In the course of our lives, each of us eventually has to come to terms with our own mortality and with the loss of those we love.  We know that the time is coming when we parents, aunts, uncles, cousins and sometimes even children pass out of our lives and on to what we imagine to be a place far better than this world.  Even so, their passing is painful beyond words to us who are left behind.  There is an emptiness, a sadness, a longing that fades a little with time, but is always there.  We wake in the middle of the night and it’s there.  We may feel it on a rainy day.  Thoughts and memories of those who have gone before make sleep elude us sometimes.  A song or smell or a word or a place will trigger a memory, sometimes sweet, other times happy, sometime sad and even on occasion, angry.

Mom died ten years ago and it will soon be four years for Dad.  A week ago while sight seeing in Costa Rica, I stopped for lunch at a little place in the mountains. It happened to have a railroad theme.  Everywhere were pictures and scale models of trains, lanterns, ties, spikes and numerous other memorabilia from trains.  The owner saw me going around taking pictures of everything and came over to talk.  He was a collector and historian of railroad lore and items.  I had a wonderful time talking with him and couldn’t keep thinking about how much Dad would have enjoyed the place.  My heart ached for him.  The owner had also planted flowers and plants on the grounds and even had some paths for visitors to browse.  Birds were singing.  Flowers were in profusion and I thought of how much Mom would have loved the place as well.  I was overwhelmed with emotion and had a difficult time talking.  It was such a wonderful experience to bring to memory the very spirits of Dad and Mom in that place.  And it happened completely by accident — or perhaps God had a hand in it.  I don’t know.  Throughout my visit, I kept thinking about Mom, Dad and my children and grandchildren, wishing that they could be there to share with me the priceless and unforgettable three weeks that I spent in Costa Rica.

What may seem to be an enjoyable, but insignificant experience with a loved one at the time becomes a treasured memory once they are separated by death.  Having the opportunity to spend extended time with my parents toward the end of their lives became a priceless gift to me.  I believe that it was also a gift that I could offer to my parents.  Children can never fathom the joy that parents take when they share their lives  with them.  They don’t understand how much a visit, phone call, email, text or whatever method of communication they use can mean.  I urge anybody who reads this to create as many moments together with your parent or child as possible.  The rewards of those shared experiences only increase with time and multiply exponentially once the door is closed to the possibility of creating more.

My parents made mistakes.  All parents do.  I know that I made my share of mistakes and had many failures as a parent, a husband, a friend.  I always wanted to do what was right, wise and best in all those roles.  My intentions were noble, but my ignorance, weakness, foolishness, blindness and other faults too often sabotaged my good intentions.  I’m certain that the same can be said of my parents, and theirs.  Having made all those disclaimers, I fully believe that I was blessed beyond most for having the parents that I did.  Whatever good I have done and am today I owe to them.

I was shocked when one of my children, going through the trials of teenage years asked me, “Why should I go on living?”  It’s a question that I suspect every person asks themselves more than  once in their lifetime.  But it cuts to the quick to hear your child ask that question.  We got through that stormy, difficult period.  Not too many years later, I was asking the same question myself.  Thanks to God, friends, family, therapy and medication, I haven’t asked that question in a long time.  But when one is running or limping the last mile of their journey, the question comes up with increasing frequency.  My mother posed the question as her health and mental faculties declined.  Dad asked the question often.  Once, in frustration he exclaimed, “I’m just an old man who can’t die.”  When you are old, in constant pain, confined to a wheel chair or bed, when every part of your body has betrayed you — sight, hearing, taste, especially your mind — is life really worth living?  When you find yourself in a care facility with strangers, eating food that you don’t like, swallowing pills by the handful, having given up your home and things collected over the years that hold special, sentimental meaning to you,  you ask,  “What’s the point?  Why am I still living?”  Whatever you accomplished in life lies behind you.  No more mountains to climb.  No more dragons to slay.  So what is my purpose?  Why must I endure this misery?  Why must I be a burden on my family?

