“How long do you cook beans before you freeze them?” My 82-year-old grandmother said as soon as my mother answered her phone call. Grandma had a life to live, so she never wasted time on social niceties like “Hi.”

My mother was momentarily confused. She never quite adjusted to her mother-in-law’s bluntness. “Where did you get beans?” she asked.

“From my garden. I picked them,” Grandma replied.

More confusion. My grandmother injured her foot earlier in the week and was a bit wobbly. Mom was on high alert, knowing Grandma was a fall risk. She babied her all week, taking in meals, checking the wound, getting groceries. I’m sure it all felt like salt in the wound for this proud Hungarian immigrant who crossed the Atlantic by steamer ship, alone, at age 18.

“How in the world did you pick beans?” Mom asked. “You can barely stand.”

“I tied myself to the telephone pole near my garden. I bent over and picked beans.” Grandma replied.

Mom pictured my tottering grandmother maneuvering a pot of boiling water and beans.

“Don’t move!” she commanded. “I will be right there to take care of the beans for you.”

When we were toddlers, our parents prayed our stubborn independence wouldn’t kill us. We find ourselves repeating those prayers as our elders wage battles worthy of two-year-olds.

Battles over driving. Battles over living in two-story homes with treacherous staircases. Battles over use of canes and walkers. Battles over in-home care. Our elders become like preschoolers with car keys and a bank account

Payback is hell

We think of our elders as being in decline. That’s a myth. They are forging through a new stage of development, mastering the darkest, thorniest part of life’s journey. Each developmental stage presents crises to integrate. For elders, it’s irreversible loss. Loss of significant others and friends. Mobility. Organ function. A future. You think babies develop fast? Watch your elders.

Our elders are rising to challenges that we younger people shudder to imagine

Sometimes they terrify us. My father-in-law was still driving in his mid-eighties. One afternoon, he set out to buy socks and ended up 200 miles and two states away from home. He, of course, had no mobile phone. Plan A failed when he discovered gas stations no longer have paper maps or pay phones. Plan B was to just drive, which he did for about 8 hours until a kindly off-duty police officer from a neighboring state escorted him to his front door. Did the experience shake his confidence? Nah. He reveled in his stamina. “I’ve still got it,” he said.

Sometimes they inspire us. My father had elective back surgery, hoping to reverse neuropathy that prevented him from driving. It failed, leaving him unable to walk. His shock gave way quickly to  his signature pragmatism. He laid out all the things he needed for daily living on surfaces reachable from his wheelchair. He bought gadgets to extend his reach. Then he sought every resource possible to rebuild his strength: physical therapy, personal trainer, pool exercise, the fitness room. Eventually he gained enough standing and walking ability to socialize with my brother’s family. His recovery has made him a minor celebrity in his retirement community. Strangers baffle him daily when they greet him by name.

Sometimes they mystify us. My grandmother, of bean-picking fame, was aloof and argumentative. Defensive of her immigrant status, she seldom bothered with neighbors, except to complain about their trees littering her lawn. When a stroke forced her into a nursing home, we assumed the indignity of being cared for by strangers would kill her quickly. We were wrong. She turned into a sweet, smiley old lady, a staff sweetheart. We chocked it up to dementia, but it seemed to be a survival mechanism. She lived six more years.

Every person who is breathing is still growing

Even those preparing to die are busy. There are visitors from the other side. Remote travels to places where they used to live.  They keep a careful eye out for their transportation home. They fidget and tremble with the labor pains of transitioning into a  a new state of being.

What would happen if we stopped seeing our elders as victims of old age and, instead, saw them as people in the most epic throws of their human quest? They are our teachers, showing us the way through the end of the path.

How would we treat them differently? Maybe we would change from being caretakers to companions.