Seven conversations midlifers should have with their ageing parents, and what to say

There comes a strange point in adult life when you find yourself contemplating sentences you never imagined saying to a parent: Dad, I’m not sure you should still be driving. Mum, I’m worried about you falling. How much are you both drinking? Have you made a lasting power of attorney? What sort of funeral do you want? I’m a psychologist, and – as you will see – I still find these conversations difficult. I’ve had many of them over the years with both my parents (although my dad has now passed). When it’s your own parent, professional knowledge doesn’t remove the emotional complication. These are the people who once worried about us, advised and told us what to do. The temptation is to wait to have these conversations later. But the worst time to begin many of these conversations is during a crisis. The other mistake people commonly make is to arrive with the answer already decided, that you’ve pre-determined without them. Shorts They are still adults. Concern doesn’t give us authority over them and their decisions. So how do we start? And how did I have these tricky conversations? 1. ‘I’m worried about your driving‘ My father loved driving. His car represented freedom and competence, and even as his memory became less reliable, our family hesitated to suggest he stop. Eventually he became confused driving on routes he had driven for years. What my mother understood better than I did was that announcing, “You can’t drive any more”, would have felt humiliating to him. Instead, she introduced the idea gradually, talking about bus passes and how much money they could save. Then, when his car was sold, the buyers made a point of admiring it and promising to look after it. That mattered to him. My experience showed me that giving up a car means giving up far more than transport, so ask what would replace the independence it provided. Start the conversation with what you’ve noticed: “I’ve noticed you’ve had a couple of difficult journeys recently, and it’s worrying me. How are you feeling about driving?” This opens up the conversation. Avoid: “You’re too old to drive.” Age isn’t the issue here; safety is. 2. ‘How can we help you stay independent?‘ My mother is fiercely independent. Following a hospital stay around the time of Covid, she spent time in residential care and hated it. She disliked the food, people with dementia wandered into her room, and she did not always feel treated kindly. Even now, the thought of returning to a care home can bring her to tears. She could have carers come into her home four times a day, but she found that restricting: if someone is due to visit, you cannot simply decide to go out. Yet independence carries risks too. She doesn’t always use her walker for a short trip to the bathroom and has fallen twice badly enough for ambulances to be called. To start this conversation, rather than going in with: “You obviously can’t manage on your own anymore,” try: “What would make things easier while still letting you live the way you want to?” We have found the aim should not automatically be maximum safety. The better question is what level of risk are we able to manage while preserving as much agency as possible. For example, balancing the number of carers who are coming in, with my mother’s need for space. 3. ‘What would you want if you became seriously ill?‘ Families often discover too late that they have no idea what someone would want during a medical crisis. Would they want every possible intervention? Resuscitation? Including whether they would want a DNACPR: “do not attempt cardiopulmonary resuscitation”. My mum is very clear that she would not want to be resuscitated. She has seen other people kept alive or resuscitated when, in her view, that really wasn’t what they would have wanted, and that has shaped her own thinking. Try: “I know this is a difficult thing to talk about, but if you became very ill, do you know what you would want us to do?” Avoid beginning with your own answer: “Surely you wouldn’t want to be kept alive like that.” There is no single correct preference. The point is to know theirs. And do not assume one conversation settles it forever. What somebody wants at 70 may not be what they want at 85. 4. ‘What do you want to happen when you die?‘ People sometimes resist talking about funerals because it feels morbid. In reality, it can be one of the more interesting conversations. Music, readings, burial or cremation, a solemn ceremony or something completely different: these choices tell us how somebody sees their life. My mother once had her funeral planned in considerable detail: music, people, the kind of service. Now she has changed her mind. She no longer wants a church funeral, she is considering a green burial instead. That is exactly why these conversations need revisiting as time can change preferences. Try: “Have you thought about what you’d actually like us to do when you die?” Avoid: “Don’t talk like that. You’ve got years yet.” Talking about death does not make it happen. 5. ‘Have you sorted out power of attorney?’ This sounds dull and administrative, which may be why it is so easy to postpone. But a lasting power of attorney (LPA) lets someone choose who they trust to act for them if they need help later on. There are separate LPAs for property and finances, and for health and welfare. A financial LPA can also be used, with permission, while someone still has capacity — for example, to help manage a bank account or deal with organisations on their behalf. Years ago, my mum, dad, and then-husband all sat down together to do this. With my parents there was added reason as my dad was beginning to develop vascular dementia. And my mum was very comfortable with it too. These days I deal with most of her financial admin as she finds it easier not to have to worry about bills, utilities, banking and organisations. I’m named on her bank account and deal with the practical side of things for her. The important psychological point is that this is not necessarily about surrendering control. For mum it was about deciding who she trusted while she was fully able to make that choice. But we do personally know of a case where a child took thousands of pounds from a parent, so it does depend on who you trust. Giving someone power over your finances is significant, which is precisely why the conversation is better had while everybody thinks it is far too early. Try: “Have you thought about who you’d want to deal with things if one day you needed help?” Avoid: “We need to get control of your finances.” 6. ‘You keep saying money is tight. Have you thought about getting a job?‘ This might be the least expected conversation on the list. Recently, paying for fuel at Tesco, I got talking to “Joyce”, an 80-year-old behind the counter. She works to supplement her pension and give herself a little more money for the nicer things in life. Of course, telling somebody struggling financially simply to “get a job” can be crass. Health, caring responsibilities, transport and age discrimination are real barriers. But retirement does not have to mean never earning another pound. A few hours in a shop, seasonal work, tutoring or pet sitting can look very different from returning to a full-time career. Try: “You’ve mentioned money being tight a few times. Would you ever consider doing a little paid work again?” Avoid: “If you’re so broke, why don’t you get a job?” The first opens a possibility. The second delivers a judgement. 7. ‘I’m worried about how much you’re drinking’ Alcohol is particularly difficult because drinking is legal, socially accepted and deeply personal. You may notice empty bottles accumulating, drinking starting earlier in the day or somebody becoming muddled. But storming in with, “you’ve got a drink problem”, is unlikely to help. Start with what you have actually observed: “I’ve noticed you seem to be drinking more recently. Is everything OK?” That gives them somewhere to go other than straight into denial or defensiveness. Avoid: “At your age you shouldn’t be drinking like that.” The hardest part of all these conversations is accepting that we cannot control the outcome. A parent may disagree with us. They may make choices we would not make ourselves. They may accept some help and refuse other help. Love does not entitle us to take over. But neither does respecting somebody’s independence mean saying nothing when we are genuinely worried. Perhaps the best place to begin is not: “Here’s what you need to do”, but: “Can I tell you what I’ve noticed, because I care about you?” Dr Denise Taylor is a chartered psychologist and author who writes about later life, work and meaning beyond full-time employment. Her latest book, ‘ThriveSpan: Walking Gently Into What Matters Now’, is out now