My elderly neighbor Jean across the street mows his lawn on a giant machine. He also collects every single leaf that way. The lawn stays very short, and bare, and the noise factor around here is intense. No wonder, I think, that he’s deaf, and am very tempted to get angry.
Then I remind myself that everyone, no matter how old, needs to feel honored, valued and useful. Jean always says, when we meet, in the street, or on his lawn where he sometimes sits with his frail wife, “If you ever need anything . . .”
Back when my husband Jeff died of a heart attack, in early 2003, I had been here only a few days, and was, of course, still in shock. Jean, then a stranger, knocked on my door, to ask me if I needed anything. He and I ended up taking the urine-soaked death mattress in his truck, to the dump.
My neighbor Jean would love to be a farmer, and needs to help others. That’s obvious. Dan Berrigan and his fellow elderly Jesuit priests love to follow the progress of growing young ones. My Mom, now 95, when she lived in Providence Mount St. Vincent West Seattle (she’s now with dear sister Paula), loved the days when small children visited from the pre-school, down the hall in the same building.
September 27, 2013
We were visiting my Uncle Dan Berrigan. He is 92 and lives at a Jesuit nursing home adjacent to Fordham University in the Bronx. It is a welcoming and friendly place, but it is also a nursing home full of elderly and infirm men. A wake was underway while we were there, and another was scheduled for the next day.
It takes us three trains and three hours to get from Connecticut to the Bronx, but it is a trek I enjoy making every month or so. I love catching up with my uncle. I also love how happy Seamus makes all the elderly Jesuits. During lunch, Seamus wanders the dining hall holding two metal spoons, pausing to wave and giggle and chat. The men, Jesuit priests in their 80s and 90s, are frail and hard of hearing. Some are in wheelchairs and some walk with canes or walkers. They have no children or grandchildren of their own, of course, and there aren’t many kids who visit the place regularly. Everyone knows Seamus’ name. They are watching his growth and development carefully. They see him getting faster and stronger and more mature with each visit. They all remark on how well-mannered and happy he is — music to a mother’s ear.
As I watched my son work the room and heard the coos, baby talk and exclamations of admiration from every table — as well as his babbles, giggles and attempts at conversation — I wondered if there are places where elderly care is integrated with toddler and infant care. Can older people in assisted living facilities or nursing homes be close to kids as they laugh and learn and play? Can those close to the end of their lives and those just starting out enjoy life together? I am so glad I had the opportunity to ask the question because I discovered that the answer is yes.
Outside of Los Angeles, toddlers and senior citizens at ONEgeneration Daycareparticipate in activities like painting, gardening and reading together. It is win-win. A New York Times article about the facility notes that “compared to their peers in traditional preschools, children in intergenerational daycare programs are more patient, express more empathy, exhibit more self-control and have better manners.” You have got to love that, right?
And while the older people are not actually changing diapers or feeding the babies and toddlers, they do feel needed and useful and are often more focused and happy when the little kids are around. In a society that has no place for older people and treats aging like a long and unpleasant illness instead of a natural part of life, that feeling of purpose and belonging is rare, treasured and life-affirming. There are 300 or so similar facilities around the United States. The Murray Weigel Jesuit Residence at Fordham University in the Bronx is not one of them, but as I watched the elderly priests buzz and coo over my son, I wondered: “What could be more lovely?”
This intergenerational care model is not the only way that the young and old are converging in the United States. All over this country, grandparents are raising their children’s children. Because I have lots of silver hair and the crow’s feet of wisdom, I get mistaken for Seamus’ grandmother all the time. It irks me (not enough to make me dye my hair, though). But I guess it is an honest mistake. I am old enough to be his grandmother, at least if I had been pregnant as a teenager and my daughter or son had had a child as a teenager too — not an uncommon occurrence in this country.
Nearly 5 million children live with their grandparents according to recent Census data, which is up from 4.5 million from 10 years ago. The tough economy, incarceration, unplanned pregnancies, social services intervention, military deployment, mental illness and many other factors contribute to this phenomenon. It can be rewarding and it is definitely necessary in some instances, but it is a tough assignment to be one-on-one with a toddler in your 50s or 60s or 70s. As one grandmother told USA Today, “Kids are hard enough to raise when you’re younger, but when you’re older …”
Research shows that grandparents who are responsible for the care of grandchildren are more likely to be depressed or have health problems compared to peers who enjoy time with grandchildren but don’t have to get them to school every morning, chase them around every afternoon and tuck them in every night. It is interesting to view that data against the backdrop of the positive impact for older people of programs like ONEgeneration, where they interact with and relate to young children, but are not primarily responsible for their upbringing.
At ONEgeneration, the kids and seniors call each other “neighbor.” The little kids often greet elderly strangers at the mall or the library in the same fashion: “Hello, neighbor.” I love that. It makes me think about how communities used to be smaller and more intimate places where you lived your whole life and knew everyone by sight or reputation.
Seamus doesn’t talk yet, but I can imagine him greeting people — strangers and friends, old and young, Jesuit and atheist — with a hearty, “Hello, neighbor.”
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