Aging with Humor and Love

I just realized that's it's been a good long while since I shared any of my life lessons from the senior couple I spend time with every week.

The really good news is that "Momma" came home a while ago from the rehab center and is adapting well to be home.  I'll have to share more about that later because she's taught me a lot about adapting to change. 

By the way, I affectionately refer to her as Momma because of her matriarchal position in her family.  She didn't want me to call her Mrs. ___ and insisted I call her by her first name.  I have a tough time calling her by her first name.  It's a respect thing for me.  I wasn't taught or allowed to call my grandparents by their first name.  When a person is old enough to be my grandparent, there is no way I can call them by their first name.  So a compromise of "Momma" would be it.

As is often the case, not much time goes by without me learning something from them or about myself.  Sometimes, the lessons I learn come with a major change of heart for me.  I'm hoping that the one of the most recent will be of some value to you too.

A couple weeks ago, the couple faced a huge tragedy in their family.  They lost their youngest child and only son.  Even without being a parent myself, I know the loss of a child is undoubtedly one of the hardest losses a parent can ever suffer.  It's a loss that will sting for the rest of their lives.

After learning of the news, I had a very natural reaction.  I didn't want to contact them.  I justified my feelings by telling myself that I needed to give them time to grieve and surely they were bombarded with calls or visitors and I wouldn't know what to say to them anyway. 

Really?  Did I really  believe that? 

No!

It was a mere excuse to hide the condition of my own heart.  I didn't want to be uncomfortable.  I didn't want to feel additional pain.  I didn't want to see them hurting because I wouldn't be able to make it better for them. 

As I fielded calls from friends and church family, I found the same thing.  One after another, people shared the same excuses for not contacting them directly. 

I'm not pointing fingers here, I was doing it too.  It was way easier to use the excuses than to step outside my comfort zone and into the mess they had in front of them.  The truth is that I was doing exactly what I despised others doing to me.  Using excuses to avoid the mess. 

If you've never been in a giant mess, let me tell you something.  At the ugliest, messiest points in my life, those were the times when I needed someone to jump in next to me and just be "normal" with me.  Those are the times when I MOST needed people to check on me, help me out and even do for me what I couldn't do for myself.

So, that's what I did.  I pushed myself past the threshold of my own comfort zone.  I picked up the phone and made the call.  I had a lot of trepidation, wondered what I would say and tried to talk myself out of it many times.

Once I heard the gentle voice on the other end, all of my fear dissipated.  Despite the sadness and obvious grief, the conversation was like every one I'd had with him up to that point.  He did as usual...when I asked him if he needed anything, he replied, "Yes, you can get me that million dollars." 

I think it was the familiarity of his voice and words that calmed my heart.  It was probably at that point when I realized my place in this mess.  I needed to be the "normal."  I needed to be just as I always had been.  Sure, I would need to be a bit more gentle. 

Throughout the week following, I continued to field calls and questions from other friends and church family.  I encouraged most every one of them to reach out to the couple and show their love.  I encouraged them to be "normal" during this time of great loss.  I encouraged them to push past their own fears.

I would never tell you the week following was easy.  It was heart-wrenching to watch people I care so deeply for hurting.  I would never tell you that anything I did to maintain a normal routine was any comfort to them.  

It was only during a conversation the week after that when both the husband and wife thanked me for just being around and being "normal."

I share that with you not to pat myself on the back, but to let you know that there is a benefit in pushing past your comfort level in these situations.  There is a peace that can be brought to those who are hurting by not backing away because of fear. 

Before I close, I want to share a very personal observation on this same subject.  If you saw me at church, you'd likely find a seemingly happy person who is somewhat reserved but laughs and jokes with those I know.  It's a superficial front I've learned to have in church.  The reason?  Because early on I found that nobody really wanted to be in the mess with me.  If I wanted to be loved by my church family, I needed to smile and suppress any and all emotion.  Why?  Because whether I sat in the pew or stood in the bathroom or huddled in a corner of the foyer feeling my feelings, which usually brought tears, people ignored me.  They wouldn't push past their own discomfort to talk with me, comfort me or just be with me, let alone continue to wade through the mess with me.  That hurts!  I'm probably getting into another blogpost altogether, but I wanted you to see my point from an additional angle.

It's not easy!  But, the next time you find yourself in one of these situations, I encourage you to look past your own discomfort.  Look past it and into the other side.  The person you want to avoid, probably needs you the most at that moment.  Whether it's a friend who's suffered a great loss or the loved one who's lost a job or just a random person you don't know crying at church, step past your anxiety.  Comfort them in whatever way you can, whatever is necessary, whatever is "normal."