Those who have read this blog for a while know that I'm fairly open about most of my life! Age, weight, details of births, spiritual questions, messy house, parenting problems, etc.--all of these have been written about openly in this blog. But not aging issues. With this post today, I'm going to tiptoe into these waters, but not too deeply.
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 mother's 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 we're 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 children's 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 Jeff's trip, I was thinking about the fact that after my parents die, I'll 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 that's a weak, non-specific answer. In any case, reading Rev. Dodge's 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, that's EXACTLY what I was feeling!"
I don't mean to imply by all of this that my parents are close to death's 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.
I'm grateful for the openness we've always had in my family to discuss such things. With Dad being a doctor, death was a reality that couldn't be avoided, of course; but even my mother didn't 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 didn't used to talk openly about such things, I guess; but I'm extremely appreciative for my family's ability to discuss end-of-life issues. It's 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.
~ my parents in Florida this past April
A note about the name of this new category of posts: my friend Julie ended one of her recent blog posts with this sentence, "This is the short life." It struck me at the time, and has stuck with me since, as such a succinct way to express a profound truth--essentially, a summary of all the sobering truths expressed in Psalm 90. This really is the short life, and I pray not to forget that the long life--the real life--is waiting for us on the other side of the door we call Death.
6 comments:
Thank you for that revealing post, Davene. I feel that same sense of protection as well. You know, it's strange but when my parents got a divorce, I lost a little of that security. However, it is still there, though a trifle weaker, and I cannot imagine life without it.
your blog was the one that made me write the one you commented about today. :) thanks for making me think!
You're brave to speak of a topic that is so sensitive to you. It's a great step in helping to overcome it. I'm so glad that God has given us a forum to share such things with so many. Thank you for sharing such an emotional topic!
Such a thoughtful post, Davene -- thank you. I also find this topic confronting, for many reasons. Because we emigrated from Africa when I was a little girl, I lost touch with the reality of my grandparents, and when they passed away it was so distant that it barely touched me. In the past two years, with the death of my father-in-law, my sister, and a friend's young husband, I have suddenly been faced with death, of both the young and the old. I found it very confusing. I also have my parents next door, as you know, and now my mother-in-law has moved to be near us. Co-incidentally, she has also discovered in the last month that she may need chemotherapy again for cancer for which she was treated five years ago. It scares me a little.
Interesting post. I experienced the front lines feeling when my mother died when I was 23, although my father is still living. It is an odd though that once he is gone I will be *the* older generation.
I found you via Pleasantview schoolhouse, where I discovered we buy our maple syrup at the same place! :) {I live in Botetourt Co.}
Interesting post. I don't think I have thought about the death of my parents (or Andrew's) in that light before. I have more been thinking of caring for them in their octogenarian years, since that has been required of us and my parents for my Gardner grandparents. At some point, death is a welcome blessing. For several years, my grandmother has desired to move on to her heavenly home, but she is patiently waiting God's timing. She gets very frustrated with her frail body.
My parents are made of steel, so far, and healthy as horses, except for my mom's bout with mono this winter. I am sure my mom will live to be 105, and my dad will live well into his 80's barring some disastrous farming accident. That's how I see it, anyway. God may have different plans, since he knows the day of our death.
For some reason, death has been on my mind a lot this year--my own death. I have just been pondering, am I as prepared as I want to be to meet the Lord, the most Holy God, face to face, and give an account for all I have done? Is my lamp full of oil, or will Jesus say, "I don't know you"? (Mt. 25:12) Am I using the talents God has given me profitably, or will I be one of those worthless servants thrown into the darkness "where there will be weeping and gnashing of teeth"? (Mt. 25:30) I know my soul is at rest in Christ, especially as I read the Word and hear his voice, and see His hand at work in my soul. However, it is good to be keen and alert, and not to fall asleep and let some wickedness or laziness of soul creep in.
This is overly long for a blog comment, but I have been thinking about this since I read your aging post.
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