by Rev. Terry Davis
Delivered at Northwest Unitarian Universalist Congregation on October 4, 2015Â
What does growing older look like? What does growing older feel like?
As a child, I imagined that, when I got older, I would have a life almost exactly like Anne Marie, the character on the TV show “That Girl.” Who knows about “That Girl?”
Ann Marie was a young and ambitious woman who left home and moved to New York City to see if she could pursue a successful acting career. Ann Marie was single. She lived alone in a small Manhattan apartment. She was pretty and wore stylish clothes. She had a kind and handsome boyfriend.
And, she always managed to get through life’s obstacles with a sense of humor and a little help from her friends.
Most of all, Ann Marie had freedom . . . lots of freedom to do what she wanted, when she wanted. As a child whose activities were naturally determined and controlled by my parents, I looked forward to growing up and to an Ann Marie kind of life. No rules . . . no one to check in with . . . just me calling all my own shots and enjoying my independence.
Somewhere along the journey from childhood to adulthood, my dreams of growing up have shifted to reflections on growing old. And, as I think about getting older still, I find myself feeling more grateful for my dependence rather than my independence. I’m grateful for those people, places and experiences that I depend on to ground me and comfort me.
And, as uncomfortable as it feels at times, I’m also grateful for those people, places and experiences that challenge me. They are the teachers and teaching moments that hold a mirror up to my human flaws . . . that remind me to forgive myself and others . . . and that drag me kicking and screaming sometimes into making a needed change.
Growing up and growing old has also been bittersweet because it also has meant encountering loss. Losing friends, family, and animals has been very hard. It seems like nothing can ever prepare our hearts for the pain this journey sometimes brings.
And, yet, with all the losses I’ve experienced, I’m also finding that I’m gaining a precious gift that ONLY comes with life experience. And that’s a little wisdom –which for me is about getting clearer and clearer on what’s necessary in my life and what isn’t.
For example, it’s taken growing up and growing older for me to recognize that getting enough sleep each night is absolutely necessary to my well-being. Getting rid of my sagging skin and gray hairs: not so much.
Going for a few long runs during the week in my neighborhood: necessary. Going to the gym to pump metal alongside people who are half my age and have twice my flexibility: not necessary.
Walking my dog each day, rain or shine: necessary. Feeling guilty when he whines for more: hard, but not necessary.
Having good friends who will join me for spaghetti and conversation: necessary. Having important friends in high places: not necessary.
Looking at the treetops outside my bedroom window: necessary. Looking at the beach from the chaise lounge of a fancy hotel: nice, but not necessary.
Speaking my truth: necessary. Winning a heated argument: preferred, but not necessary.
This morning, I’d like for us to think about not just what growing up and growing old does to us, but what it does for us . . . how our aging process has the potential to transform us into persons who are more resilient, more compassionate, more patient and, perhaps, a little wiser.
Actress Bettie Davis once said that growing old isn’t for sissies. Unlike Anna Quindlen, the author of Tony’s reading who sees growing old as something to embrace, Davis’s quote seems to suggest that growing old is something to do battle with. The expression “growing old isn’t for sissies” implies that a person better have a thick skin if she or he is going to make it through the aging process. It suggests that life is inescapably harsh at times . . . and that it can wear us down and out if we’re not made of sterner stuff.
My father-in-law was fond of quoting this Bettie Davis line, and – I think – with good reason. As he grew older, his aging and weaker heart began to fail him. And, he watched – at first with anger and then with deep sadness – as his wife’s aging mind began to fail her due to advancing Alzheimer’s disease.
His Golden Years were not easy years.
And yet, I have recently concluded that Dad’s Golden Years may have been his best years . . . his best years not because he was his happiest, but because they brought out the best in him.
Despite his failing health and that of his wife, Dad still found the strength and the reasons to keep going. He took over the grocery shopping and the cooking, something Mom had done their entire married life.
Only when he eventually agreed to allow a paid caregiver to come to their home to help with Mom would Dad occasionally give himself permission to go to one of his beloved neighborhood garage sales.  There, he would buy children’s bicycles and all types of clocks at rock-bottom prices to take home and repair.
He still enjoyed sitting on the sofa with Mom and holding hands. He still liked watching their favorite afternoon soap operas together. He still liked telling a good joke.
And, while he wrestled with his anger and his heartbreak over his wife’s disease, he also still managed to find some moments of humor in their challenging circumstances. In fact, I have often wondered if it isn’t humor that saves us from becoming emotionally and spiritually depleted by the losses that come with aging.
I think humor helped Dad when he could find it . . . and it helped all of us when he did.
Even at the very end of his life, it was his humor that helped break up the tension and distract us momentarily from the fear that was building in our hearts.
On the morning of the day he died, Dad complained of chest pain and was having trouble breathing. Gail’s brother drove him to the hospital, and Gail and I drove there to meet them. Earlier that week, Gail’s mother had been admitted to a residential hospice facility, as the exhausting demands of her Alzheimer’s disease had finally become too much for Dad.
Once Dad arrived at the hospital, he was immediately transferred to a room.
The nurses strapped a big plastic oxygen mask over his face to help him with his breathing. Dad waved his hands as the nurses adjusted the mask over his nose and mouth.
“No laughing!” he said with a muffled voice. “I know this mask makes me look like something out of Star Wars.”
Perhaps afraid that he had made an emergency trip to St. Joseph’s one too many times . . . or perhaps embarrassed that we were seeing him in such a vulnerable state, Dad nevertheless defied the fear and awkwardness of the situation with a joke.
And, he died less than an hour later, with Gail and her brother holding his hands.
I know that Anna Quindlen says that research shows that most people are more contented as they get older.
Maybe so.
However, I wonder if people aren’t simply more courageous as they get older . . . that they’re more willing to face the scariest things in life because they know that it’s the only way forward. Perhaps as we get older, we come to recognize that life is simply too precious to let fear have the last word.
And, so we laugh, we cry, we pick ourselves up, and we carry on.
Fall is arriving in Atlanta, and soon it’s going to be beautiful outside with leaves of gold and red and orange. Playwright Brian Nelson says that autumn and aging are both a time of maturity.
“We may not have a full appreciation of what autumn teaches us,” he writes. He continues:
But, today, take a look outside,
at the sun that finds a deeper place
in the sky,
at the leaves that take on more
distinctive personalities.
Quietly take it all in,
and be thankful for the lessons
that time has brought into your own life.
As you grow more mature,
taste both the bitter and the sweet.
You have been seasoned and your life
is richer for it.[ref][1][/ref]
No matter what age we may be – whether we’re growing up or growing old – I think it is safe to say that we will mature in one way or another. Life will season us with its beauty and its pain. It will give us plenty of chances to become the person that we and others like and respect.
So, what do you wish for yourself as you grow up and grow old? Happiness? Laughter? Contentment? Good health? Friends you can count on? More beautiful sunsets than you can count?
Whatever you wish for, may it be so. Amen.
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[1] Brian Nelson, Earth Bound: Daily Meditations for All Seasons (Skinner House Books, Boston, MA: 2004, 172).
(Photo credit: Growing Old Together by Rachel Samanyi)