After about 38 hours of traveling door-to-door – from the time we set out for the airport in Manila to the time we reached Nicolas’ parents’ house in Boulogne-Billancourt – just as we were stretching out in bed, happy to finally be horizontal and not trying to sleep in some uncomfortable seat, we heard a loud, chilling cry. Olivier, Nicolas’ youngest brother, burst into our room. Guylaine, their mother, had fallen and had broken her arm.

We hurried downstairs and, sure enough, we found her almost passed out, her arm bent in the most horrific, unnatural way. Nicolas and Olivier rushed her to the hospital. (The boys finally came back and got to sleep around three o’clock in the morning.)

It turned out that Olivier had left his suitcase downstairs and his mother tripped over it in the dark while she was locking up for the night. Her arm was broken in two places.

That was Friday night.

On Monday, as Nicolas and I were rushing out to meet friends for lunch in Paris, I passed Olivier in the hallway and asked what he was doing for the day.

“I’m picking up my mother from the hospital.”

“WHAAAAAT?!”

We had been living like a bunch of frat boys the whole weekend (Coke and chocolates for breakfast, anyone?), waiting for the maid to report for work on Monday, and the dishes from Friday night – and the whole weekend – were piled high in the sink with the maid nowhere in sight.

I ran into the kitchen and started loading up the dishwasher. Panicked, I called out to the boys, “Am I doing this right?! How does this thing work?” Of course I had no idea how to use the damned thing. We don’t have dishwashing machines in the Philippines, we have maids. The boys were as useless as I was. “My mother is coming soon and she’ll do that when she gets back.”

I was appalled. “You mean the one with an arm broken in two places? The one that tripped over your suitcase because you couldn’t be bothered to carry it up to your room?” Of course I didn’t say that out loud. We were running late and since none of us knew how to operate the dishwasher, I just made sure everything was hidden from sight and hoped that their mother wouldn’t think the worst of me.

When we returned, glory hallelujah, Guida, the Portuguese maid, had arrived and the dishwasher was humming away happily. Guylaine was resting in her room.

Over the duration of our stay, I helped Guylaine around the house. Guida came in everyday, except for the holidays, but she only worked for two hours and was slower than a snail climbing uphill with a monkey on its back.

It wasn’t much work. Setting the table, clearing the table, rinsing the dishes, loading the dishwasher (which I finally learned how to use), doing the groceries, buying baguettes and croissants from the bakery… I only cooked twice. We either ate out or bought some food or had simple meals that required almost no preparation.

The old people in France are very proud. They don’t like being helped or being fussed over. Nicolas’ grandmother is 98 and insists on living alone in her apartment!

Guylaine bathed and clothed herself (I have no idea how) but I would put on her beret for her, help her with her coat, fasten her watch and tie her shoelaces. I cut her food into bite size portions. I could tell that she was embarrassed to ask for help but I thought it was only natural for me to help out. We are family, after all.

The reason why we were in France last December was because Nicolas’ father is very ill. While we normally visit during spring or fall, I didn’t think it wise to wait for clement weather to visit. No longer having a resort to run, we could actually spend Christmas with his family this year and New Year’s Eve with mine.

It was painful for Nicolas seeing his father sick. And his mother’s fall made him realize how old and frail his parents had become and how fast their lives were changing.

I had come to this realization a long time ago, with both my parents having suffered minor strokes. I have an uncle and aunt who died recently and the ones that are still around are all suffering from some malady or other.

Having been away so much over the years, on the rare occasion that I would see them, my uncles and aunts would chide me about being a stranger. They made it known that I was missed. This surprised me – being one of too many of their nephews and nieces, I didn’t think my absence would be felt – but my dad’s family (they’re nine brothers and sisters) has always been very close and, by the way they treat each other – the way they’re always around for each other, the way they laugh and enjoy one another’s company – they’ve taught me what it means to be family. So, for the past few years, even when we still had the resort, I told Nicolas that I had to be in Manila for at least Christmas or New Year because I wanted to be around my family while I still had the chance.

Knowing that they are getting older and sicker everyday has spun my world out of control. The only thing I can do for them is to be around.

When my father got sick recently, I canceled all my appointments and stayed with him day and night, for almost the entire duration of his hospitalization.

I once visited one of my uncles at home. He has cancer. And Alzheimer’s. He asked me the same question every five minutes. Each and every time, I answered like he had asked for the first time. It was the only kindness I could show him. It wasn’t his fault he couldn’t remember. It’s a good thing my dad and his brothers and sisters like to joke and laugh often so it’s easy to make light of what could otherwise be a heavy situation.

Eventually, Nicolas and Olivier started helping around the house. Instead of being cooped up in their rooms, their nose buried in books, they’d be in the living room chatting with their parents. When I got too sick to get out of bed, Nicolas took over looking after his mom and helped set up the table for Christmas dinner. (He even made me some hot lemon juice!) Olivier drove Guylaine around and they bought fresh oysters together.

We gave their father a small iPod for Christmas, to help distract him from his pain. I loaded it up with classic French songs, comedy sketches by Coluche, opera, and even some Beatles and Elvis. The brothers were convinced that he would never learn how to use it, not having ever used a computer or even a mobile phone in his life. But Olivier and I managed to teach him how to operate it and he’s rung us up recently to tell us that he’s been listening to The Three Tenors and would now like to take his wife to the opera some time.

Be good to the old folks, people. They may not have been the best parents but I’m pretty sure they did the best that they could at that time. And it doesn’t take much to give back. Just taking a few minutes out of your day to talk to them or send them a message helps alleviate their loneliness and alienation.

And never give up on them. Remember, in the words of the Beatles, “you’ll be older too”.

[YOUTUBE: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=h3chFhCP5mQ]