Monthly Archives: April 2010

The Old Folks club

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I know I’m getting old, because the government told me so. When I hit 65 this summer, I’ll be officially over the hill. That’s when I become eligible for Medicare, the government program to take care of the elderly. [Although I could go off on a tangent here, I’ll resist.]

It used to be that turning 65 meant you got your gold watch on Friday, and on Monday you were out of a job. Of course that’s different these days, as many work into their 70’s and even 80’s. Don’t the Boomers preach that 50 is the new 30?

Don’t believe it.

Sixty-five still feels like ten long years past 55, and that particular decade takes a big toll, bringing nearly as many changes as the first ten years of life. Who knew?

I’ve been calling myself “middle-aged” far too long, about 25 years worth, even though recently I’ve repackaged it by saying I’m “in the autumn of middle-age.” Who’s fooling who? Lately, I’m liking the sound of being “in the spring of old age.”

I know a couple who moved to retirement housing when they were younger than I am now. Although Mom once called these places “a sea of white hair,” when she finally went to live there, she and her white hair loved it. Besides, being in the spring of old age and living with people one and two decades ahead of me might have a few fabulous perks. Wisdom falls from these people like snowflakes from the sky. If I walked beside them, some of it might just fall on me.

Mom didn’t really want to give up living in her home, which is true of most of us, but a couple of health crises dictated that she go. Once she got to the retirement village, however, she made a host of new pals and kept an ever-growing list of blessings.

None of us wants to rock our boats by moving “down” in terms of independence by leaving our own homes or by condensing our possessions by three-fourths to live in a smaller space. But there are many advantages. For example, people like me who get tired of cooking will only have to glance at the clock to know dinner is ready. And lavish dinners they’ll be, with multiple courses and choices.

And what about having a nurse on call for those occasional mishaps? When I went over the bike handlebars two weeks ago, I couldn’t manage my own drive to the emergency room and had to ask for a favor from (i.e. become a burden to) my next-door-neighbors. A nurse down the hall would have been quite convenient.

And what about dealing with all those other old-age secrets we’ve never been told about? Stiff joints in the mornings. Toe nails so thick they become hard to cut. The deterioration of night vision for driving. Mysterious aches and pains that make a person wonder what’s really wrong. How nice to live with a crowd of people who “get it.”

I’m about to officially join the Old Folks Club and get acquainted with those things and probably many more. I think of the Scripture verse that describes our bodies growing older with more problems every day. (2 Corinthians 4:16) But God encourages us in the same verse by reminding us that our inner selves, the parts that matters most, are being renewed regularly. And that’s the biggest secret among Old Folk’s Club members. While living in a retirement center, once they get to where they’re going whether it’s the dining room, the craft room, the beauty salon, the pool room, the game room or the conversation circle, they have a blast! Their daily-renewed innards have grown exceedingly wise and rich in fine character traits, although they don’t mention all that. They just wink at each other and smile at the rest of us while thinking, “Before you know it, you’ll be in our club, too.”

As for me, I’m looking forward to it!

”I pray that from [the Father’s] glorious, unlimited resources he will empower you with inner strength through his Spirit. Then Christ will make his home in your hearts as you trust in him. Your roots will grow down into God’s love and keep you strong.” (Ephesians 3:16-17)

Emotional Dentistry

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Five months ago we were walking through the final days of Nate’s life with him. Five months is nearly half of a year. In the days after his funeral, I wondered how long it would be before we adjusted to life minus our father and husband. I thought, “Surely by spring we’ll all feel better.”

Now here we are, and rather than becoming easier, living without Nate is more difficult. My widow warriors and Dr. Abrams warned me about this. Although I sensed I was on automatic pilot in the days of the wake and funeral, what I didn’t know was the way auto pilot would quietly slide into numbness. And I didn’t know how long that would last.

After terminal illness terminates, loved ones are left feeling empty and cold. I don’t doubt this is God’s gift. Just like a dentist numbs our jaw to cover intolerable physical pain, so God numbs our thinking to cover intolerable emotional pain. It’s as if he freezes the feelings-center of the brain so that full outward function can continue. Eventually, though, when the person is ready, God allows a gradual waking up, just as a jaw regains its feeling when the drug wears off. And that’s where we are, beginning to be aware of our loss with new potency.

