I just got off the phone with my dad. He called to tell me that one of his close colleagues just passed away. The man had quadruple heart bypass surgery about 6 weeks ago and, though initial reports had indicated he was recovering well, his health took a turn for the worse last Thursday. He died this morning.
This is one of the grim aspects of growing old. No, I don't mean the act of dying ourselves -- the act of watching those near and dear to us...die. Typically, when we're younger, we don't have to deal with death on a large scale with exceptions, of course, for war and disaster situations. When we're young, the deaths of loved ones and cohorts are few and far between. We don't need to focus on the idea of mortality very often.
But once a person makes it to 50, the clock starts ticking a lot louder and the volume increases with every year. Every death of a contemporary reminds us that we ourselves are that much closer to the grand mystery beyond this life.
Many years ago, when my maternal grandfather was still alive, we shared a very poignant moment. Grandma was already gone and I was taking care of the family patriarch as a live-in grandson. He was silently sitting in his favorite chair -- the one that looked out over Lake Hamilton -- when I noticed that tears were streaking his face. This, in and of itself, startled me because I had never seen my grandfather cry.
"What's wrong, grandpa?" I asked. In little more than a whisper, he replied, "They're all gone." Who? Who's gone? What are you talking about?
It took quite a while for me to figure out who he was referring to. The who, in question, was all of his contemporaries in and around Hot Springs, Arkansas.
During his younger years, Grandpa had been an active civic leader with a wide circle of friends: fellow doctors, city leaders, the folks at the YMCA/YWCA, Boy Scouts, and numerous other community activities. Within his circle, he was the last one still living; it was intensely lonely living at the top!
I've often heard others say they would love to live forever. When I was younger, that didn't sound like such a bad idea!! After grandpa's comment, however, I have reaccessed the sentiment. Living a long life -- one that outlives most of the people we love -- is rife for heartache. It means way too many funerals and graveside services to attend. It means saying goodbye over and over and over again.
Like most people I know, I believe I have a lot more life in me. I'm not ready to move to the great beyond. There is so much more I want to learn and experience before the next stop in my existence. But, while I'm not eager to cross the final vale just yet, I also don't want to be the last one standing.
That decision is not in my hands, though.
This is one of the grim aspects of growing old. No, I don't mean the act of dying ourselves -- the act of watching those near and dear to us...die. Typically, when we're younger, we don't have to deal with death on a large scale with exceptions, of course, for war and disaster situations. When we're young, the deaths of loved ones and cohorts are few and far between. We don't need to focus on the idea of mortality very often.
But once a person makes it to 50, the clock starts ticking a lot louder and the volume increases with every year. Every death of a contemporary reminds us that we ourselves are that much closer to the grand mystery beyond this life.
Many years ago, when my maternal grandfather was still alive, we shared a very poignant moment. Grandma was already gone and I was taking care of the family patriarch as a live-in grandson. He was silently sitting in his favorite chair -- the one that looked out over Lake Hamilton -- when I noticed that tears were streaking his face. This, in and of itself, startled me because I had never seen my grandfather cry.
"What's wrong, grandpa?" I asked. In little more than a whisper, he replied, "They're all gone." Who? Who's gone? What are you talking about?
It took quite a while for me to figure out who he was referring to. The who, in question, was all of his contemporaries in and around Hot Springs, Arkansas.
During his younger years, Grandpa had been an active civic leader with a wide circle of friends: fellow doctors, city leaders, the folks at the YMCA/YWCA, Boy Scouts, and numerous other community activities. Within his circle, he was the last one still living; it was intensely lonely living at the top!
I've often heard others say they would love to live forever. When I was younger, that didn't sound like such a bad idea!! After grandpa's comment, however, I have reaccessed the sentiment. Living a long life -- one that outlives most of the people we love -- is rife for heartache. It means way too many funerals and graveside services to attend. It means saying goodbye over and over and over again.
Like most people I know, I believe I have a lot more life in me. I'm not ready to move to the great beyond. There is so much more I want to learn and experience before the next stop in my existence. But, while I'm not eager to cross the final vale just yet, I also don't want to be the last one standing.
That decision is not in my hands, though.
HI RT
ReplyDeleteGreat post. You spoke my heart, feelings, reality perfectly.
love gail
peace and hope.....
"Living a long life -- one that outlives most of the people we love -- is rife for heartache."
ReplyDeleteBut doesn't this sort of fly in the face of Taoist ideals of longevity and non-attachment?
The Taoist "ideal" of longevity comes more from the religious side than the philosophical side. I know that you've contended before that these two flavors of Taoism are one in the same, but I beg to differ.
ReplyDeleteI knew you would say that! (Which is why I did't say "immortality.") But really, practices of qigong for health, and meditation for a connection (or maybe a non-attaching disconnection) to reality are not necessarily religious. Praying to gods and offering incense and posting talismans on your door is religious. I maintain that physical and mental health practices--which are rooted in philosophical Taoism-- are not. It's not enough, in Bob Dylan's words, to just "Read books, repeat quotations, draw conclusions on the wall. " It may be too much, really, not effective. You can DO something.
ReplyDeleteDo you think anything one "practices" is religious? Maybe I'm sensitive to this having just come back from China ---we were learning qigong routines and studying philosophical concepts, all the while the monks and nuns and priests and masters were out and about around us---doing exactly the same things--just not wearing an arbitrary Western wardrobe.
Perhaps the two "flavors" are the yin and yang of Taoism. Applied and theoretical? Practical and philosophical? And no matter what flavor, aren't we all really just trying to live a better life? You can choose/learn not to wallow in misery (which is really my point). You can think, and you can take actions.
For me, what you wrote in the last paragraph is key. From my perspective, the point to Taoism is how to live a BETTER life, not necessarily a longer life.
ReplyDeleteNo one knows how long each life will be. A person could follow all the rules, rituals and suggestions and still be dead at 22. Another person could eschew those very same rules, rituals and suggestions, yet live to 120.
In essence, I believe the point stressed by the Taoist way of life is focused on quality, not quantity.