GROWING OLD GRACEFULLY

The Rev. Dr. Morris W. Hudgins
Northwest UU Congregation
September 25, 2011

Introduction

In recent years I have had to face the fact that I am growing older. Actually, it started when I was in my 40’s. I was invited to speak to a group of new ministers and was introduced as one of “the old dogs.” They almost had to pick me up off the floor. I wasn’t ready to be an “old dog.” At the time I had never been sick or injured.

Things have changed. Two years ago I had my first visit to the hospital as a patient, had two surgeries, and faced the reality of a pacemaker the rest of my life. Now I have cataracts. My sight has gone from 20/40 to 20/400. Growing old is not fun.

We talk about growing old with humor. You know the jokes. When you get old:

            Everything hurts, and what doesn’t hurt, doesn’t work.
            The gleam in your eyes is from the sun hitting your bifocals.
            You feel like the morning after,
and you haven’t been anywhere the night before.
            Your little black book contains only names ending in M.D.
            You get winded playing chess.
            Your children begin to look middle aged.
            You finally reach the top of the ladder
and find it leaning against the wrong wall,
            Your mind makes contracts your body can’t meet.
            You know all the answers, but nobody asks you the questions.
            You look forward to a dull evening.
            Your favorite part of the newspaper is “25 years ago today.”
            Your back goes out more often that you do.
            A fortune-teller offers to read your face.
            You have too much room in your house,
            And not enough in your medicine cabinet. (Rev. Bob Thayer)

I have heard more than once: “Growing old is not for sissies.” But there is another side to growing old. It is also an opportunity. We all know the famous poem by Jenny Joseph titled, “Warning”:

            When I am an old woman I shall wear purple
            With a red hat which doesn’t go, and doesn’t suit me.
            And I shall spend my pension on brandy and summer gloves
            And satin sandals, and say we’ve no money for butter.
            I shall sit down on the pavement when I’m tired
            And gobble up samples in shops and press alarm bells
            And run my stick along the public railings
            And make up for the sobriety of my youth.
            I shall go out in my slippers in the rain
            And pick the flowers in other people’s gardens
            And learn to spit.

            You can wear terrible shirts and grow more fat
            And eat three pounds of sausages at a go
            Or only bread and pickle for a week
            And hoard pens and pencils and beer-mats and things in boxes.

            But now we must have clothes that keep us dry
            And pay our rent and not swear in the street
            And set a good example for the children.
            We must have friends to dinner and read the papers.

            But maybe I ought to practice a little now?
            So people who know me are not too shocked and surprised
            When suddenly I am old, and start to wear purple.

The Difficulties of Growing Old

This poem and the humor masks the pain of growing old. It is a difficult time. First, to grow old is to come closer to death. Death is the ultimate isolation. It is the ultimate loneliness. It is the facing of the end of one’s life, coming to grips with our finitude.

Elise Maclay wrote this poem titled, “Pain”:

Pain isolates,
            No matter how many friends you have
            Or how devoted.
            Well-meaning, they sit beside your bed,
            And press your hand,
            You slip away,
            Though your fingers stay entwined.
            I have gone into the pain, deep and far,
            How cold, how desolate it is here,
            Starting at every sound,
            Half hoping, half in fear,
            Death, is that you?
            Now, are you here?

My colleague Rudy Nemser wrote about the fact that people do not see you when you grow old:
“Old Folks At Home”

It’s the same for us now

-just the same-
except, you know, Phil’s old legs
have given out.
We’d had to become housebound.
It’s not so bad only that no one sees us anymore.

We look out, of course.
Cars and people
-even dogs-pass
going someplace else.
But we’ve become invisible.

We turn on lights regularly

every night and never close the drapes.
We’ve hired a lad from down the street
to mow the grass Phil can’t.

But even the boy,
when springtime comes
and I call to say it’s time,
always seems surprised
as though he knows
we don’t live here anymore.

What has a person to do
so they’d remember
there’s someone here
they once saw?

Nobody can see us at all any longer.

