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444 pages, Kindle Edition
Published July 18, 2023
The Measure of our Age could benefit anyone concerned with aging, their own or others, known or unknown. It could serve as a textbook or training resource for nursing homes, assisted living facilities, continuing care centers, geriatricians, social workers, adult protective services, law enforcement personnel, meals on wheels volunteers, or families like yours or mine.
My introduction to old age came when I was quite young—four years old. Grandma Miller, age 82, came from Iowa to New Mexico to live with us because she could no longer manage on her own. As a little boy, I mostly resented her. Through the next ten years, as her arthritis worsened along with her hearing, and as she lost her eyesight, I easily avoided her. When she was in her 90s, Dad hired a woman to come on weekdays to care for her hygiene and to provide a bit of companionship. Then, because I wanted to become a medical missionary, Dad offered me five dollars a week to provide those nursing services. So, as a teenager, I changed Grandma's nightgown after giving her a complete sponge bath. I assisted her with her enemas and, as she became incontinent, changed the paper separating her from her bedsheets. I treated her pressure sores with ointment. I brushed her hair, trimmed her nails, and plucked her eyebrows and facial hair. I read her church magazine to her and listened to the radio with her. I put the last spoonful of food into her mouth before she died after 12 years as a member of our household.
She had hoped to spend her last years in a Church of the Brethren Home in Mount Morris, Illinois, with friends from the Midwest she had known for years. But her children overruled her and decided the home of her youngest son was a better idea. One of the issues Connolly discusses is the continuum between autonomy and safety. Did my dad and his siblings violate Grandma’s autonomy, or did they ensure her safety? Where on the continuum did their decision in 1952 fall? Was their motive better care for her, or better finances for themselves?
My feelings went from revulsion as a child to affection as an adolescent. Unconsciously, I carried that range of emotions with me into my role as a pastor. I would visit the elderly, mostly widows, and enjoy hearing their stories. However, I confess, I struggled as I encountered those with dementia. No matter how often I came to see them, they asked why I hadn’t come for so long. I reacted by avoiding them and feeling guilty about it. Only years later did I connect my reactions to my early years with Grandma.
My ambivalence helps me understand the range of behaviors among care givers—from heroic attention to scandalous neglect and abuse. Connolly compares abuse and neglect to the unnavigable rocks and rapids that can cause a canoe to wreck downstream. In fact, most of the research on aging has focused on the problems with care for the elderly—understaffing by profit-driven nursing homes, financial exploitation by caregivers (paid or family members), physical abuse, and neglect that can be fatal. How much better, she says, to have a map upstream, to avoid the hazards before it’s too late.
She cites three types of risk factors that can lead to abuse (pp. 252f.) First, factors relating to the older person; for example, cognitive impairment, physical frailty, or needing assistance which gives someone else access to their finances. Second, risk factors relating to someone like a caregiver or trusted person; for instance, what if it’s a grandson with a drug addiction, or a nurse’s aide who has a gambling habit? And third, risk factors relating to the context, such as poverty or lack of transportation. Each case is complex and unique, but these focal points help predict and prevent things that might go wrong.
My neighbor asked, “Are you planning to age at home?” I thought about it and said, “We don’t have any other plan at this time. We have a first-floor bedroom, levers for door handles, grab bars in the shower and by a couple of toilets, and a rollator walker. We may need to buy an electric stair lift before long.” AARP has a home checklist to help with such planning. Connolly’s book also provides insights into how to screen facilities, not by the pretty chandeliers, for instance, but by the staff ratio and turnover rate.
Connolly's work has been for Elder Justice, and in this, she realized the variety of connotations the word “justice” conveys to different people—everything from punishment to mercy. She writes:
For me, today, it evokes fairness, dignity, and hope—a way for society to steer itself by values, to define rights, and to provide ways for those who are wronged to be recognized and extract meaning from society’s response. (p. 280)Connolly’s book deals with systems—care, safety, money, and meaning. The section on meaning comes at the end, where she writes:
My primary focus in this book has. . . been on the puzzles [treatment, logistics, and the price of care]. But it’s in the mysteries of aging where transformation can happen for us, and where positive cultural shifts must draw their strength. Drained of meaning, late life becomes largely a series of losses. If we can re-imbue aging with meaning, there’d be a lot less suffering. (p. 285)Two of my favorite parts of her book come near the end. One describes a group in Kentucky that facilitated a play involving a nursing home’s staff and residents as well as some people from the surrounding community. The other part, the epilogue, tenderly narrates the passing of her father, including the last-minute lessons learned among her siblings.
As you read this book, you may find parts of it gloomy, particularly the review of how the elderly have been treated or mistreated in our society. On the other hand, however, I hope you’ll feel inspired by it to act with justice and to advocate justice for those who are older. The Fifth Commandment requires honoring our elders. Why? To create systems, policies, and norms that will benefit us when we ourselves need the care of younger people.