An Unknown River

An Unknown River

"We have an unknown distance yet to run, an unknown river to explore. What falls there are, we know not; what rocks beset the channel, we know not; what walls ride over the river, we know not. Ah, well! we may conjecture many things." ~ John Wesley Powell

Like most families, we are a mix of similar and very different people. Different tastes in sports teams, politics, and food — and sometimes, different views on what is best for Pop. Imagine the Zoom call. All four of us sharing the latest observation or interaction with Carl. A funny story, a concern, a vague sense that something seems off. Mostly, I think, each of us wondering out loud — did anyone else notice this? Does anyone else feel this way?

One particularly lively topic: Pop had stopped sleeping in his bed. He was spending entire nights in his easy chair. How does this happen? Can't we do something about that? Have you talked to him about it? Can't we ask the CNAs to guide him back to bed? As it turns out, Carl is perfectly within his rights to sleep wherever he pleases — and has made his preference abundantly clear. Someone suggested buying a new bed. It seemed worth a try.

Final result: four opinions ranging from totally unacceptable to what's the big deal if he's still getting a good night's sleep.

None of us had navigated elder care before. The conversations can become awkward, the opinions strong, and the path forward anything but obvious. What matters most, we have learned, is that everyone feels heard — even when there is real division. In the end, the goal is simple even if the road is not: Carl safe, Carl happy. Our family is lucky in one important sense — we are all clear on that destination, and we genuinely try to do right by him.

The falls Powell wrote about are real. Not the pretty autumn kind — the ones that end in an emergency room. The unexpected rocks keep appearing too. Pop stopped reading books. He's started taking his meals alone in his room. He doesn't want to shower. The list has a way of growing when you aren't looking.

And yet — Carl, for the most part, is content. He has his family, his easy chair, his sports, and his sweet tooth. The kids are doing what kids do when they love someone and don't have a map: navigating the best way we know how, with good intentions and the shared hope that we are doing right by him.

The river runs on. What falls there are, we know not.

Ah, well. Indeed.