Yes, growing old is being ignored. It is putting up with infirmities and facing mounting medical bills. And taking pills. And losing one’s hearing. And having trouble walking. It is facing death and losing one’s friends as the death notices become an important part of the paper. It is reversing one’s position with one’s children. It is living the last days of our lives in bed, for some alone. Growing old can be the most difficult time of life.
It can be life full of boredom. Listen to this prayer by Elise Maclay:

“Life Is So Eventless”
I forget what day it is because one day is like another.
They’re gray and run together like oatmeal.
I’m bored and it makes me cranky. I feel like a child kept
            indoors on a rainy day, whining “What can I do now?”
Only now there is no patient mother to suggest finger-
            painting or a tea part for the dolls.
All right, I’ll be mother and child. I’ll suggest things I can do.
Have a tea party for a friend. Surely I can think of one
            person who’ll come. We’ll talk about things that are happening
to other people. In the world. I’d better read the newspaper so I’ll know. I’ll use the good spoons. An event.
I could even—don’t laugh—fingerpaint. Crazy idea, but why not?
I can almost feel the paint squishing through my fingers.
An event. No, an invent.
Help me invent events.
You didn’t mean life to be oatmeal.

Growing Old Gracefully

            Growing old doesn’t have to be all bad. There are some people who we can admire as they grow old. These are the people I would like to have you remember this morning.
            I have known many older women I admire.   Katherine Olin a member of my first church was my favorite. She was a wealthy woman who drove a Volkswagon Beatle. She is the woman who would pick up trash along the streets of Boca Raton, Florida, and park her Volkswagon illegally as she went. The police never bothered Katherine. She was old and she was Katherine.
            Katherine was the woman who could tell me at my first social gathering at the church that I could only have two drinks. I knew why. The previous minister had many more than two and he only served the church one year before he went in for treatment.
Katherine could stand up in talk back and tell the congregation what she thought without any hesitation. She could tell you to your face that your hair was a mess or your clothes didn’t match.
            Katherine was all of these and more. She was the woman who would loan me $1000 to help me buy my first house and when I paid her back she said she felt guilty for charging me interest, which I demanded. She took the money but then on Christmas Eve the day after my son was born she knocked on my door and ran.   I could see the shadow of a person in the distance. It must have been Katherine. I found a small Christmas tree with dollar bills rolled up. The total was the exact amount of interest I had paid her.
            Before she died Katherine gave her Volkswagon to the Fellowship and it was auctioned off at the church auction. I don’t know if Katherine ever drove it outside the city limits of Boca Raton. It was in impeccable condition. I wondered if there was any trash from the streets left in the back seat—probably not. Katherine always put the trash in a small container and deposited it in the proper place. Katherine was a proper old lady. She could not wear purple.
            There are so many older people that I have known and who continue to inspire me. There was Paul, an attorney who died of cancer in his sixties, just a few years after he retired. Paul did not know how to deal with death but he knew how to live. He carried his sense of justice to the end. He loved classical music. He ushered for the New York Philharmonic. His wife gave me his tuxedo after he died. I wear it with pride for having known Paul.
            There was Ruth Adams, the mother of Mountain Girl, the first wife of Jerry Garcia, of the Grateful Dead. Ruth loved to care for plants. She was in her 80’s when we expanded our facilities in Raleigh. She continued to work in the gardens for five more years. Other younger women in their sixties took her place when she could no longer do it.
            The woman who has contributed most to Unitarian Universalist religious education was Sophia Fahs who made most of her contributions after she was in her 80’s, and she died when she was 101.
            I think of Dev Munn a retired engineer with IBM who loved to fix things. All I had to do was call Dev with a problem and the next day a problem would be solved. My church in Media, PA had Jim Norcross who also loved to fix things. He also owned a Volkswagon that was over 20 years old. He hated to throw things away.
            I also admire Betty who was a retired nurse in Pennsylvania, who took her life by giving herself a shot as she lay in a hospital bed rather than go through the continued agony of cancer. I saw Betty the day she died. She left a note explaining her decision and telling me that it had nothing to do with my visit. The coroner called me that day and told me what happened and read the note. I asked him what he was going to say on the death certificate. He said he hadn’t decided yet. I said that I hoped he would put natural causes. That is what he did.
            I also admire Lee Modjeska, the law professor from Ohio State who earned a Black Belt in Tai Kwon Do after he learned he had cancer and was supposed to live less than one year. Eight years later he died after writing and publishing his autobiography. Lee was a very spiritual man who could ask you the insightful questions. I would walk with Lee as he reflected on the meaning of his life.
            I admire another Paul who continued to research and write into his 80’s. I admire Ellen and John who found each other after their spouses died and they continue to contribute to their churches with leadership and music. John came out of retirement to head up the search for a place to dump low level nuclear waste in North Carolina. He finally gave up the search after the state spent many millions of dollars and could not commit to the project. John has found new projects and continues to sing in a choir.

