Something I wrote on July 23, 2008... Aging is one of the topics about which I could potentially write quite a bit but about which I actually write very little. My reason? Quite frankly, its too painful. Being so close to my parents and watching them go through the aging process (with much grace, by the way) is a huge blessing, and I wouldnt choose to have it any other way. But its also incredibly personal and heart-wrenching. I feel like this topic of aging is so raw for me--an open sore that I keep covered to protect myself. This morning while I ate breakfast, I read the latest issue of The Shenandoah Journal; and I nearly choked on my bagel when I came across this article by Rev. Hollis Dodge. He writes a regular column called All People That On Earth Do Dwell, and this particular article he titled Gravity Has Me. He began with a quote from Jane Sigloh from Like Trees Walking: So, unless we die prematurely, we have no choice about entering old age. And then he wrote... ******** After my mothers funeral, we children sat around the home place drinking coffee and picking at a plate of cookies someone had dropped off. We drew up a list and divvied up chores, from donating clothes to the Salvation Army to contacting a realtor. Well, now that Mom & Dad are gone, I guess were the old folks now, my brother piped up. Then in our forties, we kids chuckled at his quip, but deep in our marrow we acknowledged the truth. We had become the point of the plow, cutting a furrow through time--and in our wake came our offspring, fresh-skinned innocents, buffered against mortality by us, their elders. Quietly, while sitting at the table where we first tasted pabulum, my brother, my sister, and I succeeded our parents. It was a grave affair, our attainment of gravitas. We juniors advanced in rank with beating hearts and thinning hair, and we assumed our station as the new family figureheads. Now we became the repositories of family lore, the keepers of recipes, and the polishers of family silver. Now it was our attics and basements that collected the effluvium of our childrens peripatetic lives, and it was we who chanted the familiar litany: Come hither. Come hither. Come get your stuff! A synonym of gravity is enormity: the breadth of possibility--of escapades awaiting us as we age. Many past-mid-lifers take on new adventures, wrinkles and all. Some acquire children late in life and, like Abraham and Sarah, are so enchanted by such extravagant miracles that they cannot suppress their gleeful laughter (Genesis 21:6). Others care for grandchildren as nearly-permanent residents in their homes and hearts. These people dust off Dr. Seuss books, buy extra batteries for Tickle Me Elmo, and discover once again how painful to bare feet are ball and jacks left on the kitchen floor. Other seniors sail the seven seas and hike the Alps, take up calligraphy or the Alpenhorn, even open yarn shops. Gravity also means substance, the importance of life, especially after we realize we have fewer years ahead of us than lie behind us. Our lives and our actions bear the imprint of the Kingdom-come (Mt. 6:10, Lk. 11:2), and we want to make the most of them. Henri Amiel, Swiss philosopher and poet, said it well: Life is short and we have not too much time for gladdening the hearts of those who travel the dark way with us. O be swift to love! make haste to be kind! ******** The reason this hit me so strongly is because very recently, at some point during Jeffs trip [he went to Israel that July], I was thinking about the fact that after my parents die, Ill be part of the oldest generation in my family. Specifically, I had the thought, I am not ready to be the front line yet. There is a sense of protection that comes from still having parents in this world, and I remember when both my parents lost that protection as their parents passed away. Realistically, I ask myself, Protection from what? From life, I guess--and from death! But thats a weak, non-specific answer. In any case, reading Rev. Dodges words about becoming the point of the plow, cutting a furrow through time--and in our wake came our offspring, fresh-skinned innocents, buffered against mortality by us, their elders, made me exclaim, Yes, thats EXACTLY what I was feeling! I dont mean to imply by all of this that my parents are close to deaths door because they most certainly do not appear to be! But none of us--young or old--knows when that day will come, that supreme graduation from this life to the next. Whether it comes next week or in 20 years, whether my parents or my children or I die first, aging and death are issues that are part of my life. Im grateful for the openness weve always had in my family to discuss such things. With Dad being a doctor, death was a reality that couldnt be avoided, of course; but even my mother didnt shy away from such topics. I remember her telling me things about my grandparents aging process as my mother cared for them, and even now she will tell me her perspectives on her own aging to prepare me for the future because we must always be prepared! :) People didnt used to talk openly about such things, I guess; but Im extremely appreciative for my familys ability to discuss end-of-life issues. Its nice to not have to dance around these topics and walk on eggshells with each other. Despite that, it is a sensitive place in my heart, a part that I keep guarded because of the intensity of thought and feeling associated with it.
Posted on: Wed, 05 Mar 2014 06:44:27 +0000
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