NOTES FROM THE NINTH DECADE 

 

 

 It's 4 AM and I find myself thinking about the timeline of my life. How over the years my personal world would suddenly expand in incremental bursts. The first 18 years were spent getting ready for whatever would follow. Suddenly my world expands with college and medical school, and I find myself more than I was before, living in a new community with new friends and new interests. Before I can get fully settled, it falls apart and I am thrust into another life, enlarging my personal world once again and revealing another aspect of the person that I am. Years later my life makes one more major change and I’m living in still another world. Each move, each change over the 82 years has grown the circle of my personal world. Those that have passed are still here in memories and long-standing personal remnants. Today my world is and once again changing, only now it seems to be receding, contracting under the weight of 85 years. Probably a natural course of events and not necessarily a bad thing. It allows me to focus my attention on what is important, discarding so many unnecessary distractions.

 

Reflections on a Dream

 

His was a life defined by change. At least that was how he saw it. There were not many changes, but when they occurred, they were significant, causing major disruptions in his life, as well as the life of others. He did not consciously pursue change, seeking something better than what he had. In fact, there were years of utter satisfaction and joy in the life he was living. There was no reason to look elsewhere for something missing in his life. At the onset, life was easy. The paths were wide, amply marked, and well lit. They were easy to navigate, and minor changes along the way could be accomplished without difficulty. There were no major obstacles in his path. It was a happy road that would take him to wherever he was going, and once there…well, he never thought about what would follow.

 

It would be easy to say that circumstances changed, but that’s not what happened. He changed. He had absorbed all there was for him in what could be considered the first of many way stations in his life’s path. The road did not end. It was still there, waiting for him, perhaps even calling him. But it was not the wide, easy road he first traveled. This road was narrower, with fewer markers along the way. There were now obstacles that had to be overcome. The road was steeper, and unlike before, stress and anxiety were his companions.  He was hesitant at first, not sure if he wanted to make this journey, and on more than one occasion he turned back. But in the end, he set off, determined to go wherever the road would take him. The further he traveled the steeper the road.

 

This time, the road didn’t stop, and he realized what should have been obvious - it never would. Wherever he was, he could never leave this road, no matter how difficult it became. There would be some respite along the way, and occasionally he would find himself in places he never expected or intended to be. Personal losses and grief were balanced by satisfying accomplishments and joy. As the years accumulated, he anticipated reaching a place where the traveling would slow down considerably, if not cease altogether, but that never happened, there was always a place a little further down the road that was calling him. Getting there, even if the journey was short, was becoming increasingly difficult. The road was now very narrow, steep, and full of twists and turns, with nothing to mark the way. He stumbled frequently and often stopped to rest, questioning where this road would take him. The landscape was changing, the familiar becoming less so as new and uncomfortable vistas opened before him. He no longer had the confidence and trust in himself that he once possessed in abundance.

 

Rilke tells us that change germinates slowly within us before it makes its “sudden” appearance, catching us unprepared. The road, which had become so difficult to follow, suddenly became unpassable. Fallen trees, boulders, and water obstructed passage to what was now an obscenely steep grade. Only with extreme effort was it possible to move closer to what was yet an unknown destination. Nothing else mattered now, not the past, not the exhausting effort it took to move forward, and not even the love of the family and friends that accompanied him on this entire journey. Suddenly the road became an open flat surface that rose before him, so steep it was almost impossible to scale. He was now crawling because it was impossible to stand erect. He could see the crest. It was within his reach, and with his last bit of strength he pulled himself up to look out and see his destination - an endless sea of dark nothingness.

 

NOTES FROM THE NINTH DECADE

Growing Old is Easy

 I mistakenly thought that by now – weeks away from my 85^th birthday - I was prepared for what was yet to come. It turns out I’m not as wise as I thought I was. I I naively thought I exited the eighth decade prepared for whatever the ninth had to offer but have quickly learned otherwise. Despite a lifetime of pondering about anything and everything, I am learning things about myself I never realized, or was unwilling to acknowledge. It’s been easy to convince myself it’s the mirror that has changed, and not me.

Growing old is easy! The only requirement is staying alive. If you can do that your body will do the rest, and it will do it so unobtrusively and effectively that you don’t know it’s happening until each change, big or small suddenly appears in your mirror. Hairlines magically moves from here to there. The shape of your body changes as parts seem to shift and settle, and areas of skin begins to resemble crepe paper. It’s a bit of a shock at first, especially the skin part, but they’re not difficult to accept once you overcome misguided vanities. These physical (and metabolic) changes affect more than our appearance; they are accompanied by a host of functional changes that intrude on many of our lifetime routines. Simple tasks that were once accomplished thoughtlessly now require deliberation, patience, and even caution. It took only one tumble trying to get my second leg into a pair of pants to teach me to hold on to something, or better yet, sit down. The same with putting on or taking off a pair of socks. Sitting down is easy, but even that requires some attention. I learned that the hard way when I sat on the bench in our shower. I was feeling quite secure when suddenly I sensed something moving, not realizing it was me, and the next thing I knew I was sitting on the floor of shower with my head buried in the shower curtain. The only thing bruised was my self-esteem and confidence. Lesson learned.

