by Donna Poole
It’s inevitable.
It happens to all of us if we live long enough—we grow old.
This year nature is doing a lovely job of growing old. From the earliest slant of the eastern sun until the last rays in the west highlight their glory, the leaves glow breathtakingly beautiful in every light. I catch my breath with wonder; I can’t see them often enough. Too soon, they will be gone.
The past two Sundays, instead of going straight home from church, Kimmee, our daughter drove me around the block on our own color tour. Out here on the backroads “around the block” is a four-mile glorious drive on mostly dirt roads. We encountered very little traffic, maybe a car or truck or two. Kimmee stopped and took photos often, so it took a while to get home. But it didn’t take long enough.
The combination of age and a stubborn cancer has opened my eyes and heart to so many things. A half hour bouncing down dirt roads viewing autumn leaves with our daughter is as amazing to me as a trip to Hawaii might be to some people.
So many “ordinary” things are beautiful now. On Saturday we celebrated our oldest daughter’s fiftieth birthday and our brother-in-law’s seventieth. It was a combination effort; I made the basic food; my sister brought a delicious macaroni salad, brownies, and chips, and Kimmee did what Kimmee does—the fancy desserts, the charcuterie boards, the beautiful table decorations, a hot chocolate/coffee/tea/hot cider bar complete with new mugs to take home, and so many other loving touches.
Love ruled that evening. We’re all getting a little older. We all know life is passing faster than we expected it would.
When it was time for the regretful goodbyes, I got up from the couch easier than I usually do; I’m on steroids to counteract side effects of treatment. I can’t sleep, but oh, it’s wonderful to feel half-way normal for a few days. But even medicated I don’t stand as quickly as I once did. Our tiny granddaughter, Ruby, hurried over to me and slipped her little hand in mind.
“I don’t want you to fall,” Ruby said to me.
She smiled. Ruby’s smile would make the loveliest maple in all its autumn glory jealous.
“I won’t, honey,” I promised.
Oh, but I will. We all will, won’t we?
I don’t expect to die from cancer. It will probably be something far more ignominious and laughable.
Once, a few years ago, I tripped outside and fell hard, landing with my head in the hosta plants. My alarmed family rushed to see if I’d hurt myself. I was laughing too hard to get up. That’s the kind of thing that will take me out.
“Seventy-four-year-old woman dies laughing after falling head-first into the hostas.”
I even have my obituary written. Four simple words. “That’s All She Wrote.”
I hope I haven’t offended anyone, but gallows humor and laughter seem to run in our family.
There was a lot of sweet laughter at our family gathering. John and I went outside to wave goodbye to the last who were leaving and watched the taillights disappear down the road.
When will we all get together again? Will it ever happen?
Life wasn’t as sad when we were younger, but neither was it as sweet. We didn’t delight as much in family gatherings because it never seemed then that “the last time might be the last time.” Now, so many family members are in heaven. Now, we know better. We cherish the moments.
There is something beautiful about aging. I listened for a minute to the crickets and the rustle of the leaves before I went back inside.
There’s a secret to growing old joyfully, I think. For me, it began when I was a child and put my hand in God’s and trusted Him to take me safely Home, no matter what storms might come up on the way. Jesus lived the perfect life I couldn’t live and died to remove my sins from me as far as the east is from the west. Because Jesus is my Savior, God says to me, “You can trust me. The journey might not be easy, but I’ll get you there.”
I’m discovering another secret to joy. It’s how to grow young.
It seems I’ve knitted life’s scarf wrong and now I’m unraveling it. I’ve learned too many things that have made my spirit old. Now I’m unlearning them all and growing younger. I want everything but love stripped away from my heart—and, oh, there’s a long way to go. Anything unloving in my thoughts blocks the sun; I can’t see the simple beauty of love, family, friendship. I can’t catch my breath at the glory of the sun turning the reds and yellows of leaves transparent if I’m burdened with bitterness, hurt, worry, or—you get it. You don’t need the whole long list.
In the end all I want is to be a Ruby. A person who comes along, takes your hand, and says, “I don’t want you to fall.”
And then we’ll go for a ride together, worship the Artist of the leaves, and think how beautiful it can be to grow old.
“Let me grow lovely, growing old—
So many fine things do.
Lace and ivory and gold
And silks need not be new.
There is healing in old trees,
Old streets a glamor hold.
Why may not I, as well as these,
Grow lovely, growing old?” –Unknown
