Nursing homes are terrifying places. Don’t lie, you feel that way too. When I came to check out the place that we put my dad into today, there was a one legged man asleep in a wheelchair in the lobby, and a woman in what looked like an overgrown baby walker pacing back and forth in the lobby. Maybe I’m a bad person, but I was horrified.
And I’m self-aware enough to know that it wasn’t them that made me feel that way because if someone younger with all of their limbs had been asleep in a chair in a lobby, I wouldn’t have cared. If I had seen a 45 year old woman pacing, I just would have thought she was impatient. It’s their age and infirmity that fills me with fear. It’s my ability to empathize, or rather perhaps to project my own fears onto other people.
Nursing homes are terrifying because they force us to think about something we ignore on a daily basis: that one day we will be old, that something bad will probably happen to us, that we’ll get sick, that we might very well end up alone, paying people to take care of us. It’s petrifying. I don’t understand how the people who work here get up in the morning and do this every day. It takes something monumental – either strength or oblivion, but either way I know I don’t possess it.
Since all this stuff with my mom and dad, I’ve gotten a little bit paranoid. Or maybe it’s not paranoia. Maybe the world really is a terrifying place, and we just manage to ignore it all the time so that we can keep moving forward. Because really, over the past month I’ve become absolutely convinced that bad things are going to happen to me and my loved ones. I’m going to get cancer, or get hit by a car, or lose my job and become homeless. I don’t just think these things are going to happen, I KNOW it. I’m completely certain, and I’m struggling with how to deal with it. How do you deal with the fact that bad things most definitely will happen?
I know part of it is that I am without religion. I really don’t believe in God. There, I said it in a public venue. If anybody in my family reads this, I’m going to hear about it forever. But that’s okay I guess. I have no problem believing that I’m a collection of molecules. I find plenty of wonder in the fact that my neurons come together in such a way as to give me consciousness.
However, I also see religion as providing a lot of comfort to people. It gives meaning to an existence that I’m finding a little hollow lately. It makes the getting old and sad and lonely not too scary because there’s some kind of reward for it all. But what if you don’t believe that? What if you’re okay with the fact that this is it? Then what? You’re an amazing sentient being who can do anything, and I… I what? If anything, not believing in God puts more pressure on having a life well lived, because this is it. This is all my little consciousness gets.
Time to shape up, I just wish I knew how.
And I’m self-aware enough to know that it wasn’t them that made me feel that way because if someone younger with all of their limbs had been asleep in a chair in a lobby, I wouldn’t have cared. If I had seen a 45 year old woman pacing, I just would have thought she was impatient. It’s their age and infirmity that fills me with fear. It’s my ability to empathize, or rather perhaps to project my own fears onto other people.
Nursing homes are terrifying because they force us to think about something we ignore on a daily basis: that one day we will be old, that something bad will probably happen to us, that we’ll get sick, that we might very well end up alone, paying people to take care of us. It’s petrifying. I don’t understand how the people who work here get up in the morning and do this every day. It takes something monumental – either strength or oblivion, but either way I know I don’t possess it.
Since all this stuff with my mom and dad, I’ve gotten a little bit paranoid. Or maybe it’s not paranoia. Maybe the world really is a terrifying place, and we just manage to ignore it all the time so that we can keep moving forward. Because really, over the past month I’ve become absolutely convinced that bad things are going to happen to me and my loved ones. I’m going to get cancer, or get hit by a car, or lose my job and become homeless. I don’t just think these things are going to happen, I KNOW it. I’m completely certain, and I’m struggling with how to deal with it. How do you deal with the fact that bad things most definitely will happen?
I know part of it is that I am without religion. I really don’t believe in God. There, I said it in a public venue. If anybody in my family reads this, I’m going to hear about it forever. But that’s okay I guess. I have no problem believing that I’m a collection of molecules. I find plenty of wonder in the fact that my neurons come together in such a way as to give me consciousness.
However, I also see religion as providing a lot of comfort to people. It gives meaning to an existence that I’m finding a little hollow lately. It makes the getting old and sad and lonely not too scary because there’s some kind of reward for it all. But what if you don’t believe that? What if you’re okay with the fact that this is it? Then what? You’re an amazing sentient being who can do anything, and I… I what? If anything, not believing in God puts more pressure on having a life well lived, because this is it. This is all my little consciousness gets.
Time to shape up, I just wish I knew how.
Comments
But what does it mean that I have no idea who Liz Lemon is.....
And I fell off of Henry again - but not even jumping this time. I'm afraid I am getting old.