(Continued from issue 36)

The writer, Anil,  speaks with his mother, 97, in aged care in Auckland and remains closely involved in her care, visiting regularly to support her and provide companionship. 

He has this at the end:’ What we choose to do at that stage matters. Not because it is easy. Not because it is convenient. But because it defines our humanity.

Starting with the Present

I usually begin with what is happening in the present moment. I ask about her surroundings, how she is feeling, and whether she is comfortable with the people around her.These questions may appear simple, but they help her stay connected to the present and feel cared for.

Choosing the Right Topics

Over time, I have learned to focus on familiar and emotionally positive subjects—family members, relatives from the past, and childhood memories, including what she did for us and the small moments we shared during our school days.

These are not just easy topics; they are accessible pathways into memory. When words are difficult to find, these familiar references help the conversation continue.

Reconnecting Through Memory

I often remind my mother of how she managed the household, how she supported the family, and how she handled life with limited resources. These memories reinforce her sense of identity.

At times, I speak about specific things she did for us during our childhood. When I do this, she becomes visibly happy and sometimes says, “Putha, you can still remember those.” Moments like this help in several ways. They keep the conversation going, they gently bring back her memories, and they create a shared sense of happiness—for her in being remembered, and for me in seeing her happy.

Even when recent memory fades, older memories often remain. When approached gently, they help sustain connection.

Understanding Without Testing

At times, I ask simple questions such as, “What is 106 minus 7, plus 1?” Not as a test, but to understand how she is feeling that day—whether she is alert or tired. This allows me to adjust the conversation accordingly, without making it feel clinical.

Why We Continue to Speak

When we speak to aging parents, especially those living in care, we are not doing it to gain information or to have meaningful discussions in the usual sense. We are doing it to be present.

Many elderly parents live within the same four walls each day. Their world becomes quiet and repetitive. Often, they are simply waiting—for a call, for a voice, or for a visit. What they seek is not conversation, but presence. Even a short call can break the monotony of their day and remind them that they are not forgotten.

There is also a deeper truth. When parents are no longer independent or productive, the relationship changes. It is no longer about what they can give. It becomes about our responsibility. They once gave their time and care to us when we could not give anything in return. Now, that situation has quietly reversed. We do not continue this connection for reward or recognition, but because it reflects our humanity.

Intelligence and Emotional Maturity

Education and professional success do not always prepare us for this stage of life. Communicating with aging parents requires patience, emotional strength, and the ability to remain present even when the conversation is limited or repetitive. In this sense, it is less a test of intelligence and more a reflection of emotional maturity.

Presence Over Perfection

We often think communication must be meaningful or engaging. But in very old age, communication is not about exchanging ideas. It is about maintaining connection. Even when conversations are simple, repeated, or unclear, they still matter. Just as in The Notebook, what matters most is the act of returning—again and again.

A Final Reflection

Speaking to aging parents is not simply a matter of maintaining contact. It is a reflection of who we are. Many elderly parents live quiet and solitary lives. Their world becomes smaller with time, and their connection to others depends increasingly on small moments that we choose to give.

If we cannot always be physically present, then our voice must carry that presence. A simple call may feel small to us, but to them it can mean everything. The people who once stood beside us when we could not understand the world now depend on us in a similar way.

What we choose to do at that stage matters. Not because it is easy. Not because it is convenient. But because it defines our humanity.

Anil De Silva –  Sydney, Australia