Helen and Jim Berry

And ,finally, I must mention Jim and Helen Berry who were recognized at the Northern Hills Fellowship as they rededicated there Sanctuary in their honor eight years ago. I thought of Jim and Helen as I returned to Northern Hills to preach last week. Jim was on his deathbed when this honor was given and he said, “I do not deserve this honor.” Helen and I knew he did. As I sat on his bed and watched him struggle to breathe and stay awake, I knew the Board was doing the right thing. Many individuals expressed how Jim and Helen inspired them each day. Many people are inspirations as they grow older.

Conclusion

One of my favorite stories about an older couple is written by John Corrado, minister in Grosse Point Michigan. John writes:

            I saw two lovers the other day, and they brought tears to my eyes.
            He was in his 70’s; she about the same. Their venue was not Lover’s Lane; it was a hospital cafeteria. They caught my eye, and I watched their lovemaking without embarrassment, for this unfolding was not immediately apparent.
            He set his tray down at the end of a long table and walked around where she had set hers down. Slowly, gently, and with a slight shaking in his hands, he pulled out the chair she was about to sit in. As he pushed it in, she sat. Then she followed him with her eyes as he retrieved his tray and walked to a place across from her. As he started to set his tray down, she gently rose just enough to place a steadying hand on the tray.
Trays in place, silver in hand, they started to eat, talking to one another softly as they did.
            There they were: truly lovely lovers. No, they weren’t clutching or grabbing. . .They weren’t even kissing. Their loving looks, gestures, actions weren’t the kind seen on movie posters. Singles ads that speak of “moonlit walks by a lake” hardly touch the surface of what I saw. Their tenderness was much more seasoned and much more real. The moment spoke of years and a depth mere visceral passion cannot know.
            Tears came to me, and I turned away as any decent person should when in the presence of those making love.

            We can grow old gracefully. I conclude with the words of E.B. White who wrote this in a letter:
As long as there is one upright man, as along as there is one compassionate woman, the contagion may spread and the scene is not desolate. Hope is the thing that is left to us, in a bad time. I shall get up Sunday morning and wind the clock, as a contribution to order and steadfastness.
Sailors have an expression about the weather: They say, the weather is a great buffer. I guess the same is true of our human society—things can look dark, then a break shows in the clouds, and all is changed, sometimes rather suddenly. It is quite obvious that the human race has made a mess of life on this planet. But as a people we probably harbor seeds of goodness that have lain for a long time, waiting to sprout when the conditions are right. Man’s curiosity, his relentlessness, his inventiveness, his ingenuity have led him into deep trouble. We can only hope that these same traits will enable him to claw his way out.
Hang on to your hat. Hang on to your hope. And wind the clock, for tomorrow is another day.

My colleague, Harry Meserve read those words and wrote my final words this morning:

I can think of no wiser advice for older people who have worked long and hard at their profession and now climb the same hill into an unknown country. To keep one’s sense of humor and to live with integrity and courage is the best thing anybody can do at any age for personal fulfillment and for human destiny.


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