My Mother-in-law was over for Canadian Thanksgiving on Monday. Her sister was also here for the celebration. My MIL is 89 and her sister 90. I had mustered enough strength to come down for breakfast, although this terrible chest-cold had taken away any pleasure in food or drink.
As I sat with a cup of coffee at the dining room table, I watched the two of them interacting. My MIL’s sister was pontificating on some topic (they’re both mentally razor-sharp), and at one point she turned to her younger sister (by 14 months) and said, “Look kid, I told you that’s the way things work”. That line snapped me out of my mucous-induced semi-coma, and I started laughing uncontrollably out loud, as did both their respective daughters.
It got me thinking about how we tend to always keep the same relative relationship framework with the various people in our lives. Our children are always children, our elementary-school friends can never get the respect they deserve as adults (one of my oldest friends is a VP at the country’s largest bank, but I can still see him with his finger constantly up his nose on the school-bus in grade 2), and no matter how old you get, you always think you’re much younger. Until Dementia hits, that is. Then everything goes to shit.