Mom was around fifty when she nearly bled to death from her undiagnosed stomach ulcer. She called me gasping from the kitchen floor unable to get up. That summer’s afternoon marked a signature moment of radical change in her life. While she was in the hospital, my brothers and I scrubbed and laundered all of the tar and nicotine off of her bedroom walls, windows, curtains, and carpet. Bucket after orange bucket of smelly sledge hinted at the challenges her body would face cleansing itself of so many years of two-packs-a-day Salem Lights.
On the other side of that hospital stay, mom started lacing up her walking shoes and harnessing up our overweight Irish Setter. Our dog got skinny, and mom got healthy on account of her four-mile-a-day, early-morning country walks before work. Snacks in her house became way less interesting. Twinkies, Ding Dongs, and potato chips gave way to barely edible whole grain and low sugar tedium. I was a regular jogger in my twenties, but when mom would come to visit in St. Louis, I had to really concentrate on keeping up on our early morning walks. My mom had thoroughly transformed herself into a badass!
She maintained her badassery well into her eighties. When her hips wore out, she just moved her workouts into a pool and did water aerobics instead. I recall the time when teenaged Annalise and I took Grandma out to dinner at our family’s favorite pizza joint (Gabbatoni’s on Laurel Ave, Springfield, IL). My mom was relating stories of “the old people” she chauffeured to church services every week. Annalise saw an opening to tweak her grandma. “Old people?” She sarcastically quipped, “Grandma, at eighty, what are you?” Grandma didn’t miss a beat, “Oh shut up!” She laughed and slapped Annalise’s hand. At eighty, my mom was anything but old.
Every study you’ll ever read regarding resilience and aging will include the recipe my mom meticulously followed: exercise, healthy eating, maintenance of significant relationships, a spirituality that provides meaning, a robust sense of humor, and more. Reading this literature can sometimes leave the impression that poor health outcomes are the result of weak character. At times, I read wellness articles that seem to suggest that you can outsmart, or outwork aging and death. My mom’s life tells a different story. Despite all of her healthy habits, she is currently caught in the throes of vascular dementia. Miraculously, most days, though not all, she’s happy, funny, and loquacious, even though much of what she has to say makes little sense.
Like every aging person I’ve ever met, mom’s greatest fear was always dementia. If someone could have forecasted her eventual future which would include the loss of her intellect, years in assisted living, and dependency on her children, I would have bet that she’d take up smoking again. But that’s not what happened. When mom first learned of her cognitive problems, she was heart-broken, but practical. She sold her house and signed up for Independent Living. Eventually, her car keys had to be wrenched from her hands. Finally, memory care became necessary.
I’m told of an ancient belief in Hinduism, that just before souls enter into full enlightenment, a choice is offered to them. They can re-incarnate for one more lifetime, as someone with a disability. These generous souls’ decision to go one more round provides others on Earth the opportunity to serve them, and hence, take a large step toward their own enlightenment. My religious tradition of Christianity contains no belief in a rinse-and-repeat cycle here on Earth. However, just like every other major world religion, care and service to the poor and disabled are seen to be the royal pathways to intimacy with God as well as to spiritual transformation. From this perspective, if you want to find Christ’s presence on Earth, look no further than the naked, the hungry, the thirsty, the alien in our midst, the imprisoned, and the sick (Matthew 25: 31-46). On any given day, care for a seriously aging person brings a person into contact with one of these dimensions of the presence of Christ. From any spiritual perspective worthy of that name, the aged are seen to be a customized present to us gift-wrapped in wrinkled paper.
Life’s greatest gifts frequently involve the letting go of control. Babies have a way of tightening a family’s bonds. Likewise, an aged person, in their frailty and dependency can exert a similar kind of centripetal force on a family that pulls together to care for them. It was a blessed thing when mom used to tuck me into bed as a toddler, and give me a kiss goodnight. Decades later, she offers me another kind of blessing when I tuck her into bed and seal her forehead before I leave her to her sleep. To put it into Biblical language: it’s a meaningful thing to wash other people’s feet. It’s at least as meaningful to allow them to wash yours. When it comes my turn, will you help me to remember that?
Dialogue
Is there a situation in your life that comes to mind when you read this article?
Regardless of your age, what were the messages about aging that were either consciously or unconsciously articulate in your family of origin?
What have you learned about aging since then?
When have you had to allow someone to serve you? What did it teach you?
Are you aware of any fears around aging? What are you doing with those fears?