Growing Old Gracefully

As someone who has elderly parents, and one who has had lots of interaction with the elderly, I am always reminded of Psalm 90:

 Our days may come to seventy years,or eighty, if our strength endures; yet the best of them are but trouble and sorrow, for they quickly pass, and we fly away.

If only we knew the power of your anger! Your wrath is as great as the fear that is your due.
Teach us to number our days, that we may gain a heart of wisdom.¹

To be long-lived is a blessing and a curse. There is more time to repent of sin, to seek God’s face, to prepare our heart for the great passing over. But oh the price we pay for it! Sickness, fragility, mental diminution, loss of friends and loved ones, relinquishing our independence, and coming to terms with our mortality.

I wrote recently about Brother Joe, a strong monk who lived past 90. I watched him as he started the long walk home to God. First with a cane, then a walker, then a wheelchair, and finally an electric wheelchair. Before Mass you’d hear the distinctive shuffle of his unsteady gait coming down the aisle toward the altar, where he’d make a profound bow and shuffle to his place in the choir. Later it was the whooshing sound of his wheelchair and eventually it was the whir of the electric motor. Brother Joe was a speed machine! He’d zoom that thing down to the front pew, do a three point turn, and back more or less expertly into his spot.

One Sunday, he was gone. He died shortly thereafter.

What I admired in Brother Joe, and what I pray for my own father as he takes his own long walk Home, is a humble resignation to reality, mingled with unshakeable faith in God’s presence at his side. No, you can’t drive the car any more Dad. Swinging a golf club is probably past you now too, no matter how much you protest. And yes, you have to walk with some assistance.

You have always been a strong, active man. You grew up in the Great Depression, working from a young age to help the family. You served your country in war and peace. You raised a family who never wanted for anything. You could build anything, fix anything, go anywhere, and do whatever needed doing. I can see how it frustrates you to lose these things. How sad and painful it is for you.

But now, you must summon all your strength for the hardest thing you’ll ever do—you must let others help you. It’s hard to admit we need help from others, and still harder to let them help with good humor and grace. You’ll lose your temper sometimes, but we understand. It’s all part of the purgation Dad, where we finally extinguish all the remaining fires of self-satisfaction and pride. It is the one time in our lives—if we’re lucky—where we truly see how dependent we are on God and His saving love.

Let Him be your strength now Dad. Let Him hold you up, as you grow old in His arms.

¹Psalm 90:10-12 NIV