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CSA-CSA.com — March 2008 CSA Connections
Baby Boomers Are Crossing the Street Without Parents — Are Professionals Ready to Help?
At least 1.7 million Americans age 65 and older will die in 2008, according to a projection from the Centers for Disease Control based on pre-2005 data, recent happenings and the growing older population. Of those, many will be the last surviving parent, often departing without a plan or even a simple will. No family meetings. No wishes expressed. No items presented with loving words. How do we, as professionals, help tie up those loose ends?
If half of this demographic leaves behind three children — many would leave more, others would leave no survivors — about 2.5 million adults would be orphaned in the United States next year. Some of these aging offspring already suffer strained sibling relationships left over from childhood. So, potentially, a large number of grown-up baby boomers will act like children when their parents are not around to provide supervision. Nobody will be watching the kids!
Professionals working with baby boomers need to be well schooled in this issue in order to help their clients. We need to be well connected with other professionals outside of our area of expertise in order to serve this power population.
Rather than pre-plan for death, many elders display avoidance behavior and pretend it will not happen to them. "My kids can just deal with it after I am gone" is a common refrain for those who do not realize that their lack of planning is a recipe for the breakup of their survivors. Professionals who work with boomers often see this type of thinking and avoidance.
What happens to a family when it is not prepared for the passing of its parents?
Three More Stages of Grief
The famous five stages of grief brought forth in 1969 by Dr. Elisabeth Kubler-Ross in her book On Death and Dying are denial, anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance. They do not always happen in that order, we are told, and there is no typical time frame for each stage's duration. The same might be said for three more stages of grief that I would like to add to the doctor's list:
Humor
Arguably, some of the funniest humor is the darkest. For visitation at a funeral home, the deceased sports fan is laid out in his favorite recliner, dressed in his team's colors with a beer can cradled in one hand and a TV remote-control device placed in the other. "That's what Dad would have wanted," insists one family member, while another one is not so sure.
During the division of non-titled property, one sibling chooses an heirloom while quipping, "Mom would have wanted me to have this because she loved me best." Perhaps this is said in jest, and a brother might laugh with the others while he is thinking, "Mom did not love you best, sister." He stuffs his actual sentiment down inside himself.
An overtired and unattended grandchild careens through the cemetery as the graveside service drags on, eliciting chuckles from some of the mourners. Others are appalled.
Gallows humor provides release while passive-aggressiveness gives relief to those who speak under their breath, letting off steam in small doses. Like Band-aids, smart remarks cover up little cuts. However, if wounds are not soothed, they might not heal — or worse, they might close with ugly scars that are constant reminders of some ill-perceived wrong that has been committed. People may laugh, but nothing is said. "Wrongs" are not confronted. Issues remain unsettled.
Greed
People can accumulate a mountain of possessions or wealth during a lifetime. If gifts are not made before death, look out for the circling buzzards. Some families hire security guards for their home during a memorial service for protection against thieves — even thieves who are family members. A coroner tells this story: "The family was at the funeral, and as the casket was lowered into the ground, a group of distant family members sped back to the decedent's home, where they broke in and started stealing things. The burglar alarm was turned on, so the police showed up as these people were carrying stuff out of the house. One cousin was hiding silverware in her thigh-high stockings, with a silver tray crammed in her backside waistband. The cops made them all disrobe on the front lawn. The adult children were flabbergasted."
The scenarios are varied and endless. The spouse of a surviving son or daughter gets upset if the parent's stuff is thrown out or donated, and requests to ransack all garbage. Without asking the others, a sibling makes off with the family jewels. Items are taken or missing. Who has these things?
A sense of entitlement, need or intense desire may override a person's normal tendencies if he or she is tempted with a material or monetary windfall. Posturing might begin long before a life ends. Greed gives a sense of fairness the permission to take a hike … and keep on walking.
Estrangement
One can find oneself walking on a very thin, high wire with other people's families.
When an aged friend was diagnosed with cancer, I witnessed the effects of the existingestrangement in her family and was careful when I got involved. She asked for my help because she would need it if her dying wishes were to come true. The embers of her decades-old love-hate relationship with her son smoldered while I delicately assisted with her pre-arrangements and attended to her most personal needs. This woman's sister had been shut out of her life for years. After my friend's death, a box of letters was found in her basement. The sister's handwritten notes implored reconciliation many times over the miles and years. The envelopes had been opened, but my friend apparently ignored this one-way correspondence to her death. At least, this is what the sister sadly told me when I notified her that the end was near. By then, it was too late for resolution.
