It's Nobody's Fault! -- thoughts on aging

Are you caring for an aging parent?  Perhaps you did care for them and now they have passed away.  There are many lessons to be gleaned through such a gargantuan task.  If you are currently involved in this task, you are likely too busy to read this!  If so, just read the four headings. J

This morning my thoughts turned to the last seven years of my mother’s life, those years of caring for my mother – how she changed, and how I changed as I helped her and walked with her through that tumultuous time.  My insights crystallized into four statements about the changes and difficulties of aging and dying:

1)       It’s no one’s fault. 

As I helped Mom with the normal everyday tasks such as cooking, cleaning, paying bills, and as we had to face monumental changes together – moving, leaving things and people behind, giving stuff away, switching the parent-child role – she would get angry a lot.  And she was angry at me.  I comforted myself and felt “guided” through all this by clinging to the thought, “These difficulties, sadnesses, and griefs are because of aging, and it’s no one’s fault.”

2)      You can’t fix it.

My default mode is fixing things and making them better.  The changes of aging can’t be fixed.  They can only be endured and lived through together.  It was a radically different kind of living for me – to make gargantuan efforts without being able to “fix” Mom, or fix her life for her, or make all this go away.  It was valuable to experience this in a “head on” sort of way, because, truth be told, there are lots of things I had been trying to fix in my life that were not in my power to fix.

3)      It’s not going to have a happy ending.

Watching someone age, and knowing that someday they are going to die, is the ultimate downer.  The thought could have presented itself, “If it’s not going to have a happy ending, why try?”  Most people are tempted to quit when the obstacles are too high and the outcome is anything but assured.  In fact, it is downright heroic and even mystifying when someone presses on in the face of unbeatable odds.  In To Kill a Mockingbird, when Atticus tells Scout that defending Tom is something he has to do even though he probably won’t win, I am admiring yet confused.  But now that I have gone through it myself, I understand -- there are a few things in this life that are worthy in themselves, regardless of “success."

4)      It’s all going to be OK.

It’s not really explainable, but love makes it all OK.  Love, and God, and eternity.  Knowing that I had given my all for Mom, that I had truly loved her as a daughter should, gave me a sense of rightness and completeness that nothing else in my life has done (other than raising my children).  And that love has an “outside of this world” component.  There was a sense of God walking with us.  This made it far better for me than if I had walked with her toward death and knew there was nothing else.  That would have been senseless, purposeless.  But with God, everything, even aging and death, seemed to have purpose – even if that purpose didn’t fit into my puny brain at the moment.  After she passed away, I was laid low with heavy grief for a while, but I glimpsed her life in that Great Beyond, and I knew she was now OK and happy --- more complete and happy than she ever was or ever could have been in this fallen world.  Amen!  

“All will be well, all will be well, all manner of things will be well.”

Hurricanes and Healing

I once read that a family crisis can be like a hurricane. Sometimes the winds blow and the rain beats down and then it all blows over. But sometimes the wind and rain ravage everything and leave only a path of destruction behind. We've seen some pictures of that kind of destruction this week in Texas.

Recovery from this hurricane damage, we are told, is going to be a marathon not a sprint. It's the same with recovery from family crisis. The main difference is that the scars are invisible -- on the inside of each family member's heart.

And just as with a hurricane, after a family has suffered through domestic violence, death, or divorce there are the desperate immediate needs, but then months and years later there is still need for healing.

If you have gone through a crisis that split your family, be gentle with yourself, and remember the self-care that will be needed emotionally and spiritually in times to come. It's a marathon, but you can do this!

And if you have friends who have experienced family devastation, like a hurricane, check in with them from time to time to see how their healing process is going. <3 span="">

The Neighborhood

My mother-in-law said that two inventions killed the neighborhood: the automatic dryer, and air conditioning.  Perhaps you can see her point, or perhaps it needs a bit of explaining. 