As for me, I’m approaching sixty-nine years of age,  I simply cannot believe it.  I thank God for my measure of health, for a roof over my head, for food and security, for a loving family, partner, many friends and for living in this great country.  A day will come in the foreseeable but hopefully not immediate future when I will be asking the difficult questions myself. There remain only a few threads connecting me to the past generation.  Some are threads and some are chains.  I’ve been able to break some the chains that held me back — habits, mannerisms, false beliefs, self doubts — but some remain.

So here are some of my answers. I want to hold on to the threads connecting me to my past, to my heritage, my memories.  Those links to my aunts and uncles grow ever thinner and I want to hold on to them forever.  They represent the collected experience, knowledge and wisdom of their generation and knowledge of things that affect me that I’ve forgotten or never knew.  Countless are the times that I have wanted to ask a question or for advice from my mother or father, but they are beyond my reach.

When the older generation is gone, I have no place to go. I’m not ready for that!   Our understanding of ourselves requires a knowledge of our personal history.  Our parents and their generation are the keepers of that information.  After my Aunt Hazel died, my mother said, “I have nobody left to ask.”  We need to prepare ourselves to become the caretakers of our history, culture, traditions and beliefs.   Whatever history has not been passed down is lost. Our elders, with their memories and experiences are treasures.  They are our roots, our firm foundation, the keys to our own identities. Too soon I will take their place as the older generation.  The loss of so many, each leaving an void in my heart is a sobering thought.  But they are still with me in memory and in their influence upon the person that I have become.  And I rejoice in the people who have come into my life — children, grandchildren, friends who can never replace the ones lost in death, but they enrich and augment my life in countless ways.

“What good am I?” The older generation, removed from the daily pressures of life, survival and duties can reflect upon what is important and lasting in life.  That wisdom and knowledge is there if we but take time to ask, to spend time with the older folks. When we are young and even middle-aged, we are so consumed with our careers, raising our children, living from day to day, that we lack perspective. I believe that you truly begin to understand and appreciate life from the elderly.  They provide that perspective.

My parents were my strength, my go-to for answers, help, love, security, whatever I needed.  That was especially true of my Dad.  He was physically strong, always seemed to know what to do and how to do it.  They were both loving, caring, compassionate people of faith and conviction.  To watch them erode into helplessness tore my heart out.  But when I witnessed my father taking care of my mother patiently, without complaint, faithfully seeing to her needs, covering for her failures in mind and body, I saw a strength and perseverance that I never knew before.  Only after Mom died did we come to realize all that he was doing.  And then to witness how he faced and endured hospitalizations, multiple surgeries, falls, hallucinations, loss of function — all without complaint or self pity, I came to understand that his strength extended far beyond the physical.  He demonstrated strength of character with perseverance and nobility.  I have observed this in many of the elderly.  To maintain a sense of humor and positive spirit in the face of great and often protracted adversity influences and inspires the rest of us to be better, braver, more appreciative others.

My parents and other elderly people worry about becoming a burden to their families.  I understand that and feel the same way.  I have joked many times that when I become a burden “Get the pillow!”  It’s not completely a joke.  However, though I acknowledge that illness can become a burden, it is a willingly and gladly borne as their last measure of devotion by those who love them.  A child can never repay a parent for their sacrifices of time, money, care, encouragement and countless other things that parents provide for their children.  Seeing to the needs of an elderly parent can be a joyful, fulfilling experience despite the hardships.   But when recovery is hopeless and quality of life is nil, don’t forget the pillow.

The final thought about the value of the elderly was expressed by the Apostle Paul in Philippians, chapter 1.  “I am torn between the two: I desire to depart and be with Christ, which is better by far; but it is more necessary for you that I remain in the body. Convinced of this, I know that I will remain, and I will continue with all of you for your progress and joy in the faith, so that through my being with you again your boasting in Christ Jesus will abound on account of me.”  Believers can endure suffering, hardship and dying with a dignity and confidence not attainable by unbelievers. We look to a better place than this world of trouble, injustice, pain, suffering, hunger and toil.  This life is the place of refinement and preparation for a life beyond anything we are able to imagine.  But while we are in this world and this life, we have a peace, comfort and a joy that comes from living a life of devotion and service to God. Living by those tenets makes for a better world and a better person.  To witness such a person as they live their life and as they approach the transition to the better place challenges and inspires those of us who remain to hold fast to our faith with dignity and conviction.  These are my heroes.