Life's Really Worth Living

as we age, many changes occur, not only in our bodies but also in our lifestyles and relationships with others.  i think of my wife's mother.  she went from living outside of town on a farm of eighty acres to a house on a typical lot in the city.  next she gave up her house and moved into a small guest house in our backyard.  at the insistence of her eldest daughter, she left her little house on our property and moved into a shared room in a nursing home, a room not really big enough for one person, much less two.  there she lived until she broke her hip and died recovering from surgery in the hospital.  her world became progressively smaller through the passing years.  her story is not an unusual one.

my father's life was somewhat the same.  after my mother died, he lived in their home on a large one-acre lot in town until he remarried and moved out in the country to his new wife's home.  when she was afflicted with dementia, they moved into a small apartment in an assisted living facility several hundred miles away from her home.  this move was made because her children wanted her to be near them in the neighboring state where they lived.  his world had become smaller, like that of my mother-in-law.

we see this pattern repeated in the lives of many people as they age.  i often think how much simpler life would be for my wife and i if we didn't have a good-sized house and yard to care for.  then i look around at the many things around me that remind me of places we have traveled or that connect us to our parents and grandparents.  many of these things would have to be given up if we down-sized.  life might be easier if we made our surroundings smaller, but would life be as rich and happy?  i know that if my wife were to die, i wouldn't be able to care for our home on my own.  i wonder what i would do under those circumstances.  she has said repeatedly that she wouldn't be able to manage without me, and i suspect the same would be true for me.  at that point, whichever of us survives would be forced to make some difficult choices, just as our parents did.

old age often forces us to give up control over our lives and makes us dependent on others.  sometimes it is our children or other relatives on whom we must rely, sometimes it is the staff in a facility for older people.  we struggle to maintain our independence for as long as we can, but, in the end, we frequently return to the state in which we came into the world as we rely on others to take care of us.  in this way, there is an arc to life.  we enter life as infants who must be fed and clothed by others, and many of us leave this life being fed and dressed by others.

may we live life to the fullest regardless of our circumstances.  may we be grateful to those who help us as continue down the path.  may we not become bitter when we are no longer able to live independently in our own homes and must rely on the kindness of others.  may we look back on lives well lived and rejoice in the happiness we have experienced.  shalom.

Nobody Else Can Walk It for Us

twenty-seven years ago my mother passed away from pancreatic cancer.  she had been diagnosed only a few months earlier, and her death just after her 77th birthday was a blow to my dad, my brother and sister, and me.  it never occurred to me how difficult it was for my dad to care for her during the last few months of her life.  he lived in the small community where we three siblings had grown up, and none of us lived within easy driving distance of their home.  my sister and i were still working, and my brother lived six hours away.  until my wife had her recent knee surgery, i had never thought of what it must have been like for my dad as her care, in addition to the many tasks involved with keeping a home running, became his responsibility.  now i begin to see how difficult it must have been for him, as he watched her slowly dying.

each night i fall into bed exhausted.  i am happy that i can care for my wife during her convalescence, and i know that she is grateful for all that i do for her.  my dad must have felt much the same way as i do each evening, but he had the added sadness of knowing that my mother would never recover, that her death was only a matter of weeks away.  as i reflect on my realization of what life must have been like for my dad during those last months of my mother's life, i am reminded that we can't truly know what others experience until we walk in their shoes.  each day, i think, "if only i had known then what i know now, i would have been a bigger help to my dad."  one day, our children will say the same thing to themselves as they reflect back on the lives of their elderly parents.  this is the way life is: we must experience suffering firsthand before we understand what it is like for others.

each generation finds its own way.  the longer i live, the more convinced i am that there is more to what happens after our death than a simple passing into heavenly bliss if we have believed the "right" things when we die.  one can't get life right in just one lifetime.  we must live many lifetimes in order to make the progress necessary to live a good life.  with each passing incarnation, we come to see the right path more clearly until we have a perfect understanding of what it means to be fully human.  maybe i'm wrong, and we simply cease to exist except in the memories of others when we die, but i can't accept the christian idea of "heaven" or hell that follows the end of our lives.  i suppose it doesn't really matter which is true--reincarnation, heaven/hell, or nothingness.  we do the best we can while we live and the end will reveal itself in time.

may we understand our common experiences, seeing the truth of others' lives through our own lens.  may we forgive the shortcomings of others as realize they can't comprehend what they haven't experienced, just as we forgive our younger selves.  may we live each moment as if it is our last, doing as much good as we can.  shalom.

