Photo by Uli Seit for the NY Times
which inspired an idea for a photo essay. This is a picture from The New York Times "The Week in Pictures for Nov. 27, 2009." An image of Sarah Gellert, 99, in her apartment. Gellert exhausted her savings paying for 24-hour home care and now receives assistance from the Jewish Association for Services for the Aged, an organization supported by the NY Times Neediest Cases Fund.
Looking at this image, I am reminded of the Neediest Cases that the Post-Dispatch used to feature every year around Christmas time. I was also struck by her age, and hence, my idea:
To do a photo essay on local elderly people, people in their 90s. I really hate how American culture is so focused on the new that they discard the old, and it bleeds over into how it treats people. I can see this attitude springing out of America's lack of history, being only 234 years old, out of its history, with its expansion West, leaving behind what's old and discovering the new. I can see this disposable attitude born out of the abudance of natural resources that America had that the old country (Europe) didn't have. But I hate how it's there, in our psyche.
In my family, there's only my grandpa anymore. (His younger brother is also alive, but he lives about 5 hours away, so I hardly see him.) The rest of my grandparents have passed away. And since my grandma died in 2003, my grandpa pretty much stopped living, too. All he did was vegetate in his home. My dad and my uncles would take him out places, but it was like pulling teeth. It was very frustrating (for me and for them), to see him do nothing anymore and not want to do anything about it. Like he's waiting to die.
And as he vegetates, his mind become less sharp. Which lead to him being inconsistent with taking his medicine, medicine like his heart medication, and being inconsistent about eating. His sons tried to figure out a solution that wasn't a nursing home, but even living in assisted living, where he had his own space, etc, but meals were provided, he just didn't go down to dinner. So last year, he ended up so weak and dehydrated that he spent a week in the hospital. I visited him and his couldn't even talk, barely open his eyes, because he was so weak. They ended up having to move him into a nursing home.
It's really hard seeing him like that. It really hurts my heart. When I go visit my dad, I don't always visit him. And I guess I should, but I hate seeing him giving up on life. It just makes me really sad, because he was a great man. He never did anything famous -- except he's the (uncredited) guy who came up with putting plexiglass underneath the hood of a car to muffle the noise -- and he's done tons of things like that -- but he worked hard for his family and provided for them. He took his role of father seriously and no, he wasn't perfect, and yes, he was frustrating at times, but he provided for his family and taught his sons how to be men. Not just men, but men with (good) character. And to me, that's what makes a great man. I should deny myself more and go, because he deserves that.
But back to my idea. I want to do an essay that celebrates those later years. The character of someone who has lived life.
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