My beautiful mother turned 81 today. As I sat down to write today’s article, I pondered awhile what words I could possibly use to describe this woman who is responsible for my existence. A simple laundry list of thanks for being the mom she is didn’t seem sufficient, as I like to think of her as the woman she is, not define her merely by the role she plays in my life. Contrary to what most of us like to believe, our moms are actually people who have a purpose far beyond that associated with us.
As I was contemplating the words I would use to describe her, I thought of a story a tai-chi instructor shared with me a few months ago, when I was on a self- exploration respite in the Arizona desert. He told the story of his time leading tai-chi classes in China. How these 100 year old Chinese women would come to class each and every day, living fully functioning, happy and healthy lives. They didn’t complain of aches or pains, and they walked to class freely on their own because that is what elderly people in Eastern cultures do. When they knew their time on earth was drawing near to the end, they would bring their blanket, maybe a journal or any other personal items associated with their tai-chi class to this instructor, tell him they wouldn’t be needing the items any longer, and they would never return again. They lived until they died.
We have a completely different view of death in our culture; we view dying as more of a long, drawn out ordeal. As if the elderly are somehow whittling away at the process of dying, day after day.
We accept the notion that as we age, life becomes full of obstacles that interfere with our ability to live. We embrace the idea that old age is meant to be full of medications, doctors visits, an inability to walk, swim or even run. At a certain age, people are naturally going to need a walker or wheelchair assistance, even though they spent their entire lives moving freely without assistance. In our 50’s and 60’s we are telling ourselves we had better do all the things we want to do because the older we get, the less capable of living we are going to be.
While this may be the norm for our culture, it is most certainly not the way my mother views life. This probably helps explain why she looks like she’s 70 years old, at most and is currently spending her birthday with my sisters, a 450 mile drive away, which she made by herself.
She takes the standpoint that she will live her life as she chooses each day, until something outside of her control puts a limit on her activity. She is fully aware that a stroke or something similar could put some constraints on her lifestyle but she won’t spend time worrying about that now. If and when she faces a physical or mental setback, she will adjust course.
Each morning she sits with her coffee, praying her rosary and looking outside at God’s creation. She loves the sound of the birds and watching the sunrise outside her window. It always seem to be that no matter where she lives, she has a tree outside her window she affectionately pegs as “God’s tree.” Some days she gets up extra early to open the church but even if she doesn’t have anywhere to be, she is dressed, make-up on, hair done and a smile on her face. She does this for her, not for anyone else.
She is still a eucharistic minister, does the readings at mass and volunteers at funerals, which means she’s even been asked to read at funerals of people she doesn’t even know. She is the “go-to” in her parish community because everyone knows Arlene will get things done.
She loves life. In her view, why would someone want to spend the last years on earth buying into the idea that the last 20 years are supposed to be a slow dig to the grave? In her words, “she will enjoy every last day God gives her.”
She is a strong woman; stronger, I think then she even gives herself credit. A few months back she got Covid, and while it took her about a month to feel back to normal, the only real complaint she made was that it seemed to come and go for so long. She would feel pretty bad for a day or two and then nearly herself again, only to feel cruddy again the next day. We just made sure she was getting a lot of rest, good quality nutrition and stayed close to home. She stayed away from church for over a month (which I’m pretty sure has never happened before in her life) because she didn’t want to kill off any of the “olds” at mass.
She does all the things she’s always done with us, but cuts it shorter than she used to. Boating this past summer, she had to excuse herself after two beers because she “had to get up early and count money at the church.” My husband has a bottle of Don Julio 1942 on our bar in the dining room and she pointed out to us the other day that she’s “older than his Julio.”
I told my daughter the other day that I thought of something really funny I would include in grandma’s eulogy. Right or wrong, I’ve made the assumption as the family writer, I would most likely be the one to write it. My daughter’s response was irritation that I would say that, as if grandma was going to die soon. I explained to her that my thinking about what I would say at her funeral was in no way going to bring about her death and in fact, thinking about what you would say at someone’s funeral makes you appreciate them a little more while they are alive. Like my mother, the thought or discussion of death does not scare me, it makes me appreciate life all the more.
My mother knows what it means to live and I have no doubt, will be able to recognize when her time has come, just like those Chinese women the tai-chi instructor described.
Until that day, she will be living.