Aging is a reminder of impermanence in this plane. It’s a curious thing that as we grow in wisdom our bodies shrink in ability. It’s as though this body is only utilized during this lifetime to afford us the opportunity to learn and once we’ve mastered the lessons, the tool by which we learn ceases to be. As I watch my grandfather becoming more frail these days, I continually remind myself that the body is a temporary luxury… or maybe in some cases a hindrance that we have in our lifetime. Nevertheless, it is temporary. It reminds me that nothing lasts forever and urges me to seize the remaining time we have left together because I am feeling that it might not be as long as I’d like. I feel it when I’m with him.
There is something about aging that causes the spirit to soften, to become more sentimental about the moment shared between two souls. So often we let the assumption that there’ll be a next time rob us of the sacredness in the moment. It’s a bad habit that I, too, am guilty of. In the day to day when I’m rushing to get my daughter ready for camp and start becoming huffy because I’ve asked her to do the same thing for the 5th time. In those moments I’m not quite sure how to get out of my own way to embrace life more fully, to embrace her more fully, to cherish and value life to the fullest. There are certain triggers I have and I’m very aware of them… being ignored is a hot button for me and often evokes anger and frustration. Nonetheless, I try daily to keep my priorities on the importance of honoring each moment. Do I always succeed? Heck no! Though in those moments when I fail, I can return to center and intentionally bring myself back to that place of honoring life and all it has to offer more quickly each time.
My grandfather has started becoming more open about his love for us as he’s had bouts of hospitalization and release more frequently than he ever has. He is at the place where he is losing some of his independence and feels his age more acutely. His daughters are becoming more involved in his life to assist and care for him… making sure he knows his medication schedule, accompanying him to doctor’s appointments, making sure he isn’t driving for at least 2 weeks per doctor’s orders, etc. As I witness this, I realize that this loss of independence happens to the best of us. Life is very much like a mountain we climb and then descend. At 36, I’m probably nearing the summit, about a little over ¾ of the way to the top. Some may die on the climb, but many will live to make their way down… until they reach the beginning once again. Here is where we become childlike and oftentimes, dependent, once again until we depart from the site of the climb.
After such an adventure, I don’t know that anyone is ever really ready to leave it, yet we can’t camp out at the bottom forever and must move on to whatever awaits us. Many fear death when nothing in life is guaranteed anyway. We don’t go through each moment fearing what the next one holds, yet many fear what they think is (cue dramatic music here) “the End”. I used to be this way as a child, but as I’ve grown, I don’t look at death in this way. I look at it as a right of passage, a change, a transformation, a beginning and an end… when one adventure reaches completion, another lies ahead. Even still, when we close out an adventure with friends or family, the ending is always bittersweet. Returning home from vacation is often full of mixed feelings… sad that it’s over, but also happy to be home. I think that death, too, may feel like this.
Losing people that you’ve traveled with is hard. The reliance you had on them during the excursion, the companionship, and experiences you shared in during your excursion find a special place in your heart and mind. When it’s over, they’ve become part of your story… a chapter in your book of life. I ponder my own story and think about the way I value my grandfather because his presence filled a void that was left by my biological father. My father could not fulfill that role because of immaturity, wrong choices, addiction, and failure to heal from his own childhood wounds. I see that he not only filled this void for me, but for my cousin as well when her father was not in the picture. I believe that one of his purposes was to be a father on this Earth, not only to his own biological children, but to some of his grandchildren who did not have a traditional two-parent household. He served as that masculine role model, a picture of what a man should be.
While I didn’t always see this, I realize that the man I settled down with shares a lot of similarities to my grandfather. He’s fiercely loyal, staying even when situations were difficult. He’s intelligent, filling his mind with world news, history, and documentaries. He’s handsome and not afraid to speak his mind, sometimes to a fault. He’s a hard worker, doing the best he can for himself and his family. He’s not perfect, but he tries to do right by the people who are important to him and succeeds majority of the time.
I’m grateful that my grandfather gave me his blessing over my relationship when I went to see him in the hospital. He told me, “I think you’ve found a good one. He seems like a good guy.” He said this with an air of contentment, as though he felt his purpose was starting to come to an end and he was happy to have another he could respect to carry the torch. It meant a lot to me knowing that my choices have made him proud. There’s a lot of talk about “doing you” and living without care for anyone else’s opinion in the “motivational/inspirational” genres on social media, but I don’t buy into that. I wouldn’t consider myself to be a people pleaser, but I do care about what those close to me think about what I’m doing. The key is learning whose opinions/thoughts to care about and discerning which opinions are valid. Those that love you often see your blind spots and can guide you back to health and wholeness when you can’t see the road clearly yourself. It’s wise to value their opinions and guidance. He is someone who has a seat at my table and whose opinion has always mattered.
There are questions I want to ask him, but I don’t want to bring down his spirits. I want to know if he’s afraid of moving on. I want to know what he considers the best moments of his life are. I want to know what the scariest and worst were. I want to understand what the most valuable lesson he feels he learned was, who the most impactful people were, what he would do differently if the opportunity arose. I should ask him so that the wisdom gained can be preserved. I just had this conversation with an acquaintance at my in-laws’ house over the weekend, that the gap between the elderly and the young is widening and the wisdom gained from those exchanges is getting lost. The idea of honoring our ancestry and preserving the wisdom from generation to generation is no longer a priority for the young and the elderly are taking their blessings to the grave with them when they go having nobody to share their treasures with or pour into.
It makes me think about the percentage of our interactions that are primarily surface level. I would guess that about 80% of interaction is spent on surface level matters; where to eat, what to do over the weekend, complaining, directing daily activities (for those of us with children), etc. That leaves only 20% for deeper matters; exploring feelings, resolving conflicts, sharing appreciation, etc. I’m guessing it’s because treading in the deep uses more energy than standing in the shallow end and one can only tread for so long before becoming drained. However, I believe that the deep offers far more treasure than the surface if we’re willing to leave the comfort of the shore. I wonder if more life exists in the depths of the ocean than in the shallower areas. I’m guessing that it’s a likely possibility as it seems the harder it is to reach something, the more lifegiving it is when we arrive.
Maybe, that’s the case with the end of life… it’s hard to cope with. It can’t be easy to adapt to the loss of health, vitality, function in the world as one departs from this earthly plane. Yet, I imagine that the challenge of this transformation leads to something more sacred and beautiful than one can imagine.
What are your thoughts on aging and death? I’d love to hear your theories and beliefs around the matter.