I’ve spent most of my summer break cleaning out my garage. For years, my two-car garage has been filled with the inventory of my parent's last fabric store. It became my property around 2015 when my dad moved in with me. It was impossible to sell for numerous reasons, primarily because my aging father didn’t want to give it away or throw it out. And so, it filled my garage to the brim, making it impossible to find anything or even move around. Because it seemed impossible to do this task alone, the door to the garage stayed shut, and my car baked in the Arizona sun. Until that is, May of this year, when out of the blue, I felt an unexpected urge or compulsion to tackle the garage. Perhaps I should use the correct word to describe that state of mind, urge or compulsion might not be quite strong enough. It was closer to an obsession.
So, for seven weeks in the heat of the hottest Arizona summer ever, I was working most of the day in my garage. I’ve been sorting, organizing, rehoming, throwing away and basically stirring things up. I felt like I was in a “Tatterhood” haze, metaphorically riding my goat waving my wooden spoon in the air. I was exhausted, a bit heat-impaired and every muscle in my body hurt as I lifted, shifted and moved my muscles in ways I haven’t for years. But through it all, I sought order out of chaos in the only way I knew how, by stirring things up.
Sometimes you can only make sense of a world gone wrong by doing what you can. It wasn’t until everything was finished and my car finally back in the garage before I could make sense of the experience. That cleanup wasn’t just about my sudden need for order. It was about something much more; I was grieving. When I was a child and I was hurt, sad, or lost, I would cry and clean out my closet. By the time I finished sorting things, I had processed what needed to be processed. I didn’t realize that was what I was doing now, of course. These obsessions have to run their course, you see. It’s only when you can think clearly again that you can figure out what was going on. And what was going on with me was grief. It was grief from an unimaginable death. The death of a friend from elder abuse.
As a storyteller, I'm always looking for answers to life's questions in stories. Sadly, there are many tales that depict elder abuse. In Japan, there are many folktales about the wise crone. In one story, an old woman is taken away by her son. He carries her on his back up into the mountains and leaves her there to die. This mythical practice was known as ubasute or “abandoning an old woman.” Ubasute is the theme of many stories.
In one version, the old woman was the caregiver of a young couple. The wife found the hag disgusting, with her crooked spine and wrinkled face. After considerable cajoling and whining, she convinced her husband to take the old woman far away and abandon her in the mountains. This he did, but his actions ravaged him with guilt. In his dreams, he remembered the old woman’s many kindnesses and finally decided he could not live with his action. So, the man went back to the mountain, found the old woman, and brought her to his home. The mountain described in these stories is now known as Obasuteyama or “Mountain of the Deserted Crone.”
In another version, a son carries his mother to the mountain on his back. She willingly went with him. She reached out along the way, breaking twigs to mark the path. Her ungrateful son accused her of plotting her return. She lovingly told him that she broke the branches so he would not get lost as he made his way home.
The version I prefer is found in “The Wise Old Woman” as told by Yoshiko Uchida. In this derivation, the land was ruled by an evil lord. He proclaimed that anyone over 70 was worthless and a drain on resources. (Sound familiar?) Children must take their parents to the mountaintop and leave them there to die. When one kind woman turned 70, she knew she must leave her family. Her son placed her on his back and began to climb the mountain, but halfway up, he returned. He just couldn’t do it, for he loved his mother too much. Instead, the son brought his mother home and hid her in an underground room. She lived there for several years.
One day a warring tribe came to the land and threatened to overtake it, if the kingdom could not answer three questions. Not surprisingly, the lord (who was not a very clever man) was unable to answer the questions himself. So, he asked everyone in the kingdom for their advice, starting with the most educated and finally turning to the common people. Sadly, no one knew the answer. In desperation, the dutiful son asked his mother to help. After some reflection, she puzzled out the solution. When the warring tribe heard the answers, they decided the village was worth saving and left them in peace. The lord wanted to thank the person who had saved the land. The son confessed that it was his aged mother. Eureka! The lord discovered the error of his thinking and rewarded both mother and son. From that day onwards, the elderly lived in peace and (hopefully) their wisdom acknowledged.
