At Large

Ah, the New Year. New beginnings. New resolutions. New ads on television replacing the mind-numbing political rants which had blessedly been replaced by fake snow, jingle bells, and well-dressed couples with darling “central casting” children celebrating the arrival of their new bow-festooned Christmas automobiles.

Now we’re down to a devastating cycle of ads for pills, potions, and injectables that will do everything from restoring our thinning and retreating hairline to staving off the ravages of acid indigestion to taking the edge off some frankly frightening heart and breathing disorders. As long as we don’t pay attention to the rapid-fire disclaimers required by law that warn of side effects – including death – we’ll be fine. After all, we have their word on it.

The subtlety of narrowing the focus on our health in January is not without support from the marketing research folks who presume that a bit of over-indulgence from Thanksgiving through New Year’s Eve may have given us pause to consider the addition of a few more pounds, some mild shortness of breath when we climb the stairs, or the “just not 100%” we register when facing ourselves in the mirror.

It’s all correctable, we’re assured. A few pills, a new gym membership, a quick getaway to a Bahamian resort populated by models and carefully vetted local staff, and we’ll be good as new. No need to worry about wrinkles and difficulty remembering where we left the car keys … or the car. January is fountain-of-youth time, and we’re all invited to stop aging in its tracks and dive in for a bikini-clad swim.

Cold day, dark sky

January weather can be quirky, at best. We may get the “January thaw” and be fooled into thinking spring is not far away, or we may end up buried under a foot of snow. It’s even money.We found an open parking space the other day and nosed in the car between a couple of salt-stained SUVs. Bundled up against a pesky wind, we crunched our way through the mostly plowed parking lot into the warmth of the complex, signed in and walked the familiar hallways to the security code protected door. We know the code, having entered it many times. The euphemism for this section is “memory care,” which brings a brief smile. Of all the things that are cared for here, memory is last on the list. Memory is gone. Age and genetics have taken their toll. We are here to visit what remains.

A genuine salute

Without question, those in modest uniforms who spend day and night shifts delivering care and concern to the permanent residents and still manage a warm greeting to visitors are unsung heroes. They are much more than modestly paid deliverers of vicarious care. Without their dedication, the process of watching our loved ones drift away into worlds only they attempt to navigate would be impossible.

And, who will we meet today? Faces are familiar and we recall random names and backstories. There is temptation to purposefully walk down the hall, make the right turn and go to the door, ignoring those along the way. Yet, and here is the “sting,” the last song on the radio as we turned into the parking lot continues to play in our mind. Jack is sitting in his usual chair. Janet walks the halls, back and forth. Do we notice? Do we engage?

The lyrics play on

John Prine was a singer/songwriter lauded for his contributions to both folk and country music. He was never a “superstar,” but his impact lives on well past his untimely death. Among his most widely covered songs is one typical of his taking universal human experience and lyrically crafting a story that hits home … right on target. “Hello in There” is less of a dirge and much more of a suggestion.

You know that old trees just grow stronger
And old rivers grow wilder every day
Old people just grow lonesome
Waiting for someone to say
“Hello in there, hello”
So if you’re walkin’ down the street sometime
And spot some hollow, ancient eyes
Please don’t just pass ‘em by and stare
As if you didn’t care
Say, “Hello in there, hello”

We cannot stop time, no matter how hard we try. Botox and facelifts and tummy tucks are all cosmetic. Dear friend and recently retired CEO of AARP, Jo Ann Jenkins coined the phrase “disrupt aging.” Perhaps we can start the New Year with the profound therapy of a simple “hello.”