Mom relaxes on the couch. He does a lot more than that right now: watching TV, reading, doing crossword puzzles, being expected. Keep in mind that it took Marje until the mid-90s to get there. A couple of years ago, he felt guilty for not gardening, cooking, emptying containers, driving to the shops of his old Nissan Micra, and visiting the “elderly” at the local residence at lunchtime. He needed a bad break for all that to change.
Now, at 94, he is learning to take it easy. I’m approaching 60. What advice would you give me about aging? “Just accept it with grace,” he says. Did you find it difficult? “No, I don’t think I did. Most years I was lucky not to look terribly old.” Now don’t look at it, I say. “Yeah, but I’m terribly old.” She laughed.
She knows that she is lucky: she has two children and four grandchildren who love her very much, she has managed to stay at home with the help of amazing caregivers and her brain is still in good condition, even though her memory is short term is not. t what it was. But this also has its advantages. She will not hold grudges for long.
Marje is the youngest of four children, the rest of whom have long since died. She was never a confident girl, despite being named head of high school. He often says he thinks his parents had had enough of parenting when he arrived. “I never told you, my mother used to say that to Golda [the oldest girl] he was the smart one and Renee [the second oldest] she was beautiful. I was aware that I had missed her. “She told me. Many times. In fact, Marje was smart and beautiful, and she didn’t realize it.
His adulthood has not been easy, although he is quick to point out that few of us have an easy step. When I was young, I was cared for for three years with encephalitis surrounded by people telling me that I would die or that nothing would happen to me. In his father’s last years, she breastfed him through psychotic depression. She has so many qualities (kindness, wisdom, a great sense of humor, and an almost savage ability to protect her children), though for most of her life she lacked the confidence to see these qualities in herself. . Ironically, one of their best gifts was to make others feel good about themselves, while often feeling worthless.
Life lessons … Marje and Simon Hattenstone at their home in Manchester. Photo: Christopher Thomond / The Guardian
But all this has been going on for a long time. For many years it has been removing the uncertainties of the past. At 60, he says, he was just beginning to get in the way. “I thought I was a very good age because most of my worries and anxieties had left me.” What do I like? She points her finger at me. “I guess if you have kids you care about them as much as anything.” My mother has two: my sister Sharon is two years older than me. “Sharon did great, but you always did the unexpected. So that made me anxious.”
I hope he talks about my illness, but he doesn’t. Maybe this is too obvious. “That sounds ridiculous, but that time you came home with massive high heels, it broke my heart.” I remember it well. I was 12 and they were glorious: matte black plastic with a four-inch platform and a five-inch heel. Why were you so worried? “I used to think, ‘He’ll make a display of himself.'” The shoes mysteriously disappeared. “I didn’t want to get rid of them, so I hid them,” he confesses. I thought I had burned them. “It simply came to our notice then. I knew it would go too far. “
I didn’t have enough confidence in my own judgment to be able to accept what others were saying
Marje was a curious mix: she hated conventions, but she also hid from them. She was not religious, but she grew up in an Orthodox Jewish community and was terrified of offending by doing “evil.” “I didn’t have enough confidence in my own judgment to be able to accept what others were saying.”
Still, he was unconventional in his day — a timid free spirit. She went to Birmingham to do a two-year teaching diploma, taught in Glasgow at the age of 19, lived in Israel for two years just after independence, became an inspiring teacher for children with special needs, and commit twice before marrying the father.
Simon with his father and mother, circa 1984. Photo: Christopher Thomond / The Guardian
In the living room, there are photographs of her father and Alex, who became her boyfriend after her father’s death 15 years ago. It was a fabulous and unlikely romance. When Marje lived in Israel, she and Alex were good friends. After the death of his wife, he called Marje and reappeared, about 65 years since they had last seen each other. He still lived in Israel. They became inseparable: chatting and playing, eating and drinking, planning and remembering, dancing and romance, via Skype. They never met physically. They thought it might ruin what they had. Alex died in 2017. Who do you think more about, father or Alex? “I think of both of them in different ways.” What do you think when you think of your father? “He was a good man; a very beginning man. I’ve heard you say that too. Fair.”