Many cultures today reward youth at the expense of aging. Western culture is no exception. Television and film depict elders as befuddled “old coots” unable to keep up with new technology or changes in the world. The archetype of the elder, sage, or wise woman is ignored, along with the wisdom and experience that aging can bring. From age discrimination in employment, to invisibility, many elders feel devalued. Some seek the fountain of youth through surgery and beauty aids. Few proudly share their age with others.
While taking mom to a mountain top today is out the picture, finding a “place for mom” continues to be big business. Children looking for housing in a retirement home or assisted living facility often do so without much parental input. While the West nostalgically desires to hold on to family values, it does this at the expense of living in an extended family setting. What do we lose in such an environment? We lose both life experience and a bit of living history. We forget what it is like to fight unjust wars, take land without adequate compensation, pollute the environment, enslave people, and limit their rights. We forget about the dangers of totalitarian regimes, and the annihilation resulting from nuclear war. History, when forgotten, is doomed to be repeated. Without the participation of the elders in society, people are more likely to forget.
Fortunately, this is not true in all cultures. In India, the roles are flipped, with families of all generations living together and the elders giving advice and resolving family disputes. In Native American tribes, elders are revered and respected. “I know how my father saw the world, and his father before him. That’s how I see the world,” said N. Scott Momaday of the Kiowa/Cherokee tribe. Elders are the keepers of their traditions and the guardians of their history.
Remember the wise crone in this story? She accepted her fate with grace. She selflessly cared for her son at the expense of her own life and safety. She shares her wisdom and experience for the good of all, but only when she is given the opportunity. Perhaps before we hide Mom away, we should all take a moment to reflect on what she has to say - even when it is uncomfortable (or inconvenient) to hear.
Just remember, when our elders become expendable, we miss out on their teachings. When our parents are too much of a hassle to remain in our lives, we lose our ability to love and give compassion to others. Further, we are modeling behavior that may be reflected back on us by our own children. Fortunately, the wise crone continues to break branches to show us the right way home.
The poet writes:
In the depths of the mountains,
Who was it for the aged mother snapped
One twig after another?
Heedless of herself
She did so
For the sake of her son.
I tell these Japanese stories to show that the practice of elder abuse is not new, and it’s certainly not limited to one country or area of the world. Just like the mistreatment of children, elder abuse has been going on for a long time. Folktales depict the mistreatment of the vulnerable. But unlike stories, real life doesn’t have many happy endings.
Such is true for the death of my friend. I prefer to say murdered. but I guess that would be up to a jury. We know the taking of a life is unlawful, but whether it was premeditated is uncertain. I hadn’t seen my friend since the pandemic. He told me he had frontotemporal dementia. It’s an early-onset dementia that results in unusual behavior, emotional issues, and an inability to communicate. He thought he had about five years before the worst symptoms appeared. Two years ago was the last time we communicated by email because he had moved to another state to be cared for by his niece.
Our relationship had shifted throughout the years. We started as colleagues, then he became my boss, but after all that we were friends. He was smart and funny and kind. He achieved much success in his life, building a law firm and taking on national cases. He was prominent in the state and national bar associations, wrote articles, and spoke at conferences. I tell you all this for two reasons. My friend had some time to plan his care. He had the skill set to do so. He had the money to do so. He had resources. But what happened to him was completely unexpected. And if it can happen to him, it can happen to any one of us.
