I have a lamp in my apartment from 1950’s. It’s not an antique except be default of age. In fact it’s beige metal desk lamp and pretty homely It sort of reminds me of Lampy from ‘The Brave Little Toaster’. I suppose I could paint it but I kind of like its crotchety-old-man feel. Ironically it was my Grandfather’s. It was made before electrical cords were grounded or the UL listing was instated. Every time I walk past the home goods section of a department store I think to myself, ‘I should just replace’ it but I get lamp-buyers-anxiety and can’t find a lamp that feels as RIGHT as that lamp.

There is a comfort in the familiar. I think that may be the reason my mother still owns and wears my grandmother’s old dresses. I opened a box the other day with my grandma’s handwriting on it. It was the last box we hadn’t opened since she passed away 8 years ago. Inside was a featherbed she had vacuum packed into this apple box. As soon as we aired it out I was surprised by the fact it still smelled like Grandma. I’d forgotten how she smelled until the moment the scent wafted to me. Now I regret opening the box because I’ve lost that last connection to her with my senses. I hate that I’ve forgotten so much about her. I couldn’t tell you the color of her eyes without looking at a close-up picture. Even sometimes the sound of her voice is elusive. I have this tape recording she made in 1983 to send to my family when they lived in Venezuela. It’s crackly and old but sometimes I pull it out and listen to it. Just so I don’t forget completely.

I’m buying my parents a condo. They will be paying me rent as long as they can to help with the mortgage and I will be supplementing it with my income. I want them to be closer as they get older since I’m their power of attorney and will become their primary caregiver when they can’t do it for themselves. It’s not a hardship, they took care of me since birth and it’s only natural for me to care for them on the opposite end of the life cycle. I took them through the condo I’m offering for on Tuesday. It raised some uncomfortable subjects. End of life subjects that while I can think of analytically & rationally on a long term perspective. Seem to be creeping closer and closer into my near future.

Mom is 66 and Dad 69. Neither are paragons of good health, I sell life insurance - I know the statistics. The average life expectancy with their health problems is mid seventies. It hit me that before I’m 30 I might not have either of my parents left. I suppose it’s pointless to speculate but I don’t like that feeling. I’ve taken care of people in end of life situations with calm and control in the past. I don’t want to think about doing it for my parents.

I’m not ready to give up my mother or father for that matter. As I’ve often said ‘Yes, I have friends but you HAVE TO love me. They don’t.’ I talked to my mother 7 times yesterday. She is my go-to for advice, comfort, and motivation. She ALWAYS thinks I’m funny and tells me I’m a good conversationalist. She reminds me I’m not ugly (but she calls it beautiful) and intelligent and I can almost believe her. She IS my friend in the truest sense and I don’t know if can cope without her.

For now however I’m holding on to my lamp and treating the future with a wary watchfulness. Should the time come when I have to make the change it will no longer be a choice. So in the end I’ll be forced to move on.

“When you come to me, unbidden,
Beckoning me
To long-ago rooms,
Where memories lie.
Offering me, as to a child, an attic,
Gatherings of days too few.
Baubles of stolen kisses.
Trinkets of borrowed loves.
Trunks of secret words,
I CRY.”

-Maya Angelou