What's Too Painful to Remember

a few mornings ago, i was thinking about how often memories of the past come up as i meditate.  most often, these are not pleasant memories but those which fill me with regret and guilt.  at those times, i work on forgiving myself, but that doesn't seem to be the full answer.  as i drove on an errand, i was listening to bbc world service.  the program was about this very topic.  a british man had raised the question of why, now that he is older, he is often racked with guilt over past actions and how he can work past his regret and shame over what cannot be undone.  the adviser who was responding to his questions used the analogy of a young child's behavior, perhaps that of the questioner's own son or daughter.  she asked the man if he would blame his son if he made an error in judgement, like telling a lie or forgetting to do something.  his response was that he would not hold the child's mistake against him, since the child was learning what was right and wrong.

the adviser went on to ask the man if he was the same man as his younger self who had made regrettable errors.  the man responded that he was not, that he now understood how his actions affected others and acted with more compassion.  as he spoke, i realized that, like this man on the radio, i am not my younger self.  i was in the process of learning to be a better person and along the way i didn't always appreciate the consequences of my actions.  just as i can now joke about the scratches our young son put on our car in the carport as he zoomed past  riding his toy car, i can see myself in the same light.  as i sped through my younger life, i caused some scratches, dings, and hurts because i didn't know any better.  i was still focused on my own life and didn't see how my decisions could harm others.

the other day a friend was lamenting about one of her children who never came to see her and didn't seem to realize that she was not getting any younger.  as we talked, i told her that when my parents were aging, i still saw them as the young couple they had been when i was a child.  in my eyes, they were still the same, despite the accumulated years.  i saw them as self-sufficient and able to continue with the household duties and repairs they had been so proficient at taking care of when i was a child.  now that i am older, i see that they could have used more help from me.  i never thought about how difficult it was for my father to take care of his large yard when he was in his 70s and 80s.  as i approach my eightieth year, i know how much of a struggle it was for him, especially after my mother died, to take care of the house inside and the yard outside.  i know this because i know how hard it is for me, even with the help of my wife and despite enjoying the many jobs that owning a home entails.

may we acknowledge that we are not our younger selves.  may we see that the wisdom we possess because of our life experiences was not available to us in the past.  may we be grateful for what we have learned over the years and rejoice by living in the present, rather than dwelling on the past.  may we be able to laugh at the person we used to be, just as we are able to laugh at the exuberant mishaps of our children.  may we be aware that every person looks back on what they were with some regrets, that we share this common bond.  shalom. 

For Home, Where Our Affection Clings

now that my wife has had her knee replacement surgery, i have the responsibility of caring for her at home.  she can walk short distances with the assistance of a walker, but she requires help getting back into the bed.  she has to keep ice packs on her knee to control swelling, and these need to be changed fairly frequently.  the packs that came home with us from the hospital, leak as the ice melts.  this forces my wife to awaken me several times during the night to change out the packs and work on them to stop further leakage.  i have to make certain that she takes her medications and that there is food prepared for both of us.  right now, i am exhausted and wondering if i can continue providing the care she needs.

as i reflected on my fatigue and felt sorry for both her and myself, i remembered my frequent bouts of earache as a child.  i would awaken in the night to excruciating pain in my ears, crying out for help from my mother.  she was always attentive and did what she could to ease my pain.  it never occurred to me then that my mother was worn out after one of my all-night battles with pain.  yet, she never complained, even though she had to carry on the next day as if she had a good night's sleep.  

i thought, too, of my mother-in-law, who fell from a ladder and broke her hip in her mid-40s.  my wife has told me that her mother somehow continued with her work of preparing meals for her family, hobbling around in the kitchen with the aid of a walker.  there was no physical therapy, nor anyone waiting on her as she recuperated.  her children and husband never heard a word of complaint or resentment.  she did what she thought had to be done, as she suffered in silence.

i understand how these selfless women must have felt, as they cared for their families.  i'm sure they asked themselves why life had to be as it was, but they never indulged in self-pity or bitterness.  they carried on as best they could, knowing that their families were taken care of, even when their children and husband never expressed any gratitude for what they endured.  when i begin to feel sorry for myself as i meet my wife's needs as best i can, i think of my mother and my mother-in-law and pray that i can show the kind of compassion and love they showed their families.

may we rejoice in what we are given, even when it is not what we would have chosen.  may we do what we can to ease the pain that others feel, trying to make their lives better in any way we can.  may we remember that compassion doesn't exist in the place of resentment, but enables us to care for others even when we resent our lot.  may our love for others be as strong as love for ourselves.  shalom.