Amour Up Close and Personal

I recently saw the film, Amour directed by Michael Haneke. This exquisitely crafted, unsentimental, and honest look at caregiving and the end of life made me nod my head more than it made me wipe a tear. In fact, I didn't shed one.  I found myself more often thinking, "Yes, that's right. That's the way it is." I would upon occasion grimace at a scene remembering my own experience as a caregiver. The story of Amour is direct and accurate. Hearing the character Anne's cry from the shower "hurts" made me shudder recalling standing outside of my mother's door hearing her cry out "cold"  as the nurse struggled with nozzle in hand.  Watching the nurse give the character Georges, instructions on turning and sheet pulling brought me back to my brother's bedside as he lay helpless, dependent on the kindness of strangers and the love of family.
The serious and at times empty look in the  husband's eyes - whose days had become about diapers and feedings - eyes behind which conflicted, unimaginable thoughts dwell in hopeless resignation.  "Yes," I nodded. Those were my eyes. My thoughts.

The pacing of the spoon to the mouth. The slow, labored swallow. The boredom of the fixation on how many spoonfuls went down. The fumbled aim. The tight lips refusing another bite. The impatient jamming of just one more. "Yes," I nodded. I, too, pushed the spoon just that way and felt the frustration of the turned head and the terror of the anger that bubbled up within me.   Complete control and complete lack of control collide in those tiny moments bringing life into focus in a frame so small it is no wonder it was so readily captured in the film, Amour.  At the bedside, life becomes a series of close ups.

The tenderness, the humility, the dependence, the humanity, the exhaustion, the struggle - it is all there to see - raw and true through the camera's lens and in the hands of a masterful, courageous storyteller.
The bedside is its own world.  It can be a lonely place.

 Even the cruelty of indifference and the insensitivity of a callous caregiver is captured. I recalled my own vigilance and authority as I monitored the actions of hired help.  The bed must be supervised, dignity protected, and personhood preserved no matter how diminished it may appear. Caring for the dying is not a job.  It is a calling.  And not all are called to do the job.

Upon occasion, the window opens allowing mystery and mysticism to bring a renewed sense of awe when the meaning of life and the journey to death all seem sacred  and where birds lead the way to a crematorium or bring a message of comfort. Yes, that too, I experienced. Again, I nodded.  This is a film for anyone who has been there.  This is a film that will open the eyes of anyone who hasn't.
It is not a good time.
It is a good film.

 I emerged from the theatre, dry eyed, somber, and grateful.  While the bedside has brought me to my knees in anguish it has also taught me the greatest lessons in life.  We don't talk about it over dinner or polite conversation but my experience with death has made me the person I am today.  To understand me is to understand that I have pulled the dentures out of my mother's mouth to brush them and have wiped my brother's bottom and held both of their hands as they drew their last breath.  This is not a badge of honor. This is life in close up.  I am grateful to have been able to identify with this film so personally. It reminded me of where I have been. It reminded me that we are much stronger than we ever imagine ourselves to be.  It reminded me of the hospice workers who face this story every day.
It reminded me that at the end of life, compassion, mercy, kindness, forgiveness, patience, humility, and gratitude are essential compass points.

 But the one true guide is amour.

Tech Savvy...Not!

I don't want to sound like one of those old fogies who spends her time lamenting the way it used to be as if the way it used to be was so much better than the way it is now. I'm trying really hard not to do that. After all my daughter and son are entering their adulthood now just as I entered mine thirty years ago. The world is as it is now not as it was then and I have to come to grips with that. I don't know if it is because I'm over fifty. I don't know if it is because I get winded walking up the stairs or my joints ache every morning when I slip my feet into my slippers or that I am noticing some dark spots on my face (big surprise for one who worshipped the sun most of her life). The inevitability of aging during a time of unprecedented rapid change is overwhelming. I'm struggling to keep up, aware that any day I could wake up a full fledged dinosaur. I'll give you an example.

