The Distance: Time Grinds On

Another year begins, and I’m already thinking about how it might end—or if not this one, the next. I’m not sure “lucky” is the right word, but I’m past the hardest of my own sandwich years. Both my parents are gone now. My mum was the last to go, two years ago, after five years of slow decline from vascular dementia—five difficult, traumatic years. Through the pain of her loss, I also felt grateful it was over.

My wife Suzie has been estranged from her mother for forty years, but she’s very close with her father. He lives alone in Spain, thousands of miles from his children in Ireland and England. He’s approaching eighty, and age is beginning to show its hand.

I worry about what’s ahead for my wife and her siblings. The distance makes everything harder. When I spent time with my father-in-law in late September, I noticed he was repeating himself more than before. After I got home, I raised it with his kids and suggested it might be time to think about him moving closer to family. I even suggested Suzie and I would be willing to build a granny annex on our property if that helped.

They weren’t particularly engaged with the idea. My father-in-law wasn’t receptive either when I mentioned it to him. Maybe I’m jumping the gun, worrying about problems that aren’t real yet. I’ve been through difficult years and my tripwire is maybe set too high.

I brought it up with Suzie again recently. Throughout, I could see she was upset and uncomfortable with the topic. “Mark, we’ve talked around the subject with him.” “There’s not much we can do at the moment.” “Dad laughed and said his body will be cremated in Spain—what more can we do?” After a bit of silence—hers frustrated, mine defeated—we moved on to lighter, more comfortable ground.

As we chatted, I thought about my father-in-law’s dark joke. Is he showing his hand? Or maybe he’s bluffing for more time in his Spanish home and lifestyle? I see storm clouds building while he still feels the Spanish sun soothing his aching joints. I can see the appeal over a cold Irish winter sky.

For the moment, I have to sit with the uncomfortable truth that things will trundle on. I’ve raised my concerns and can’t do much more. I used to dread the unexpected phone call announcing my mum’s next crisis. I was in the fortunate position of being a twenty-minute drive away. With my father-in-law, twenty minutes will be needed just to book a flight. The distance will make everything harder when the call finally comes.

We’re not completely helpless though. We’ve got the phone numbers of his Spanish friends and neighbours, and we’re lucky they get together regularly for coffee. We’ve started talking with my father-in-law about power of attorney and healthcare directives while he’s still sharp enough to consent—Spanish bureaucracy in a crisis won’t be forgiving.

So far he’s declined a medical alert system, the kind with fall detection, but at least we have a tool that might eventually be deployed. All small things that won’t eliminate the distance but might buy us earlier warning and a bit more time when things go wrong. It’s not a solution, just a slightly better version of waiting for the years to happen.