GERIATRIC JOURNEYS
"Old" takes on a
new meaning when you travel with it. At age 57 ,I was the youngest person on
board a bus headed for Tunica, Mississippi. Some of the people were so old,
Father Time has nothing on them. Some were around before horses, much less
automobiles. Why, 80 was nothing. And 70 is thought of as a mere child. Still,
whoever believes the elderly arenÕt active ainÕt been on board a bus headed for
a gambling parlor.
I increasingly find myself
spending more time with older folks. I think I like hanging around them because
theyÕve fought the battles and survived: survived kids, catastrophic illnesses,
sexist employers, wars, broken promises, bad times and poor luck. But they keep
on going, keep on hoping, they keep on getting up each morning feeling good
about having another day.
Hell, to tell you the
truth, I can hardly keep up with them. I can only hope that IÕm still alive at 75,
much less
taking a trip to Tunica.
I donÕt see wisdom coming
from many places nowadays, but I know where to find it. I get something
essential listening to the stories of older adults that helps me to find my way
through life. I like the oral tradition. ItÕs better than books or movies or
the internet. I like hearing things from the source. I like being able to watch
them, ask them questions, touch their shoulders, somehow hoping that some of
that wisdom, that fortitude, that adaptability, might just rub off.
Of course, there is the
down side of growing old. If I could have corralled all these old people into a
nursing home, IÕd have been in business. But they wouldnÕt have gone without a
struggle. There is an old Sufi saying that two veils separate us from the
divine — health and security. When we lose our health and must face the
insecurity of needing help, we may be overtaken by anxiety and despair. We usually
go kicking and screaming.
We passed the time playing
bingo, which I should have been more prepared for. I didnÕt have a chance. Some
of the people were professionals. And the trip was pretty drawn out due to
frequent potty breaks. In the column of comparing medical ailments, I was able
to keep up pretty well, which I donÕt think was a good thing.
Still, all things being
equal, I admire the elders with a passion. Maybe itÕs because IÕm getting older
myself, and hope someone takes the time and interest to listen to me and my
stories. Maybe its because there are soon to be so many of us, with the baby
boomers about to start turning 62. In a world that is sick and needing to heal
itself, we need the wisdom of the elders to survive.
So hereÕs to you Dorothy
and Buddy, Lorraine and Bill, Dottie and Feree, Jim, Juanita and Ron, Lois and
Jack. It was my pleasure traveling with you. Keep telling those stories. And
keep getting up in the morning.