It was Alex, however, who made her feel loved. “Everything was said out loud. He was a very open man. He said what he thought and what he thought of me was good, so it made me feel really good.” Do you regret not being physically fit for the second time? “No. I think it would have been very difficult.” She would have been prepared to visit him if she had encouraged him. “I said he was smarter than me, so he didn’t encourage me to go, because I knew it wouldn’t be perfect. I think we were both in a bit of a shock. “
After Alex’s death, his mother fought. His osteoarthritis was on the rise, he broke some bones in his back and he often told me that aging is not for flakes. She seemed lonely by herself, but she wanted to stay home and be in control. Last year he reached a minimum with a broken leg, a series of infections and a long stay in hospital. It all led to a new stage of happier aging: returning home with the support of caregivers.
Of course, there are days when it falls. We once spoke just before our Zoom crossword diary. I ask him if he is still enjoying life. “It’s a debatable point,” he says. “Overall, the quality is going down a bit. How he does it. I guess it’s closer to a yes than a no. “
What do you miss the most? “Go for a walk on my own feet.” He hates being pushed into a wheelchair. You’re doing pretty well, though, I say. “I’m doing well. Of course I am. Yes. Okay, are we playing the boy?”
Should I ask you more questions tomorrow? “No, ask me now and finish it!”
Marje was one of the first to adopt the technology. She was on Skype long before me
Are you worried about money? “No, I don’t care, I know you and Sharon are taking care of it. I think I’ve had enough to keep me going until the end of my days.” I had always hoped to leave something for the grandchildren. Now if the money runs out, so be it.
I ask him if he regrets it. “I don’t tell you my remorse, that’s for sure, for sure, for sure. Hey? Yes. But it’s stupid to think of regrets. There are certain things, Simon, that I can’t talk about. That’s too personal.”
On balance, Marje is in a good place. I ask her how important it is to have a healthy relationship with me and Sharon. “Incredibly important. This is the backbone of my life; the biggest thing that keeps me going.” Marje was one of the first to adopt the technology. Because Sharon and I live in London, and she’s in Manchester, Skype has played an important role in keeping us close. He also seems more aware that it is not a fact that parents and children are carried out. “I guess a lot of people just don’t like it,” he says.
What are you proud of? “You and Sharon,” he says. This is an escape, I say. “Okay, going back to my whole life, I’m glad I was good at my job when I was teaching kids with disabilities. I was made for it. I loved it.” Marje loves talking about her time in Bethesda, or giving the place her full title Bethesda Home for Crippled and Incurable Children, in Cheetham Hill. He loved children and took them home with his parents on the weekends (the 1950s were very different times). On one occasion, one drank Dettol and had to pile up children and wheelchairs in his car and take them to the hospital. “I was very pleased with this job. It was perfect for me: half teaching, half nursing.” She began to believe in herself.
What scares you the most about getting older? “Don’t laugh at me,” she says. “I never want to be a stinky old woman. That’s number one. People say when you get old you become shit. I don’t want people to say that about me.”
Something else?
I no longer have to run away from anxieties. Have gone
“Well, you’re just aware that your time is running out, and sometimes you think about how it will be? Then you think everyone has to go through it, you’re not the only one, so keep up the good work.”
Marje says she never thought about dying when she was younger. And now? “I would if I didn’t stop.” You look so phlegmatic these days, I say. “I am now.” Because? “I don’t have to run away from the anguish anymore. They’re gone.”
That’s wonderful, I say. What made them leave? “There was a time when I was very worried about what others thought of me. When I was young, every word that came out of my mouth was: Is it right, is it wrong? Everything I did. I don’t care now. ” She smiles. “Maybe because there aren’t many people left who think of me!”
Marje has made us promise that if she gets terribly ill or incapacitated, we will not keep her alive longer than she wants. But for now she …