Who said, “getting old isn’t for sissies?”
I visited my 90 year old aunt in her home in Sacramento yesterday. I called her a few days ahead to tell her I’d be there. It was a struggle getting her to understand, but I thought she understood when I’d be there. So I drove three hours to get there and expected a happy greeting, as it’s been over a year since I’ve seen her.
I called the day before and put a message on her phone to expect me the next day.
She yelled, “come in” when I knocked on the door. I walked in and found her sitting on a chair smiling at me. I gave her a hug. She seemed happy and then told me to walk around the house.
Okay, it’s getting to be a long story: she thought I was the realtor and was suprised when the lady who takes care of her told her I was Laureen.
She was embarrassed but that faded, as she went on to complain and whine about lots of annoyances, real and imagined. I stayed around one hour and then went to my motel room. I could have driven back home and saved the money for the room.
She was angry about the neighbors across the street who painted their house yellow. I thought it looked nice.
The lady, care giver told me when the painters finished, the ninety year old went across the street, screamed at them, used every four letter word she knew. She complained to authorities and made a huge fuss about the color.
There’s more, but, in general, she is an old, bitter lady, and neighbors have run out of patience. It makes me sad because she is a charming woman, but the bitterness has become more of what she is.
Makes me scared about growing old.