Aging with Grace (?)

When I was 20, 30, 40, heck even 50 years old, aging was something far off in the distance, and I did not really think much about it. I'd hear people over 65 complaining, talking about their ailments, and telling me things like "getting old is not for sissies!" I thought they were just over-exaggerating everything. 

Then I turned 65. I felt like the same me on the inside; in fact, I felt the same as I did when I was in my 30s (but smarter and a little slower). In my head, I still look like the same person, but then I look in the mirror and I wonder (sometimes out loud) "who is that old lady in there? Where did those wrinkles come from? What in the world are those brown spots on my face?" I mean, I'm not vain, and I know our bodies have an expiration date; we wear out. But for the love of Mike, I did not count on it happening so soon! Someone should give us (especially women) a handbook, much like the "You're a Young Lady Now" book our moms gave us when we hit puberty; it could be called "What to (not) look forward to after your 50s. 

My oldest daughter has asked me the same question every year for the past 5 or 6 years: "Mom, what do you wish you'd have known when you were my age?" I never have to struggle to come up with an answer. So, for those of you who do not know what I am talking about, here is a list to prepare you for your golden years.

Things I didn't count on when I got older:

Your hamstrings and quadriceps no longer have any useful function. We all hate doing burpees and squats, so these are the exercises we cheat on. As in "yeah I really did 25 burpees!" when we really only did six. You will regret slacking on those the first time you try to get up from a sitting position on the floor, or when you can't get out of the bathtub without doing a downward dog. You know those handles next to the toilets in hospital and doctor's office bathrooms? You will appreciate these. A lot.  

Your skin becomes very, very ugly. I used to think getting wrinkles was the only thing I had to worry about in my later years. Think again; wrinkles are the least of your issues. Age spots pop up everywhere overnight--on your face, hands, legs, toes, ears, chest...you name it, every body part will get these weird darker pigmented blotches, and no amount of makeup or concealer is going to hide them. Well, you try valiantly to cover them, desperately changing foundation brands and shades, to no avail. Those "skin lightening" creams? Forget it. It's a scam. And all those wrinkle treatments? Save your money for something useful. The worst surprise so far? Your skin is paper thin, dry, and your blood vessels are thinner and weaker as well, so the slightest bump and whatever body part you hit, if you're lucky, immediately turns purple with a bruise that lasts for weeks. If you aren't lucky, you get skin tears-- since your skin is tissue paper thin, bump your hand or arm or calf and the skin flaps open. We kept running out of bandaids (and they rip my skin too), so I just ordered a box of 100 Tegaderm. 

You will fall--accept it.  You will be walking across a parking lot and when you reach the sidewalk you step up, and the next thing you know you are flat on your face. Your feet do not like you anymore. Or you are walking down steps and for some reason only known to God your foot slips out from under you and you are on your butt. Remember that part about thin skin and bruising? Yeah, you will look like the losing end of a bar fight. 

You get short arm disease. Remember when your dad would hold something away from him and try to read the print on a medicine bottle? Trust me, your arms are not long enough. First you will be in denial and buy those "readers" at the dollar store, but eventually, yes you will need bifocals. If you don't like those lined glasses, be prepared to spend over $400 for progressive lenses. Oh and in a few years after that you will need cataract surgery anyway. 

You will say "huh?" and "what" a lot. Unless you are Superman, your hearing will get bad enough to require you to wear hearing aids, and boy, are they expensive. And Medicare does not cover them. These aren't your grandmother's hearing either--you know, the yellowish box she had on a lanyard around her neck? These are high tech and nearly invisible, they do not require constant battery changes, and they have bluetooth--they really do work wonders. The downside? Wearing them in busy loud places is torture, and those tiny little rubber domes come off sometimes and get stuck in your ear canal. But, the cool part is I can listen to music or podcasts or GPS directions in my ear, and block out annoying people or husbands. 

