but mostly they don’t acknowledge that I am a huge fan of reading and writing, my legacy will be a reminder of how important communication is in all its various forms, but especially, in my opinion, in the form of the written word.
My granddaughter and I were pen pals for a while — I think a school project prompted that little adventure, but it was fun while it lasted. She told me that they no longer teach the kids how to write in cursive in the classroom — what — and mostly their printing is a disaster because they seldom practice it and, on the whole, use only the tablet for their schoolwork. That hurts my heart in too many ways. A whole generation of wordsmiths will not know the agony of pen to paper and what to write next in what way. The completion of the letter and the mailing. The wait until that person might have received said letter and the angst concerning whether they will choose to promptly respond or have you suffer for a while, or forever. I wonder if kids still pass around notes in class — or is it all texting and IM-ing these days. I’ll have to ask Madison next time we FaceTime.
Everything these days is so darn instant. From instant coffee to microwaveable everythings in a minute, to a text being a sufficient thank you for a gift received or actually anything at all. The greetings card industry has almost gone the way of cursive script, except as an afterthought. This little pack rat kept lots of those too over the years. What to do, what to do with all these piles of paper. It is a bit of a dilemma; I can tell you. No one is ever going to covet that “HBD” text received last birthday, or the Christmas greetings email from Grandpa, because Grandpa barely sends out cards anymore. (The cost of stamps, heavens!)
If I’m sounding like an old-fashioned codger, that is likely what I am, and I’m probably not going to change much before the curtains are drawn for the last time. I’m hoping, later down the road, when I find myself in a nice care home (with my own room please!), I will be able to revisit my correspondence of decades perhaps in my mind, perhaps in a nicely bound book of my own publication; but communication is key, we all know that and I’ll keep trying to do that until my last gasp. No amount of modernizing will ever change that factoid, however the delivery is made.
P.S. Children, I will try and leave enough money so that you can accomplish the above without any hardship to yourselves … peace out. Love always … Mum.