With time and patience these new, age-imposed measures can become routine. The key word here is patience, which I believe is a requirement if one hopes to successfully navigate these later years when the waste of haste can be a serious injury. Then there is the issue of frustration, something I have encountered more in the past few years than in all previous years. I’m putting on a coat or shirt, one arm is in the right sleeve, but no matter how much I twist and shout, I cannot find the other sleeve, and I bob and weave around the room like a wasp behind a screen. Or I’m trying to pull a sock off with arthritic hands and it gets stuck and I can’t get it past my heel. These futile and extremely frustrating efforts result in a string of emotionally charged words uttered with intense passion!

But more importantly, when we move patiently through the day with conscious deliberation it is easier to appreciate and take delight in the simple joys of life. The fact that we have the option to do so is itself a gift. I am not always successful, but I try to find a moment every day to celebrate whatever it is I’m doing at that moment. Each year the passage of time accelerates at a frightening rate, and patience is one way we can slow things down. Time is a commodity that increases in value the longer live, and once it is spent it cannot be replaced.

Of course, there is no predicting the course our life will take, and how we will react to it. A funny thing happened when I turned 80. I became more comfortable with my age, and more secure about my future than I was during the previous 10 years. It feels like the previous decade was all about preparing me for the next one.

Another surprises waiting for me was recognizing some less than admirable character attributes that I am not proud of.  I prefer to think they are the recent results of my age, and not part of the person I have always been. A sobering experience for someone who thinks highly of himself.

There is a sense of accomplishment that comes with being 80 years or older that I can understand but find hard to justify. We suddenly revert to our childhood attitude toward age when we were so proud of being five and a half years old. Look at me. I’m 85 years old!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

                                                               A Dog Named Ralphie  

The dog was old. His health was failing, and he was in constant pain. There was little joy left for a life that gave so much joy to others. Once again, it was time to make the call, a call she has made too many times over the years. It was never easy. In fact, it was becoming increasingly difficult each time she had to say goodbye to a dog she dearly loved. High on a shelf in in the “dog room” sat 13 clay pots to remind her of each painful decision she lived through, each one with its own special sadness. This one was bad, arguably the worst it has ever been because of the accumulative effect of several painful losses in recent years. With the loss of this dog, she was grieving for the loss of every other dog in her life, as well as two very dear friends. The atmosphere in our home, reflecting the heaviness in our hearts, was made worse by the sadness in the eyes of our remaining dog. Bunny was grieving for the loss of her soulmate. For several days we all quietly tiptoed around each other, looking for the first small signs of levity. There was little we could say to one another, and the few words available were tired and all too familiar.

Bunny was clearly depressed over the loss of Jabber. Patience had promised her that she would never be an only dog, so it was important that she find a companion for her as quickly as possible. Acquiring a whippet can be a time consuming and lengthy affair, so she went directly to an animal shelter, and in very short order Bunny and I were introduced to the newest member of our family, a small white dog with an almost hairless body and a large hair-filled head. We were told his family was living in a car and that he was one of the two dogs they had to give up. We had several concerns. How would Bunny react to him? How much training had he received? Would he sleep in a crate. How would he react with Bunny? And of course, what will we call him? After tossing about several names, we settled on Ralphie, and considered ourselves ready for our first “little dog”.  We quickly discovered that the only thing small about Ralphie was his size. Everything else about him was extra-large. He is a wind-up toy that never winds down. This is magnified in our eyes by 3 decades with a household full of whippets who, when indoors, spend most of their time in elegant repose.  When Ralphie is not sleeping, he is moving, both horizontally and vertically. I am convinced his four feet spend as more time in the air than they do on the ground. He bounces, stands, and spins when he is excited, which happens to be his default mode. He is cute, with dark eyes and eye lashes that never end, so it is difficult to get angry at him, and he is smart, quickly responding to Patience’s training, and knowing how to use his excessive cuteness to bend us to his will. His effect on our household was immediate and dramatic. His frenzied enthusiasm is impossible to avoid. This small white bundle instantly filled our home with light. His energy and enthusiasm were infectious, bringing back the smiles and laughter that had been displaced by sadness. Ralphie’s presence filled the entire day. His non-stop motion and demonstrative appreciation for our attention and affection allowed us no time to dwell on anything but him and his funny antics. At the end of the day the newest member of our family quietly walked into his crate, ate his bedtime snack, and proceeded to sleep through the entire night, giving Patience her first full night’s sleep in weeks.

We opened our home to this little dog, and in return he opened his heart to us. In just 24 hours Ralphie had bounced his way into our hearts. Bunny needed a bit more time. She wasn’t so sure about this funny little creature barking and bouncing all around her who clearly was not a Whippet. But like Patience and I, she eventually succumbed to his charms. Ralphie, aka Little Shit, and his zest for life has reached all of us.

 

Since his arrival Bunny has become more active, even picking up a toy to ever so gently, play with it, something quite unusual for her. Unfortunately, Ralphie has not been influenced by Bunny to become less active. Patience has found her laughter, and I am in a constant state of captivation by his charms, quickly responding to his pleas to go outside to play with him and his toy. There is a new normal in the Renzulli household.