A recent contributor with his own health problems recently wondered at what point WE become our aging parents? In other words, when do the difficult problems we have with our parents regarding their illnesses, need for home or skilled nursing care, their end-of-life issues and losses, become OUR problems?
Early on in the launching of this “Aging as a Spiritual Practice” adventure, I realized that there are (at least) three “cohorts” or age groups that can relate to the topic. The first group is those in their forties or fifties who might be hale and hearty themselves but are dealing with issues of their aging parents. For many of us, this period in our lives is when the stark reality of aging (otherwise known as: “Oh, I’m actually going to die sometime”) hits home. The second group (at present the baby boomer generation) is in their fifties and sixties. Not only have they had to deal with their aging parents; this is also the time when friends our own age start to become seriously ill and die.
The third group are the truly old. The age range of this group seems to keep moving, as people live longer and there is more awareness both in medicine and in the populace about healthy diet, exercise, and preventive health strategies. Shall we say anywhere from 70 to 100+? (The 100+ cohort is the fasted growing in the population , I read.)
How do each of these groups enter the Aging process as a spiritual or Dharma gate?
For the first group, there is often an experience of revelation and the novelty of loss. Am I still young or am I starting to be old? Are Mom or Dad really going to die? What am I doing with my life? What is really important?
For the second group, it is literally starting to go to hospitals or funerals more. Sickness , old age and death (as taught by the Buddha) are really real! I’m losing friends younger than me! Of course, in prior generations death was a constant. Young children were swept away by fever. Young women died in childbirth. There were no antibiotics, no heart surgeries, no miracle cures. People grew up (and grew old) faster then.
For the third group, it is about adjustments and flexibility (or lack of flexibility). I ask my 80 year old friend and colleague how his health is, and he says, “Not so bad. Pretty good.” Then after a pause, he adds, “Of course I can’t hear so well any more. And the doctors are watching the arteries in my heart pretty closely now. And my good friend So-and-so just died suddenly. He was sixty.”
When I was growing up, I heard the slogan of General Electric on the TV every day: “Progress is our most important product.”
Onward and upward—the American dream. But now the other half of the dream—downward and out—is coming to pass, as it always has for every generation, and somehow Buddhism has come into our lives in the West at just this moment in history—not just for ourselves personally, but for the planet, which is aging or sickening in its own way, just like us.
As I often say, This is Buddhism’s time. More about this in the next post.
My mother died in June. She was 86. I am 62, and already have encountered the many health peculiarities which she passed on to me. Like her, I have very high cholesterol, and am statin-intolerant. Like her, I have highly fibrocystic breasts (by my age my mother had had two radical mastectomies–I have had none). I show early signs of the glaucoma she had, and may be signaling the mini-strokes she had. It’s an unexpected coming together with her; in some way I never could have imagined, it makes me feeling connected to her.
My father died when he was 61, younger than I am now. Had he not died of metastatic lung cancer I’d probably be seeing signs of his genetic coding too.
The simple truth of this matter puts me in mind of the way we honor the ancestors during service. I bow to them, and to them in me.
When i saw your age span of the “truly old,” I started to laugh.
That’s MEEEEEEEEEEEE! I advised what’s left of me.
SHIT!
Something astonishing has happened to me or for me in the last year or so: I have truly learned how to “live in the moment.” and I am slowly filling my life with “triggers to awareness” to remind me of that growing ability. Yee ha!
Not all that time, obviously. I’m ‘too old” and my ego is still wayyyy too big for that. But I honestly think that will come with a diligent practice and “paying attention” to competent teachers of the dharma et al. And taking extraordinarily good care of myself for as long as I can. Which I do.
I actually feel joyous and accepting. (Not always, yadda yadda yadda).
E.g. My surly neighbor has a big tree that is termite ridden. A huge limb broke partly off the other day and hung gently against my house. No harm done.
I laughed. “Missed me1″ I told him when he came outside to see. You gotta be a Hurricane Katrina survivor to see the humor.
I actually experienced terrifying firing runs (but no actual firing) by North Korean MIGS as a Navy pilot during the Cold War. A Samurai is ready to die “at any moment” or so I read. It makes them formidable Buddhist fighters, more likely to survive than not.
I am willing to go out as a “truly old” Samurai, Lew. Ready to die at any moment. But also ready not to.
Present moment. Wonderful moment.
metta,
Johnboy
Thank you for laying out the many layers of aging so thoughtfully. I’ll just add one more: in addition to how we relate to becoming old and to the older, there is also how we relate to the younger.
My wife and I, both having crossed the 50 threshold, just became empty nesters last month when our youngest daughter entered college. Just as you described, we are thinking about how to support a parent who is aging and how to support our own aging (seems like a new discovery every day!). But we are also trying to come to grips with our youngsters (and the grand-youngsters we hope to see one day). How can we support them? How can we learn to accept their support?
You wrote about “upward” and “downward” trends, but I hope that my life will be interesting at every age. My mother, before she died early this year at 89, used to comment on her situation with some bitterness, “these are supposed to be my golden years!” Although medical science is making all kinds of advances, I don’t really expect to avoid any of the outcomes of aging that she felt so bitter about. I just hope (wishful thinking?) that my Buddhist practice will help me create some space around that kind of bitter outlook for another point-of-view. Here in Oregon, the most beautiful leaves are the ones that are just about to fall from the tree.