Apparently, there is little reason any more to buy CD's. Forget "album art" or liner notes. Apparently between itunes and pandora, why would anyone clutter their shelves with compact discs? Now you have to understand that storage of CD's in my house has always been an issue and I've been thinking for years about buying a couple of those cool CD racks from Best Buy. My stumbling block has been whether to alphabetize according to artist or categorize according to genre. Apparently, this is a non issue. My procrastination has rendered this debate irrelevant. I missed the window. I might find a used CD rack at a garage sale. Everybody else has loaded their music onto their ipods and computers or downloaded the music from itunes.
Now I realize this is nothing new. I mourned Tower Records and marveled that Borders "books and music" held on as long as they did. But that CD player I tote around with me to my classes? I must look like an idiot!

Truth is, I don't listen to an ipod. Those little ear buds are the wrong shape for my ears. They fall out. I don't understand why they are round when our ear canal is more kidney shaped. At least mine is. What I want are those great big, padded headphones that look like something an airline pilot wears. I think I missed that stage too. I believe those went the way of the Easter Bonnet.

What I find disconcerting is not simply change. It is that I can't keep up with all the things that have and are changing. I find myself asking different questions - like "why would I want an ipad" not "do I want an ipad?" The operative word is "why." I can't even keep up with the application of the new technology.

So while I am facing the realities of my physical aging and continue to look for ways to stay fit, healthy, and hold on to my youthful energy, I am finding the hardest thing is a rather constant feeling of inadequacy and sometimes, stupidity. Who needs a watch when you have a cell phone? Who needs an alarm clock? Who needs a map? Who needs a book? Who needs a TV? Who needs a pad of paper? Who needs a calendar? Who needs a camera? Who needs a pencil? Relics all.

It unnerves me.

I tried to have a conversation about this the other night at a family gathering and found myself so frustrated that I walked away from the table. Something I never do.
I felt misunderstood and lectured to as if I was some stubborn, old school teacher who was hell bent on holding on to outdated modes of teaching. I flashed on my 7th grade grammar teacher, Miss Joseph, who used to march us up to the front of the classroom to recite the rules of grammar and diagram sentences while holding a threatening ruler in her hands.
She was like something out of a one room school house. While her methods were from another era, they were effective. I still know my prepositions.

The other night, I felt unheard, judged, and condescended to as I groped for the right way to express my discomfort and concern about staying relevant. I don't need anyone to tell me all the advantages of Wikipedia and the power of the democratization of the information over the internet. I do not need anyone to tell me again how the Egyptian and Libyan uprisings couldn't have happened without social media. Once and for all let it be known that I do not dispute these things!
That is not what I am saying.

I do not believe in the adage "you can't teach an old dog new tricks." It is the speed with which the new tricks need to be learned by this old dog that I find daunting. I have no choice but to continue to swim in this sea of technological change or I will drown. But, I resent that my time needs to be spent in this way. I feel like I've been taken hostage by Apple, Google, Facebook, and Twitter. (And as you know from my previous rant, I don't even do Facebook.)

Years ago when I was getting my Masters, we studied personality disorders and memorized codes in the DSM. I recently diagnosed myself. Adjustment Disorder. I am having a really hard time adjusting to the new technology. I am not resisting it. I am not rejecting it. I am trying to embrace it. But just like it takes me longer to hobble my way downstairs in the morning until my joints warm up, it takes me longer to learn. I need every twenty-something in the glaring, white, glass- walled Apple store to understand this. Don't tell me to look at the icon. I can't even see the damned thing let alone interpret it.

As a teacher, I now have new responsibility. To teach my students manners and common courtesies like looking me in the eye when I am speaking to them and not texting during a theatre performance. I'm not slapping them with a "splintered ruler" - just reminding them that old fashioned interpersonal communication is done with the face not the top of the head. If this makes me sound like Anne Landers, then so be it.