Several of our children have mentioned feeling this way, saying they miss their father more now than ever. It’s true for me, too. We’re being carried through grief stages, and there’s nothing to do but cooperate, although its comforting to know God has control of the Novocain.

Sometimes when visiting the dentist, I’ll get a zap of pain while he’s drilling and say, “Ow!” He’ll take his instruments from my mouth and administer a bit more of the numbing drug, then wait to be sure I can’t feel anything before proceeding. God operated the same way during our numb months, letting us think about and talk about how sad it was without Nate but not letting us experience the permanent “ow” of the situation.

Now he has begun to gradually wake us from that numbness. He’s slow and gentle in allowing this new kind of pain, letting us experience the hurt of reality only as we can tolerate it. He waits for us to catch up to him while at the same time asking us to be patient with our own emotional healing. Sometimes we just want him to make the sadness go away. One precious widow friend told me she pleaded with God to please bring back her numbness.

But when the dentist has made my jaw numb, it’s no fun to eat, talk or even smile until the Novocain wears off. It’s similar with emotional numbness. Life can’t be rewarding and full when we can’t feel it. The only thing to do is to gradually let go of the numbness and to let God manage our pain tolerance. He wants us to come to him for the assistance we need as we wake up to what’s really happened. No matter where we are on the numbness scale, he welcomes our requests and knows exactly what dose of Novocain to give… or withhold.

“The Lord still waits for you to come to him so he can show you his love and compassion. For the Lord is a faithful God. Blessed are those who wait for him to help them.” (Isaiah 30:18)

Home Sweet Home?

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Mom always used to say, “Going away is fun, but coming home again is even better.”

Dorothy from the Wizard of Oz said, “There’s no place like home.”

And Helen Rowland put it this way: “Home is any four walls that enclose the right person.”

Louisa, Birgitta and I drove the last leg of our road trip toward home today. Once we’d made the last gas stop, the Highlander was like a horse racing for its barn. “Pedal to the metal, Midge,” Louisa said as I took the wheel. “Let’s get there!”

On this trip we journeyed 3000+ miles and finally came within 100 from home when my heart began to ache again like a case of the nerves plus stomach butterflies and nausea rolled into one. Arriving home is gratifying, but it also means resuming my long, slow grieving process. Taking a trip with all its planning, packing, road adventures and time with those we love let’s a new widow set aside her sorrow for a time. It is waiting for her, though, when she gets home.

One of the tasks I was chipping away at before we left on this trip was cataloging my past blog posts by date, title and topic. A couple of publishers have expressed interest, and my natural bent toward disorganization has made it difficult to answer their questions. The blog list will help them and also me, but in order to complete it, I’ve had to re-read each post. Although I came to the task with optimism, once I dipped back into the blogs that described Nate’s cancer, I lost myself in sobbing and reading that went on for nearly two hours. I managed to get through 29 days-worth, recording the data I needed, but it was as if my heart was watching Nate’s torturous story unfold again, this time in fast-forward, leaving me unable to catch my breath or control my emotions.

Now I’m back at that same desk, on that same computer, knowing I need to resume that same task. I don’t want to, but that’s grieving. On, off, up, down, getting swamped, coming up for air. I don’t want to do it, but if I don’t, it’ll never finish.

As Mom said, coming home after a trip is sweet, but for someone with a fresh loss, its bittersweet at best. Arriving home means having had to say goodbye all along the way and also having to adjust to being alone again. I was made well aware of that when I realized I was talking to Jack about the heat being off and the refrigerator being bare. It should have been Nate, but a dog was the best I could do. My four walls no longer “enclose the right person.” Sometimes I get worn out from the work of it all, because grieving is both draining and discouraging.

God knows, however, exactly what all grievers need in terms of relief from the effort. He’ll never let the emotional swamping go on too long without providing new air. After I dumped out my Florida suitcase tonight, I left it open to begin tossing things in for the next trip, this one to England after Hans and Katy’s twins arrive. So although these next days may be dotted with tears and sobs as I complete the blog list, new air is coming in the form of another journey.

And when I return home after that one, maybe it won’t feel so bittersweet but will just be good old “Home Sweet Home.”

“Rescue me from the mire, do not let me sink. Deliver me from… the deep waters. Do not let the floodwaters engulf me or the depths swallow me up.” (Psalm 69:14-15)