Before the dryer, ladies used to hang up the clothes in the backyard.  They had long, and sometimes complicated, clotheslines.  Laundry day was a ritual that started early in the morning with sheets, towels, clothing – and even underwear(!)  put on display for the neighbors to see.   Housewives hanging up and taking down row after row of unmentionables were just a few feet away from other housewives doing the same thing.  The result – TALKING over the backyard fence!

In the evenings, everyone fled from their hot, stuffy houses as soon as dinner was over.  The adults sat on the front porch.  The kids hopped on their bicycles and rode up and down the sidewalk, where they passed other kids who were jumping rope and playing four-square.  The result – adults waving to each other as they watched their kids, and kids joining in each others’ play. 

Voilà – The Neighborhood!

Now this may be too simplistic an explanation of neighborhood shrinkage, but all I know is that I grew up in an actual Neighborhood.

Ohio evenings were much cooler than daytimes (not like Texas!), and I loved playing outside then.  I could hear the crickets chirping as darkness approached.  The doves would be going at it: “Coo – ee – coo – oo – oo.”  Sounds of skates scraping on concrete, satisfying “boink, boink” of a rubber ball, sing-song chants of friends jumping singles or “double dutch”:

“Down in the valley where the green grass grows. 

There stands Sally, as sweet as a rose. 

She sang, she sang, she sang so sweet. 

How many kisses did she get last week. 

One jump, two jump, three jump, …”

All of this freedom of play happened within the comforting (but preoccupied!) gaze of our parents, and was boundaried by: “Be home by the time the street light comes on!”

Of course, our parents—who had by this time emerged from the porches and were standing by twos and threes, talking—didn’t break off their conversations and go in the minute the street light came on.  From that moment on we were on “borrowed time.”  As long as they stood there, we were still free to do--whatever. 

As dusk descended into darkness, the street lights illuminating the neighborhood in a rather spotty fashion, my sister or I would run inside for a jar and begin chasing “lightning bugs.”  We stood very still in the darkness, watched for the brief flicker of greenish-yellow light, pointed it out, raced to where last seen, saw it blink again, reached out – and grasped the slow-moving insects carefully in one hand.  

 Slowly, gently we put the other hand on top, moved the open jar into place, shook the bug till it dropped to the glass bottom, and snapped the lid on the jar.  It was such fiendish delight to stare at the poor thing as it walked around over the glass, dazed and confused, and weakly signaling its light again and again to its companions.  No use warning them!  We were off to hunt again!

“Linda, Lorraine!  Time to come in!”

We had been noticing our Mom –with our peripheral vision -- standing under the street light, and finishing her conversation with a “Well, it’s getting dark.”

We knew there was five more minutes.

Then, suddenly she was on the porch, and the magic was over.

“Lorraine!”  “Linda!”  Come inside now!

My sister and I liked to take our nightly catch with us into the house.  We set it on the top of the dresser as we put on our PJs, then watched the jar blink and glow after Mom turned off the bedroom light.  When we were little, we thought the light display would go on forever.  As we got older with jaded “experience,” we knew that the jar would smell bad in the morning and the bugs would be dead.  We stopped keeping them.

Oh well, there’s always another hunt … tomorrow night!

Mother

Do you miss your mother?  Did she bandage your cuts, wipe your tears, tell you stories, and kiss you goodnight?  Did she bring you cups of tea, teach you how to cook, or--most important of all--teach you how to find saving faith in Jesus Christ?  If she has gone on ahead to her eternal home, and you can't kiss her and thank her this Mother's Day, here is a poem of tribute -- and of Hope.

Write and tell me if it touches you.  It was written by my great grandmother Mary Cox (1843-1931), in memory of her mother, Sarah Jane Earhart (1817-1870).

Mother

Friends may depart and foes arise,

Christ’s love is just the same;

He never, never will forsake,

Those who are trusting in His name.

Oh! What a blessed hope is ours,

What meditation sweet,

To know that we will meet again, Mother

When life’s journey is complete.