Closed captions become your best friend. Watching any movie where the actors have ANY accent necessitates captions, and it has nothing to do with hearing loss. It has to do with your brain getting old. The worst accent? British. (Sorry Liz)

You become anxious driving in new places.  GPS is your second best friend (but also can leave you hanging if there isn't good service.) Your mind can no longer process directions like it used to, so getting lost is not hard. You don't even have to have Alzheimer's. Again, aging brain. Luckily, my husband is 10 years younger so I can count on him for at least 5 more years. 

You will get up in the middle of the night to use the bathroom.  This is not limited to men. Some nights you will get up two or three times. Clear the path of all obstacles, and make sure your husband never leaves the seat up.

Your adult children will patronize you.  Yes I know it is because they love me. But seriously, I get sort of tired of all the questions and warnings, "Mom, are you sure you're up to a walk?", or "That box is too heavy for you", or "Mom, are you OK?" every time you bump a toe or drop something or start bleeding all over from a skin tear. I would say get thicker skin for all these comments, but that ship sailed a long time ago.

I haven't even covered aching joints, arthritis, greying hair, and acid reflux, because those are a given. I expected those. There are benefits, though...senior discounts at restaurants, amusement parks, movie theaters, concerts, you name it! The best part? You don't even have to prove you are a senior citizen. They believe you! You can sleep longer. You can take naps without being judged. And usually, if they were raised right, people actually listen to you. (Unless they are older than you).

Seriously though, approach aging with grace and kindess and patience. Lots and lots of patience, for those around you and for yourself. You are not obsolete. God has a purpose for you no matter what your age. 

It's just hard to remember what it is. :-)

"Even to your old age and gray hairs I am he, I am he who will sustain you. I have made you and I will carry you; I will sustain you and I will rescue you." Isaiah 46:4

Crossroads

Friends are an integral part of life. Some friends are for life, others just fade into the background, and some just grow apart. If you’re lucky enough you’ll have a friend who gets you, who knows what you’re feeling without you saying a word, who shares similar interests and values. In my life I’ve experienced all of these. I’ve kept friends, gained new friends, even lost a friend or two; I even have one friend, my best friend in high school, who I’ve known for 50 years…half a century…who I only see once every 15 years or so, but we can pick up where we left off without missing a beat. What I’ve learned though is as I get older and grow as a person and a Christian, I get closer to God while growing away from some of my friends, which is fine if they’re casual friendships, but what if those friends don't share your faith or your values or morals?  

It is so difficult to ascertain how to respond, or even IF to respond, when friends brag about sexual exploits, express anger over the Supreme Court overturning Roe v Wade, or even just share cruel gossip. Sometimes I feel myself getting pulled into their conversations, even if just passively, and that makes me just as culpable. Do I speak up? Do I walk away? Change the subject? Or do I just wanly smile at their "jokes" and feel superior?

I’m not holy, I’m not perfect, and I try so hard to avoid being self-righteous when I share the gospel. Well, when I THINK I am sharing the gospel. In actuality, when someone says something that makes me cringe, something completely unbiblical, I will sometimes mutter some platitude or watered down gospel, because I am afraid if I share the unadulterated truth, I will be laughed at or shunned. In other words, I have just made friendship and social acceptance, more important than their souls. Worse yet, I am trying to change hearts, instead of planting seeds, living the gospel, and then praying for the Holy Spirit to do His work. 

My answer? Love. Just love my friends, my family, and strangers whether or not they are believers. Let them see Christ through my actions, not just my words.

Do you ever...

Do you ever wonder what I’m doing, or where I’m living now?

Do you stop and think “perhaps she’s sick,” or “I wonder if her hair has gone grey?” 

Do you ever wish bygones could really be bygones, or you could turn back the clock? 

Do you think about the times we spent together, the Thanksgivings, that Christmas in 2010, the times I watched your kids or the time you rode the train with mine?

 

Do you ever wonder how things got so out of hand? 

Do you ever miss picking up the phone and telling me all your problems, and sharing your joys? 

Do you ever want to just talk about memories and laugh, or cry over those we’ve lost? 

Do you ever think I miss them too? 

Do you wonder if maybe, just maybe, this was all just a giant, cosmic misunderstanding gone horribly wrong? 