"I am never speaking to my brother/sister/mother/father again!" It is easier to live up to that declaration than it is to resolve the issue that prompted the announcement. Especially when family members are not close in proximity, they may drift apart — even if they do survive being caught in a grief riptide. After the passing of the last parent, family members often flail around in an ocean of emotion, under the false impression they are moving toward solid ground. However, with each wave, the tide pulls them out a little farther away from safety. They drown in their individual agendas. The solution is simple: Swim parallel to the shore until you emerge from troubled waters. Keep together as you call out encouragement. ("You can do it!" "We can do it!") Support each other.
It would appear that sibling estrangement is epidemic. At book signings and talks, through letters and emails, I have repeatedly heard baby boomers lament the dissolution of the family unit in the wake of a loved one's death. One woman shared that she expects no future interaction with her brother since their last parent died because his wife got involved in the division of their mother's possessions. When she tried to talk with him about it, he became outraged — more focused on his wife's hurt feelings than those of his siblings. When professionals encounter sibling estrangements, it is important to know the resources.
Thus far, my siblings and I have not survived as a family after our parents died. If there had been meetings with our dad after our mom died, things might have been different. We could have done better. We should have planned for the inevitable and supported each other. Written instructions and meetings with discussions about specific wishes — plans for the certainty of death — would have helped us through our grief. Many families find themselves stranded on the Coulda, Shoulda, Woulda Highway after the parents are gone, and it is a rough road getting back home.
Professionals can play a large role in helping families through these issues. We need to team up with social workers, funeral directors, attorneys, grief and loss professionals, clergy, Hospice and other experts when working in this arena. In marketing your businesses, what makes you powerful are the professionals with whom you surround yourself. Not only are other professionals a good source of referrals for you, but the winner is the older adult who gets high quality of service. We can help families avoid the Coulda, Shoulda, Woulda Highway by bringing up the issue and having a resource to answer the questions.
DowntownLittleton.com — January 2008 E-Newsletter
Mall Appall...
This story was submitted by Jo Myers, a former Denver radio host, and author of the book Good To Go which is available at Ancient Art Healing Center and The Thrifty Scotsman.
On a rare trip to the mall, I got jostled, hassled and bullied. All I wanted was a watch battery. A friend who lives in a nursing home had asked me if I would get a new battery for her watch. I had a lunch appointment in the area, so I popped into a nearby mall for the task. Easy in, easy out, I thought (easier thought than done).
It was a long walk from the inconvenient parking space to the entrance. However, good news greeted me on a you-are-here map positioned just inside the door. I spotted a jewelry repair shop listed on the index and traced my finger along the map to . . . the other end of the mall. With a sigh, I adjusted the purse on my shoulder and set out. A few paces into my mission, a young man stepped in front of me from the other side of a kiosk.
"Ma'am, have you ever tried ‘blah-blah?’" he accosted me.
"I'm just here for a watch battery replacement."
"What's your favorite flavor?" he asked as my eyes followed his bouncing index finger pointing at packets on a shelf.
"No thank you. I'm still full from my lunch."
"Drink this and you won’t be full, you'll be 'swooooosh,'" he enlightened me as he made an exaggerated up-and-out motion that ended with one arm high in the air. "What flavor?"
I guessed lemon. What happened next resembled a magic trick. The salesman twisted open a water bottle, tore into a packet of lemon powder and combined the contents, shook it all up until it was murky and handed it to me—all in a matter of a few seconds.
"Taste it," he ta-dah'd.
It tasted pretty good, but I was still too full from lunch to drink it all down and I worried that he was going to make me do that.
"Ok. How about a box?" he asked.
"How much is a box?" I asked, making small talk while I planned my exit.
"70-something dollars," was his response. "It will help with digestion and give you energy!" (70-something dollars for something I did not want?)
Taking little side steps away from the kiosk, I told him I would think about it. Then, I turned and made my escape. Glancing back, I saw that he was pouting.
