I am at that age. The age when we take care of our children and take care of our aging parents. Any age it is a great age, but this one is tough. It is our joyous duty to, as best we can, guide our children through every aspect of their lives by being participates with them. It is also our emotional and physically, but loving task to care for and protect our aging parents, grandparents, and/or guardians. We do the same things for both sets of loved ones; we protect both of them mainly from themselves; we guide and shelter them although they don’t want it; and we love them unconditionally. Maybe that’s the tough part. We have to be disciplinarians for both generations: Take your medicine, wear you coat, you can’t drive at night, you can’t drive any more, stop eating that junk food, don’t use so much salt. Sigh. In the midst of all of that, we are trying to have a life of our own. We still have hopes and dreams that we want to chase while we can. And we have to arranges for sitters for both.
I have to do all of this from afar. The youngest has gone off to college and my parents live 1,800 and 3,000 miles away, respectively. I always wanted to be a jet-setter and now I have a reason.
In my early childhood, we had three generations under one roof. My sibling’s family and our dad live on the East Coast. I and my family live on the West Coast. Our mom lives in the Midwest. I think we messed that “generation under one roof” thing all up.