Do you ever stop and think how wrong this all is? 

Do you ever feel regrets instead of resentment?

Do you think we’ll ever see each other before we die?

Do you know I think about you and miss you? 

Do you even care?

...questions that will never be answered...at least not in this lifetime.

Hey Mom!

From the time they’re born, our kids demand our attention in all sorts of ways: crying, yelling, throwing up, smiling, etc.  Calls of “hey Mom” and “Mom look!” and “watch this mom!” and “Mom make him stop/where’s my blue shirt?/can I have $20” and “mom what’s the square root of 2,452?” and “How do you spell chameleon?” echo in our heads throughout their growing up. When moms talk to the kids though, it’s in one ear and out the other; it’s as if we’re talking to ourselves half the time. We repeat ourselves endlessly, we get eyes rolled at us if we initiate conversation at the wrong time, but we are still there , on standby, ready for that “Mom I need you!”  

Does it stop when they move away? Nope. They call. At all hours, with no respect to time zones or sleep schedules. Moms of course answer, because we are, after all, moms, and we are always waiting for that  “mom I need you come quick!” call, worried about their safety. They could be bleeding and need a blood transfusion. Or a kidney. Or help with their taxes. We are crazy that way. They call about a rash, a plant, advice on boiling water, how to get cat pee out of a sofa, and “what’s my blood type?” Our kids call us, text us, FaceBook message us, video-chat with us, and if we don’t pick up, they reach out via another method or call Dad and ask “where’s mom?”  We are on call 24/7. It’s our job. For life. But when Mom calls or texts or wants to chat with her children, there’s only a 12.3472% chance she’ll get an answer; the rest of the time, she is put in a queue or gets “”ttyl.” Or forgotten. 

Like I said, it’s lonely up here. Which is why moms talk to themselves a lot. Sometimes we’re the only person we have to talk to. Except Siri. At least Siri answers us.  

Getting the Normal Back

It's happened to most of us, probably all of us. You're going through life, humming and strolling along, or maybe mumbling and just dragging your feet, everything the same, when all of the sudden, BAM! Seemingly out of nowhere, your life changes drastically, and not for the better. It's a shock, and you just stop where you are; life as you know it is defined by that moment in time, and it changes you forever. Personally, I have had many such moments in my life: JFK's assassination, my parents' divorce, personal trauma as a teenager, a former foster child's false accusations against my husband that precipitated court-martial proceedings, our child's cancer diagnosis, the events of 9/11/2001, the betrayal of family and subsequent estrangement, the death of our parents. When I look back at these events, I see a clear demarkation line of life before and life after, and there was no going back. 

Right now my daughter and her family are facing such a turning point in their lives, a turn of events that arose out of nowhere, a sucker punch nearly knocking the air out of them. Their lives completely disrupted, nothing seems certain any longer. Where they’ll be tomorrow, next week, next month, is anybody’s guess, our much anticipated visit next month has lost its joy. Molly said it best: “ever since  the talk about the visa, it’s hard to get the normal back.”

Praying for them. Yes we know the God of the universe controls every molecule, every spin of the planet, every second of our lives, and that nothing, and I mean nothing, surprises him. They also know this, and are not under any sense of delusion they can control the outcome. But God created us with emotions, and as humans we still have attachments to things on this earth, and we want to understand WHY. Praying for comfort and peace and understanding from the God of comfort, peace, and understanding.

Oh, and right after this happened, my other daughter's dog died very suddenly and unexpectedly...not the same, perhaps, but still, a HUGE disruption. 

Joy

Having joy is so much more than happiness. Happiness is fleeting, situational, fickle, and temporary. I used to search for happiness, for things and people and relationships to make me happy, and if I was not happy, I blamed it on circumstances or my past or the events of the day or whoever I was with, what side of the bed I got up on, how much I weighed, whether my hair was behaving, if I could pay all my bills on time, etc. In other words, happiness was a measure of meeting the world’s standards of success. Then I discovered Jesus, and formed an intimate relationship with Him, and I discovered how empty happiness is. I discovered joy. Joy in the midst of suffering, in the midst of pain, in the midst of loss, in the midst of, yes, betrayal. Joy during and after struggles. I was not always happy during these times, and still, believe it or not, there are many times I am not happy.  But I am joyful, FULL OF JOY, joy of the Lord, joy in my salvation, joy in knowing my future home is with Him, that I have a place with Him, that He has forgiven me, paid my debts, and gives me more grace. 

