As my parents aged, they stubbornly tried to maintain their autonomy while my siblings and I stubbornly tried to control their lives. It became dangerous for them to drive so we pleaded with them to give up their drivers’ licenses. Next, it became unsafe to go for walks alone. There was danger of falling or getting lost.

My parents loved to play cards but when my father struggled to remember which card was trump when playing bridge, he gradually gave it up.

His fingers could no longer glide across the piano keys or pluck the ukulele strings or play the spoons, which he had a special talent for.

My mother gave up knitting and stopped her legacy of writing long and humorous letters to friends and family. She could no longer tell me what she had just eaten for lunch.

We were relentless in trying to protect them from the world and from themselves. In the process, we were stripping them of individual rights to make their own decisions.

If we chose to ignore their age-related failings and allowed them to put themselves in harm’s way, would it be prudent to possibly put others at risk as well?

A car accident or a fall or even a house fire could be perilous or even fatal to others.

After my mother passed at the age of 90 and my father was 91, my brother moved his family into our Pop’s home. The idea was to keep him safe for the next few years. He was safe, but he lost the freedom he once had to navigate his own life.

I cooked hearty meals for him and took him grocery shopping for his specialty foods. He had lost so much independence that I now cringe when recalling how I would reprimand him for making unhealthy food choices. He needed help shaving so my brother took on that task. It was, however, at my brother’s convenience, not my Pop’s.

My father was a devoted Catholic. He selflessly gave of his time and money throughout his life. In his working life, my Pop was a dentist. He donated his services to every priest and nun in the community and to anyone else who could not pay.

When he became too frail to attend mass, the church was done with him. No one brought him communion. No one came to visit an old man who was no longer useful.

In his final years of life, he had lost most of his teeth. He chose to have decayed or broken teeth extracted rather than pay the prohibitive cost of good dental care.

He died at home, alone, at the age of 97.

My brother and sister-in-law were at work. Their kids were in school. I was not in town. Where is the justice in that? How could we have handled his declining years differently?

There are no easy answers.

At 79, I now find myself in a somewhat diminished state. I am now the elder in my family. My back is stiff. My shoulder aches. Every joint in my body has some arthritis. Where is the playbook for my aging years? Where is the playbook for my children as I age? Will I be able to age and die in my own home as I have planned? Will my daughters try to control me in my dotage to keep me safe? I don’t want that, just like my Pop didn’t. I try to have candid conversations with my daughters about my final days in this life. I didn’t know how to care for my father and I have some regrets. Will it be any easier for my children to care for me?