Turn, turn, turn…
I spent some time with an old friend today. Well, I guess we were more acquaintances than friends. He was ahead of me in school by two years and was in my church youth group. We shared a number of experiences back in the day: Bible studies, many and varied youth activities, countless choir rehearsals, some beach trips, and a few choir tours. We weren’t close, but we occupied the same orbit in our younger years. Then he graduated, went away to college, and moved on with his life. A couple of years later I did the same. I honestly don’t know if we’ve seen each other since.
I had the occasion to talk with him by phone over the past few months in my official capacity as a hospice chaplain. He lives in a neighboring state, but was always quick to answer calls and was always so gracious and grateful for our help in this new role in his family’s life. He was in town on business today and stopped by the hospice house to pick up some papers he needed. We had a wonderful catch-up visit while he was there.
It’s strange seeing people from my youth that I haven’t seen in a long time. In my mind we are all frozen in time, looking the way we did when we were young and relatively carefree. We tried to figure out how long it has been since we’d seen each other. It has been 40 years since he graduated from high school and left for college. Gulp.
Our parents are elderly. Our children are grown, or in the case of my youngest two, almost grown. I am a grandmother. His brother has been back in the States for several years now after serving as a missionary overseas for 25 years. (Wait – that can’t be right. In my mind he’s been frozen in time at the age of 25.) His sister, the one closest in age to my sister, will be turning 65 this year. That means Joy would have been, let’s see….62 this September.
In so many ways, my youth feels like it was just a year or two back. I remember sitting in worship in our church surrounded by the people who invested so much in me and the other youth – our parents, our church staff, our Sunday school teachers, our youth trip chaperones. Those our parents’ age I considered “borderline old.” Anyone older than they were fell into the “really old” category. That means that according to my youthful calculations, I am currently straddling the fence between borderline old and really old.
A classmate of mine died in the hospice house this week. I’ve worked in hospice long enough to know better than to say he was too young. We’ve had many younger than him come through our services. Nonetheless, it’s sobering. Another classmate of ours was exiting his room last week as I was preparing to go in. I would never have known him if he hadn’t given me his name. He looked, well…old. I was telling my oldest daughter about it this morning and she laughed. I took her laughter to mean that I’m no spring chick myself. Point taken. Still, to salvage my pride, I did a little Facebook snooping, took a screenshot of his photo, and sent it to her with no explanation, just the question: “How old is this man?” I felt vindicated when her guess was a good 10 years older than me. I guess it’s possible that she was just humoring me. Still, I love that kid!
When I turned 50, a few folks in my life wanted to tease me with black balloons and all the over the hill jokes, as people so frequently do at all the “big” birthdays. I think it surprised a number of them that it all rolled right off of me. I was thrilled to turn 50! I’m afraid I may have stolen the fun from a few of them when I responded with an understanding I learned the hard way. Age is just a number and every year is a gift. My sister died at 49. She would have loved nothing more than to see 50 – and beyond.
I still believe that. I do my best to embrace every new number I am gifted with each year. I am feeling pretty good about my age. If I ever start to forget the part about every year being a gift, I am quickly reminded when I look at my patient census every day. My hair is changing color. My body is changing in a multitude of ways. (Is it hot in here?) My youngest child will be leaving for college 78 days. (Not that I am counting.) My second grandchild should be arriving in about 84 days. (I am definitely counting.) I am excited to see what is coming next for my children, for my grandchildren, and for me.
I laugh at my oldest daughter whenever she says something that makes her sound old. Just the other day, she asked me, “What’s up with all these teenagers wearing shirts that are way longer than their shorts? Do they mean to make it look like they aren’t wearing anything underneath?” I laughed and I laughed and I laughed. She’s a long way from the “borderline old” category, but she’s firmly in the “I’m too old for that nonsense” category, and I’m loving it. Before she knows it, she’ll be catching up with an old high school friend that she hasn’t seen in 40 years…
simplyjan 