Am I always the perfect picture of a joyful Christian, focused forward on my Jesus, and not looking on my struggles? No, I am not. Sometimes I get wrapped up in that tunnel of self, and the trap of being a victim, the Eyore attitude of “woe is me, woe is me,” and I bemoan all my faults and struggles and pains and losses. Luckily though I have my husband and my friends in Christ and my church who snap me out of that, and my God who I go to daily, to remind me and to refocus me on my joy. My everlasting joy. 

Yesterday we drove to Pigeon Forge and drove through some tunnels on I-40, long tunnels, and the sign before the tunnel warns drivers to turn on headlights and remove sunglasses. Why? So they can see better in the darkness. But you are still driving in a dark tunnel closed in by concrete walls, and if it is a long tunnel you cannot even see the light at the end of it; I don’t know about you, but I hate tunnels and get claustrophobic in them and worry another car or truck is gong to hit the wall and ricochet into me, or I will never get out of the tunnel. I cannot see the end of it, the reality outside the tunnel. That is how I feel when I get trapped inside the tunnel vision of looking inward onto my hurts and struggles and pain—trapped, confused, no sense of direction. Even though I have lights on and have tried to clear my vision. 

The answer? Stay out of the tunnels. But if you do find yourself in one, and your feel yourself being sucked into that self-pity mode, smack yourself on the back of the head, open your bible, fall on your knees, and focus on Jesus. He is our everlasting joy. We are no good to others when we are wallowing in a tunnel of self-flagellation. But, when others see our joy in Christ, despite our trials, they will want all the more to find out what makes us so joyful, so they too can experience it. 

I have suffered from serious clinical depression nearly my entire life, yet I still have more joy than I can explain. Am I sad at times? Yes. Depressed? Yes. Unhappy? Yes. But, I am full of joy.

"Though the fig tree should not blossom,
nor fruit be on the vines,
the produce of the olive fail
and the fields yield no food,
the flock be cut off from the fold
and there be no herd in the stalls,
yet I will rejoice in the Lord;
I will take joy in the God of my salvation." Habakkuk 3:17-18

Connections

Recently I attended a funeral for my last remaining uncle, a trip entailing a 36-hour round trip flight to Cincinnati, a trip I almost did not take because I really did not "know" any of the other relatives. Uncle Rob spent most of his life traveling the world, then settled in California in the 60s; he never married or had children, and he and my dad (his brother) were too much alike to tolerate each other's company for too long--they only recently reconciled about two years before my dad died. Me? Over the years Rob and I kept in touch through letters, emails, phone calls, and random trips to visit each other; more recently, he had been a huge source of comfort to me during my dad's and stepmom's illnesses and deaths. Sadly, we had not connected since April, and recent emails and phone calls to him went unanswered. Right  before Thanksgiving, he called me but hung up after one ring; I called him back. He sounded horrible, and he said "Barbara, I think this is it;" we talked briefly, and that was it--I meant to call him back later that month, but you know, I would get busy, or it would be too early or too late, and then the first week of December came and went, and finally, when I did call, that horrible sterile recording, "I'm sorry, your call cannot be completed as dialed, that number is no longer in service." A quick search on the internet confirmed my fear: Robert W. Koenig, age 94, Sonoma California, October 18, 1927-December 6, 2021. Sleuthed a bit more, and noticed there were going to be two funerals: one in California, and one Cincinnati; I called the Ohio funeral home and asked to have whoever was handling his arrangements to call me. While I was waiting, I sent a couple of messages to two relatives I found on FaceBook (by looking up their names from an old family tree Rob had given me).

