You just don't understand

Photo by Erik Mclean on Unsplash

During the last year of my mom's life, as both her health and her enthusiasm for living declined rapidly, I repeatedly encouraged her to keep fighting. She didn't have a serious or chronic illness. She was simply giving up, and no amount of antidepressants, doctor visits, changes of scenery, pep talks or sweets could snap her out of it. "If you would only have a better attitude, do your exercises and eat more, you would feel better," I told her, over and over. 

She wouldn't listen. Instead, she would look at me sadly, turn and gaze out the window in her room. "You just don't understand, Cheryl." I don't know if she could have said anything that frustrated or annoyed me more. It seemed like such a cop-out. 

But she was right. I didn't understand. I didn't know what it was like to be 85 years old and dependent on my child to care for me. I didn't know what it was like to have lived for over 20 years without my spouse. I didn't know what it was like to have constant nagging aches and pains, to be cold all the time, and to struggle to control my bodily functions. I didn't know what it was like to be her.

I still don't know. But as my own years advance, I think I am starting to gain a little more insight into the perspective that comes with old age. It's a mixed bag. You have greater experience and, one hopes, greater wisdom. But because you have less strength and less energy, the world is less likely to listen to you. 

For all our talk of respecting old age, and appreciating the wisdom of years, and listening to our elders ... I don't think we're very good at it. The world is interested in strength, not weakness; pizzaz, not thoughtfulness. Youth moves quickly and loudly, commanding attention; age is slow and soft, easy to discount. I realize these are generalizations. Young people aren't all dynamic and fast and loud; old people aren't all introspective and slow and softspoken. But it's not merely a cliche that age begets something that youth doesn't have. God tried to tell us as much in the Fourth Commandment. We would do well to listen to Him.

For all the times I didn't get it, Mom and Dad, I am sorry. I wish I could go back in time, knowing what I know now, and do a few things differently. I wish I had slowed down, asked you more questions, taken time to listen to your answers, and benefited more from what you had to say. 

Of course, I can't go back. On the contrary, the years seem to be racing by as I get closer and closer to being that old person that someone else doesn't understand. But maybe, by writing this, I can encourage someone else to take time, stop and listen. Maybe, if you are reading, you will some day be the one sitting with an old person, and you'll remember these words, and try harder to understand. 

Visit to My Brother

Rusty's place

This past week, after attending a conference in Seward, Nebraska, Phillip and I drove up to Cody, Wyoming, to see my brother, Rusty, and his wife, Chris. This is my oldest sibling on my mom's side. He is 16 years older than I am, so I never got to know him well or spend much time with him growing up. But he was always this larger-than-life figure, a real live cowboy, soft-spoken and shy and sparing with words, who would drop in from time to time and make a huge impression on me.

As the story goes, when he was 12 or 13 years old, Rusty had to step in and save my mom from her first husband, who was strangling her and, my mom believed, would have killed her had Rusty not stopped him. After my mom divorced her first husband and married my dad, Rusty pretty much headed out on his own, working various odd jobs, sometimes on his own and sometimes with his dad. He was drafted at the age of 20 but because of bad feet did not get assigned to the infantry or sent to Vietnam. Instead he was sent to Europe. I still have a picture postcard he sent me from Germany when I was about 6 years old. It was a picture of a beautiful German castle of some kind, and he wrote that he thought I would like it because it looked like something out of a fairy tale. When I mentioned this during our visit, Chris was dumbfounded. She said Rusty never writes to anyone. 😉 (That's actually not true, as I know he wrote to my mom periodically over the years, having seen some of his letters among her things after she died.)

Rusty and Chris have a farm in Cody, where they have lived for over 30 years. Rusty works on a nearby ranch (still doing stuff like riding fence and branding calves even though he is 76 years old), and Chris is a semi-retired registered nurse. We got to their place late Monday and left Wednesday morning. Rusty had to work Tuesday, and being a true cowboy he is up and out for work early and returns late, so our hours together were few and I never got a picture, which makes me sad. The last time I saw him before this visit was at my mom's funeral in 2016. Will I see him again? I would like to think so, but at the ages we both are now, considering the distance that separates, and life being what it is, I don't know. But oh, how thankful I am for this brief visit.

I love you, Rusty.