Our thoughts are turning backward,

To childhood’s winsome years,

When we always ran to Mother,

With all our joys and fears.

We would go to her when tired,

To get the needed rest;

We would go to her when wounded,

To get a fond caress.

And when we were sick or troubled,

We would go to her for aid;

And though it would be dark around,

We never felt afraid.

As backward on the wings of time,

We fly to her embrace;

We see her face all bright to shine,

Of tears there is no trace.

Written in love by

Mary W. Cox

1843-1931

Going Home

from Grandma Stories: God’s Little Miracles by LDMahan

There once was a family who didn’t have a home.  They had lived in an apartment.  They had lived in a trailer.  They had lived in one room of somebody else’s house. They had moved thirteen times and lived in seven different cities.  Would you like to live in all those places?  They had seen Boston, Beverly and South Hamilton, Massachusetts.  They had been in Dallas, McAllen, San Antonio and Austin, Texas.  This family really had had a lot of adventures!

The four children of this family were aged twelve, nine, four and two years old, and they really wanted to have a home.  The mother was especially tired and really prayed to God for a home of her own.  Finally, even the dad got tired of moving and they began to look for a house.  The boy wanted a basketball hoop.  The younger girls wanted a trampoline.  The big sister wanted a room of her own.  And the mom wanted a big open kitchen.  They looked and looked, but nothing they could afford was big enough. 

One day while they were in the middle of supper, the phone rang.  It was their real estate agent.  A real estate agent is the person who helps you buy a house.

“Yes. Yes!  We’ll be right there,” said the father.  He hung up the phone and all the kids were herded into the family car for a quick drive across town to see a house that had just become available.  No one put the food away.  No one even looked for their shoes! 

The mom and dad raced across town and arrived at the house just before dark.  That was good, because the lights were turned off in the house and in a few more minutes they couldn’t have seen anything.  But what they did see got them all very excited. 

A big open living room, an extra living/dining area, and four bedrooms – the parent’s bedroom with a large mirror, vanity and bathroom.  The main bathroom had two sinks and a full-wall mirror!  And best of all for the mom – there was a huge kitchen with plenty of room for people to sit around and eat, cook and talk!  Walk-in closets!  A giant-sized yard with trees for hanging swings, a driveway for putting up a basketball hoop, and plenty of room for a trampoline or for playing Frisbee.

The mom and dad made their decision within twenty minutes and got right back in the car to meet the realtor.  That evening, before eleven pm, they had sent a contract and money to the seller of the house, telling them they wanted to buy it.

Now, you may not know it, but buying a house is not easy, even after you find the right one.  Getting through the process is like surviving an obstacle course—if you fall down along the way, too bad, but it you make it over all the hurdles—you get the house of your dreams!

The parents prayed—and the seller decided to choose them over another person who made an offer on the house.  They prayed some more—and the paperwork which had gotten lost was found.  More problems and more paperwork went flying back and forth. 

Finally, nothing happened for several weeks.  The mom had a bad feeling about this.  She drove to the front yard of “her” new house.  She committed this purchase to God.  She asked Him to open the doors that were closed and make a way for her family to have this house—which seemed to be standing there sadly, waiting for them to move in.  She asked His light to come in where there was any darkness.  She finally felt better and went home.

The day arrived for signing the final papers.  The appointment had already been cancelled and rescheduled several times, and the parents’ nerves were on edge. The purchase was taking so long that the family had had to move in with another family and put their things in storage.  What a hassle!  The closing time got closer and closer … 2 pm, … 2:30, … 3 pm, … 3:25.

At 3: 25 their real estate agent walked into the closing office carrying a house plant and wearing a big smile.  Five minutes before, she had just saved the deal from disaster due to yet another last-minute glitch.  Oh my!  The parents gratefully signed the papers and moved the family into their dream house. 

This family learned one more time that, even though their own efforts could not get them what they needed, “With God all things are possible.”