A few hours afterward, I got a call from Cincinnati--it was Suzanne, a cousin I had never met, the woman who was handling the service. Rob had talked often about a Suzanne, a Jerry (her husband) and a Kathy, as well as many others, people with whom he enjoyed close connections, a link back to Cincinnati. Most of them were the grown children of his cousins (my aunts and uncles, who had long passed.) Suzanne shared with me how sick Rob had been that month or so before he died, and that she spoke to him frequently during those weeks; listening to her put to rest that nagging twinge of guilt I felt for not rushing out to see Rob after that awful phone call before Thanksgiving. Anyway, after chatting for a bit and getting past the basic social niceties, I had all the details for the funeral and the burial, and promised to get back to her to let her know either way if I was coming. Mind you, I was not even sure I wanted to go to the funeral. I had never met anyone who would be there, I would have to go by myself, it was a long way to go, airlines were having all kinds of issues with delays and cancellations and COVID quarantines, it was the post Christmas rush...I had a million excuses. In my heart, though, was this persistent ache, a sense of loss, and an overwhelming feeling of grief of reliving the death of my parents, especially my dad, who, by the way, also died at age 94, on December 6, three years earlier. So I booked my flight, hotel, and rental car for a quick 36-hour round trip. 

And oh how glad I am that I went! The funeral was beautiful, meaningful, and cathartic. Driving through the neighborhood where ghosts of my grandparents and parents and aunts and uncles seemed so tangible, and seeing the church and school I attended as a little girl, familiar street signs and landmarks, and I knew I had made the right decision. As soon as I walked into the church, Suzanne came up to me, said "you must be Barbara!," hugged me, and then introduced me to everyone else. Meeting a whole new branch of the family tree, making connections with cousins and their children, I shared in their grief and loss of someone we all knew and loved. These people I had never met went out of their way to make me feel welcome, including me in the celebration of Rob's life, even asking me to help place the pall on his coffin. Then, riding in the funeral procession to the familiar cemetery I visited every Sunday as a little girl, a flood of emotions and memories came rushing back, and I felt more connected to that spot, that area, than anywhere else. I felt I was home, that somehow, if I drove down the block to my old street, I just might catch a glimpse of Nana, or hear the kids playing Red Rover in the street, waiting for the Mister Softee truck. Powerful connections, connections I thought no longer existed were now restored. Finally, seeing my parents' gravesite, the stone that Rob and my daughter and I designed now in place, I knew I had made the right decision. 

Most of the relatives had to leave, but Suzanne and Jerry took me to lunch at a brand new restaurant in the incline district, an up and coming trendy area with a playhouse, condos, and hangouts where beautiful old buildings used to be. We shared so many memories, good and bad, and talked for so long the waitress gave up on taking our order. After lunch, they then invited me back to their house for coffee and snacks, where we talked and shared stories, making those connections. Familiar names--Joann, Celsie, Bernice, Frank, Theresa, Ginny and Ed--names I had not really spoken in ages, all of them connected to our lives. Memories of late night poker games held on weekends, rotating among each of their houses. Clarifying who was married, who had children, where everyone was living, grandkids, even pets. But mostly sharing each others' memories of the man whose life we gathered to celebrate, each of us with different, yet similar, connections. Making new connections with each other. I had been worried my memories of Rob would fade away because everyone who I knew, and who knew him, was gone; I was wrong. At the ripe old age of 66, I can still establish new connections, new roots, and form new relationships, keeping the past and those precious memories alive.

As I age and lose more loved ones, these tendrils connecting me to the important people of my life, connecting me to this fragile life here on earth, become frayed or stretched or even broken, and I’m sometimes left with a sense of loss and pain. That relationship is no longer there, and I can feel the part of me that is connected to that person leaving, like air leaking out of a hole in a balloon. I try to hold on to it, to hold that part of me close, the part of me defined by that person I just lost, but it's no use. But just when I think it is lost forever, serendipitously, God shows me new connections to replace those I thought I lost, making my life fuller and richer, and strengthening those connections to the past through our shared, but different, recollections. 

I see more trips to Cincinnati in my future