We’re about to take a long-delayed trip to visit my husband’s parents in Wales. It’s been 14 years since our last visit, mainly because the cost of such a journey overshadowed our ability to fund it. We hoped to go in 2020, but you all know what happened then. Now my in-laws are both in their 80s and time with them is more precious than ever.
In fact, my mother-in-law has just come home from the hospital, where she was treated for pneumonia. She’s still very weak, not at all like her former bustling self, a woman whose house was always sparkling clean, who always had a load of laundry in the wash or drying on the line and somehow had a homemade dinner every night for her family of six. She was in her 50s when I first met her, and I was in awe of her ability to get 3,000 things done in a day and never breathe a single word of complaint. My peak productivity is getting eight things done and loudly complaining about every one.
I’m glad we’ll be able to help care for her, to take the burden off her husband and two daughters (one of whom has just had hip replacement surgery). But this will not be the celebratory trip that we’d envisioned. We will probably not be accompanying my in-laws on fun outings to tea houses, ancient castles and the beautiful Brecon Beacons National Park. (Adorably, the Welsh call the hills in this park “mountains” with the highest elevation at 2,907 feet, compared with our magnificent Mount Hood at 11,249 feet.)
More likely, we’ll be at my mother-in-law’s bedside, encouraging her to eat and bringing her cups of tea. We’ll help with laundry, dishwashing and cooking, doing what we can to keep her home tidy so nothing in her sight troubles her. It will be hardest for my husband, who remembers the capable and caring woman she was 50 years ago. That’s the mother he holds in his heart, and it will be difficult to match that image to her diminished capacity. Age certainly never loses its ability to shock us.