I’m sorry to say that I’ve finally reached the age where I check out the obituaries in the monthly state bar magazine. I was shocked to discover that my friend had died but even more shocked when I discovered how he died. He had been living with his niece and her daughter. They, it seems, were drug addicts. One day, when he was complaining of pain, they gave him multiple injections, and he died of an overdose of heroin. He was found dead on the floor. My friend was not an addict before living with his niece. He had dementia, so whatever choices he made or did not make could not be his fault. His niece said he was complaining of pain. That I am certain is true, for the coroner later reported that he had bed sores on his body from being left on the floor, a sore on his leg which had become infected, and gangrene in his intestine. He had lost 33 pounds in the last two or three months of his life. His niece claims that perhaps he wanted to die. That might be true, too, but this is still a case of abuse. Abuse like this is as excruciating to hear as is a baby who is left to die in a hot Arizona car. The abuse is so shocking that it took reorganizing a garage for me to make “sense” of it. I say that with as much gravitas as I can muster, for I would never have engaged in cleaning my garage in 115-degree heat but for the impact this heinous crime had on my psyche.
Simply put, the abuse of an elder is as horrific as that of an infant. It's the vulnerable being taken advantage of because they can, because they can’t stand the complaining or crying, because they want their money or home, and simply because they are sick, evil, and entitled. The abuse of an elder and the abuse of a child is the same.
I used to think that death is our greatest fear, but now I know better. It’s not death we fear but vulnerability. That’s more than a loss of control or autonomy. It’s more than simply letting go of your car keys. It’s a core fear we have of getting older. It’s why I think humans abandoned old women on the side of the mountain. They want to get them out of sight. Out of sight, out of mind.
But this is the vulnerability we all face and just like death, it ain’t goin’ away. We plan for our retirement. Do we have enough money? We decide on a place to live. But we don’t think about what will happen when we can’t care for ourselves. Will we become the victim of fraud? Will our caregivers drain all our assets? Will we be cared for or neglected? Will we be treated kindly or suffer with physical or psychological abuse? These issues are difficult enough when the ravages of age are physical but reach a horrific level when mental acuity atrophies through dementia or Alzheimer's. Then we hope and pray we find ourselves in a caring environment. We hope against all hope that we did our planning right, dotted all the i’s and crossed all the t’s. I’m sure my friend thought about all these issues. I’m also certain that he thought his plan would benefit both him and his niece. I don’t use his name in this story because I think perhaps he might be ashamed for others to know. We often feel guilty or blame ourselves when something happens to us.
Elder abuse is a big problem. It’s widespread and happens within all homes and socio-economic levels. We’re used to elder abuse in nursing homes and care centers. It may occur even more in family settings. We don’t know for sure for this crime is hidden and unreported. We make excuses for people in our family and may feel ashamed, embarrassed or guilty about what is going on. We certainly don’t report it. If we don’t call child protective services when a niece or nephew is locked in the closet, we aren’t likely to report the fact that grandma isn’t fed and never gets a bath.
The National Council on Aging reports these staggering statistics. Pre-pandemic sources estimated that approximately one in ten Americans over the age of 60 have experienced some form of elder abuse, while a more recent study found that one in five older adults experienced elder abuse during the COVID-19 pandemic. Another study estimated that only one in 24 cases of elder abuse are actually reported to authorities.
Just like ancient Japan, we live in an ageist society. We marginalize and undervalue our elders. The problems associated with aging are often invisible. What can you do to help? Simply being aware of elder abuse is a great start. If you think it might be happening to someone you know, call the police and request a wellness check or contact Adult Protective Services in your state. In my friend’s situation, there were people in his apartment complex who saw his niece shoot him up and yet did nothing. If you know of a similar story, share it. The more we bring awareness to a problem, the more likely we are to solve it. This is storytelling used for its best purpose. In this case, charges were filed. His nieces are facing trial for intentional aggregated abuse of a vulnerable adult, which is a felony.
I think the thing that has outraged me the most about this horrific and needless death is how my friend, who spent his life doing incredible things, became forgotten and nameless. He was no longer an accomplished lawyer. He was instead the “uncle who had dementia” or the “uncle who was given heroin.” I’m pretty sure that’s not how he wanted to be remembered. Every life matters. Every life is important. But if this can happen to my friend, it can happen to you or me.
You can learn more by visiting the National Center on Elder Abuse website (https://ncea.acl.gov).
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