Age does not only come with added years. Their real contents are either wisdom or ignorance. When we grow with wisdom, living in a way that bring happiness to ourselves and others (including our aged parents), the added years are a blessing. When we live with ignorance (and seldom are we aware) we carry on a false belief that we think we should be happy chasing after every thing that catches our eye; what is dukkha (unhappiness) seems to be happiness but it isn’t. When we stop to contemplate our priorities in life, we can laugh at any stage of our aging and be grateful how far we have come along.
I think life is like a roll of toilet paper, when you get near the end, the faster it goes. lol! – Take it from me, I’m 75 years old…
I’m so glad you’re laughing! I from the first group. It helps.
Perfect! LOL
What wonderful teachings! Thank you, Susan and John, for sharing your self-knowledge and good practice. You set me some good examples today.
What you focus on expands……Anonymous
Buddhism has been my solitary sidekick since 1966.
My body is breaking down.
If I were a used car, I wouldn’t buy me.
I wouldn’t even take me for a test drive.
Practice.
The constant in my life.
Focus on the gap between the manic mind generating thoughts faster than waves breaking on the beach in a gale.
Practice.
Oh, yes….
The thoughts have their own momentum.
I observe, let go.
Practice.
Oh, yes…
This body’s systems require more medical support.
Oh, I remember that I am the awareness observing this carnival ride. Don’t grip the seat. Breathe, enjoy, breathe.
Practice.
Dear ones are born with my DNA, my grandchildren carry on.
Dear ones die. They become my ancestors.
Breathe. There is only life living life. Nothing personal, folks.
Gassho.
RP
Thank You all for sharing, I’m 62 years old and watching my husband who is sick with dealing with many medical problems and wonder how I would deal if I had all those problems? I’m looking at my own aging process and wonder or more like sacred about my own end. I seem to look at whatever comes my way for everyone else; but am sacred how will I be when it’s my turn to accept my dying and ill health? I want to be free and not scared.
Darlene
I would also like to comment on our relationship with young people. I’ve always had friends in many age ranges: I am 56 and one of my best friends is about to turn 80 and another just turned 40. I met the first when she was my age and the second when she was 21. What I’m noticing now is that people younger than about 45 no longer seem to want to make friends with this white haired “old lady”. Sometimes I feel like while I’m treated with politeness, there is not much of a true connection. I am sad about that. I like the energy and ideas of people younger than myself and think I will miss that as I go further along my aging path.
Thanks for everyone’s comments. I’m glad you are also not ready, John. good to have both sides. And Darlene, a wonderful “typo” when you say “but am sacred how will I be when…”. Sacred and scared. Probably a little of both! It’s ok. And good point, Alan, that as we age we look back at our children’s generation–that is an important aspect.
Such a provacative subject — the stages of aging.
One thing I have become more clear about is due to the recent experience I have had accompanying one of my 87 year-old friends through a recent illness and death this month. As I supported her in this process, questions arose for myself as to how I want to live as I age.
I’m at the beginning of this aging segment, not quite 50 years old. However, I recognize that I can begin to make choices about how I will live as I age and these choice may make a significant difference in my quality of life. Acknowledging that the bulk of my aging process will be out of my control, there are still many aspects that I can influence: do I want to live independently or as part of a supportive community (or ideally some combination of those)?; how do I want to be cared for if I become ill and need medical care?; at the end of my life, what can I do to ensure a minimum of suffering (i.e. hospice)?; what is the best way to communicate these choices so that they will be honored (i.e. healthcare directives)?
As I proceed, I have a feeling that the baby boomer generation ahead of me will create options for living a high-quality of life as we age that don’t exist yet. Still, my ability to stay aware of what is true in my life and live my choices authenically is up to me! Although it is a bit daunting to think about, it is also a great opportunity.
I look forward to reading more from you, Lew, and others who comment.
With Metta,
Julie Forbes
I think your approach is wise. Maybe overly hopeful, but who can say how much hope is ever the right amount?
I like what you said about “making choices”, but I’ll add a word of caution, we can choose what path to take, but we can rarely choose where it will lead. During the last few years when my mother was in senior housing, I met many many “patchwork” people. One person had lost functions X and Y. Another had X, but had lost Z. And so it went down one side of the bingo table and up the other. Alert people who couldn’t leave their wheelchairs. Senile diabetics with perfect hearing and balance. It slowly dawned on me how important it was to make healthy choices, but how little “control” these choices would actually give me.
I share your hope that the boomers (and I belong to the tail end of the boomer generation) will “create options”, but who knows? What will my retirement funds be worth after the great mass of boomers have sold off all of their stocks and bonds? What kind of health-care services will be available? Current signs aren’t promising. Gerontologists are a disappearing breed and medical schools are closing gerontology programs. The number of nurses continues a several decade decline. Interestingly, we have more veterinarians, and they perform more and more higher-end procedures, every year. Perhaps I’ll be waiting in line with Fido to see my doctor?
The other day, I was out for a walk with two dear friends. We are in our early sixties or so.
It was a lovely day, full of vibrant fall colors.
As we were walking along the edge of the lake, two young teenagers were walking towards us.
As I glanced at them, it hit me that I am these teenagers walking towards these elderly people.
At the same time the realization that ‘there is no age’ became vibrant.
I laughed.
It is so wonderful to realize that awareness has no age.
Only thought (and the body) have age.
Do you see what I mean?
Magdi
Magdi,
What a beautiful description. Thank you so much.
Alan