I should not have looked back. This caused me to semi-collide with a woman at a salt booth.
"Not just salt--Dead Sea salt from the real Dead Sea," she pitched.
"My husband got me some of that last year," I lied.
Pushy saleswoman didn't buy it. With gypsy-like adeptness, she gooped out a salt dollop and plopped it onto my hand.
"Rub it in."
I rubbed as instructed.
"Now, watch this."
Pushy sprayed what I hoped was water on my hands as she held them over a basin. Trickling rivers of muddy liquid streamed from my hands down the sides of the bowl and pooled at the bottom. Did my hands look this dirty? Blech.
Pushy asked me, "Did you wash your hands today?"
"How much?" I implored.
"Only 60 dollars for this big jar."
The jar was not so big and 60 was a big number, so I told Pushy that I would think about it and skulked off toward the jewelry repair shop. This time I did not look back, for I was ashamed of my own filth and embarrassed that I could not afford salt from the Dead Sea—the last thing on my mind when I had entered the mall an hour before.
The jewelry repair shop was busy, loud and hectic like a meat market. Fortifying myself with a swig of lemon potion, I joined the fray. At the counter, a man in an apron with magnifying eyeglasses perched on his forehead avoided my gaze. When it was clear that my feet were planted, his eyes locked with mine as if to say, What?
"Can you put a new battery in this watch?"
"We have some women here who do that," he said distractedly as he looked around for them. "And, you'll have to buy a warranty in case something goes wrong while the battery is being replaced." He shoved a form and a pen at me.
I didn't recall this ever being so complicated and risky at the Mom and Pop Jewelry Store. Attitude swelled up inside me.
"How much is a warranty?" I began to fill out the form.
"$24.95 for a year, or $16.95 for this replacement only."
Someone in line bumped me from behind. Trying to maintain focus, I explained to the guy who did not care, "This is my friend's watch. She lives in a nursing home. She is going to insist on paying for the battery replacement and will equally insist on seeing a receipt. $16.95 will not sit well with her. Can you just put a battery in the watch so that I can take it back to her on my way home today?"
"No, ma'am, not without the purchase of a warranty," he said dismissively.
I asked how long it would take. He told me that it would take at least 15 minutes because people were ahead of me, as if I was the one being rude. I told him that I did not want the battery replaced after all. He handed me back the watch and I reached for the filled-out form, but he took it and said he would throw it away. I toyed with the idea of grabbing the form and running. Instead, I backed out of the store, watching to make sure he threw it away.
(Man, this business of watch battery replacement was making me thirsty.) I gulped down some more lemon-flavored medicine water and wiped my mouth on my sleeve with a hearty ahh. Empowered, I stood tall and scanned the mall for another place that might have watch batteries.
Yes! A jewelry store! The pretty lady behind the glass counter of baubles asked if I needed assistance. I told her about my dilemma. She told me there was a jewelry repair place right down--
"Yes, I know. I was just there."
"Don't they have watch batteries?" she inquired.
"Sure, but I would have had to buy a warranty."
Her face scrunched up. Then, she said, "We can change the battery, but the repairman will have to pick it up and take it with him. It will be ready on Monday."
"No offense, but I probably shouldn't leave this watch with strangers. My friend would not want that."
Avoiding the kiosks where Pushy and Swooshie peddled salts and powders, I made my way toward the exit and noticed another jewelry store. So I crossed the imaginary door line and asked, for the heck of it. The man in the suit confirmed that he could not change the watch battery.
"That's okay," I said as I gathered up my purse and bottle of lemon sludge.
Suit's eyes lit up in recognition. "Hey, is that some of that energy water from the kiosk? I had some yesterday and it made me bounce off the walls!"
Before he had a chance to tell me how it affected his innards, I started walking away.
"Oh, I don’t feel a thing," I assured him. (Only, I wasn’t so sure!)
Out of Suit’s eyesight, I threw Swooshie’s gift away in the nearest garbage receptacle, careful not to dirty my hands washed so lovingly by Pushy.
I wanted to go home and take a nap. However, considering the fact that I had been swigging go-juice, sleep was out of the question. So, I left the mall and headed for a real shopping district. Surely, there I would find not only a watch battery, but a kind and helpful professional who would install it in a timely fashion.