Every June I leave the sweltering, oppressive heat of Southern Arizona and travel to the Finger Lakes region of Upstate New York for a couple of weeks. The lush green environment rejuvenates my soul and helps me remember who I am.
This year I am taking a different course than my usual running around visiting lots of people, trying to nurture our now 'long distance 'friendships. It is not that I don’t want to see them, it’s just that this year three of my friends are reaching the ends of their lives and I feel a strong need to spend quality time with them.
What makes me think they are reaching the end of their lives? Why do I make that assumption? It is the sparkle in their eyes that is no longer there. They have dark circles under their eyes and thin yellowing skin. They have no more energy to go on and are not looking forward. Each of them expresses a kind of 'giving up'. None of this is spoken, it just is there in the room so loud that nothing else can be heard.
Mrs. Giffert is 93. She was very welcoming to me in my late teens when her daughter Marlene, my college roommate, would bring me home for weekends. They became like a family to me. I don’t recall any specific memories when I think back, just a feeling of much-needed loving and consistency.
My first night back on this trip I went to her home to stay up with Mrs. Giffert and let my dear sleep-deprived friend, who is working during the day and taking care of her mother at night, get a night’s sleep. Because Mrs. Giffert didn’t remember me until the next morning when I was leaving, it made for an extremely agitated and long night. That often happens when there is a lot of confusion and you change the routine of things.
What must it be like to have your mind unavailable to you? In this moment things are familiar but then, there is no moment and the past is already a blur. It makes keeping track of where you are nearly impossible. There is only now, which is what we are told is all that is. That seems to be out of context within the life of a human with this challenge in their life. There needs to be some sort of context. Some before and after are needed as a reference point. Mrs. Giffert’s nows are filled with pain, suffering, worry, agitation, and walking with her walker up and down split-level stairs on fragile legs. Her nows have no quality left in them.
Rodger and Virginia have been dear friends for twenty years since I moved in across the street from them. They have no children, my mother died early and I was estranged from my father, so Rodger, Virginia and I gradually adopted each other. Five years ago I never gave much thought, when I moved two thousand miles away, about the stress the long distance would cause all of us at the end of their lives. It has given me many days of anaxt and a strong feeling of helpless as their health has deteriorated and they have had more need for help, love and attention.
Two weeks before I arrived, Virginia was hit by a car as she was crossing the road in front of their house to get the mail. She didn’t see or hear the car. Even though the hospital sent her home that night with a clean bill of health, she knew she had broken a hip. A week later she was re-admitted and had surgery the same day.
I was horrified when I heard about the accident and agonized about moving my trip up a week to be with them. Rodger, who had taken care of his ailing Mother from the age of 12 by himself, would not accept my offer of coming back early. I respected his wishes and left my plans as I had originally made them.
I have always respected and loved my elders and been able to be fully present with them, especially at the end of their lives. For those whose minds remained sharp, I fully understand their need to maintain their independence as long as possible. For those in confusion, I am able to be with them as they are and offer them the safety and gentle caring they need. With both, I have felt the strong importance of allowing them the dignity they deserve and need.
There is a huge internal conflict within me about my role in friendships, no matter what the age, now that I live so far away from everyone. I hold love for everyone in my heart, but the physical distance creates problems and confusion. I know how I feel about my friends but wonder if my physical absence makes it so that they don’t feel I am still there for them? Does my day to day absence cancel out my true intentions of being there?
I need to ask my friends, especially the elderly ones, if they feel they can ask me for whatever they need. For instance, do they know that I would jump on a plane and come back in a heartbeat if they needed my help. Perhaps it would good for me to see and understand the situation from their eyes and hopefully expand my point of view.
It is difficult to ask for help or receive it, no matter what your age. Young people need to do things by themselves to test their wings and learn from their successes and mistakes. Elders want to maintain their independence as long as possible and feel asking for help threatens this basic need. Maybe I need to learn to ask and receive help better myself so I can be more supportive, understanding, and patient with others who have difficulty accepting help. Wouldn’t it be wonderful if we could easily ask for help and truly open up and appreciate what we are offered? It would be a different world.
It seems like on this trip I am being given the gift of seeing my behaviors reflected back to me in the responses of these precious old folks. Don’t you find honest life situations are the most difficult ones to understand without running or turning away? Accepting the immanent loss if these friends brings up many feelings. Accepting the limitations of being human makes me angry, sad, and grateful. Letting go simply cannot be avoided. We are all fragile when it comes to the end of our life.
It feels like I had to leave the sizzling heat to come to the cool stillness of these basic human issues. Having good friends is a magnificent gift and loving makes it difficult to lose them. It hurts. Life and death are challenging and can open you up to others and yourself like nothing else. As hard as it is, I feel lucky to have the opportunity to spend time with and simply be with these people who I love so much.
