Is it really that time? Already? Thought there were at least a few more years left. Oh, well, guess the circle of life cannot be denied.
For years we took care of everyone, large and small, older and younger. We fell into our roles as our nature allowed and mostly adapted well. Or so we thought. Just wait for the first time. You will stop for a bit, think and then go on, convinced it really was not. But oh, yes, it was exactly that.
That darned cycle, circle, whatever name you wish, has struck. Yes, one is still needed, still a source of advice, but - a great big but - how much you have forgotten. Suddenly there are new rules and regulations. Suddenly you had better dust off that cane, or better yet, the walker. Suddenly there is a new regime for getting dressed. And suddenly when you are standing there with a grabber in your hand shaking on your feet while getting instructions on how to use it - the most frightening thing is how true it is.
It is a world changing event, quite confusing, when one's physical state goes slipping and sliding towards the refuse pile even as the mind slues back to the future as every single one of your youthful ideals return. Now what to do?
I have discovered my way through this new minefield. Deal with each child as befits that child's nature. Cut off the flow of instructions by sending yours right back at them. All the things you want them to do when you are gone. All that you hope for them to continue. Watch the faces turn red and the topic quickly change to what's for dinner.
Seriously though, having become physical child to your own child is demoralizing, frightening, and beautiful. These kids think nothing of helping you get dressed even as you cringe. They laugh at your silliness, and you know that whatever has gone on before, whatever childish laundry remains, you have done a good job. Dangnabbit and all, these kids have grown into beautiful adults. And now they run to do the dishes. How sweet it is.
By the way, this holds true for sons as well.
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