Presents in Wrinkled Wrapping Paper
- Dr. Tom Wagner
- 5 hours ago
- 5 min read
What if the path to intimacy with the Sacred runs straight through the lives of the sick, the frail, and the aging? This reflection explores how love reshapes itself when strength gives way.
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Presents in Wrinkled Wrapping Paper
Today marks the third time that my mom will be placed on hospice care. Her health habits adopted in the autumn of life, and rigorously followed until her mid-eighties, have made death nothing but a rumor, two times and counting. Something feels more real about it this time around. Rather than attempting to write about all this, smack in the middle of it, I figured I’d dust off an article from the archives that celebrates the care of our most fragile treasures: our grandmas, grandpas, and aged moms, dads, aunts, and uncles. I visited her last night. I got the distinct feeling that she’s getting ready for the adventure of a lifetime. Safe travels, Mom....unless you’re fixing to fool us one more time!
Mom was around fifty when she nearly bled to death from her undiagnosed stomach ulcer. That summer’s afternoon when she called me at work from her kitchen floor, unable to get up, marked the signature moment of radical change in her life. While she was in the hospital, my brothers and I scrubbed and laundered all of the tar and nicotine off of her bedroom walls, windows, curtains, and carpet. Bucket after orange bucket of smelly sludge hinted at the challenges her body would face cleansing itself of so many years of two-packs-a-day Salem Lights.
On the other side of that hospital stay, Mom started lacing up her walking shoes and harnessing up our overweight Irish Setter. Our dog got skinny, and Mom got healthy on account of her four-mile-a-day, early-morning country walks before work. Snacks in her house became way less interesting. Twinkies, Ding Dongs, and potato chips gave way to barely edible whole-grain and low-sugar tedium. I was a regular jogger in my twenties, but when Mom would come to visit in St. Louis, I had to really concentrate on keeping up on our early morning walks. My mom had thoroughly transformed herself into a badass!
She maintained her badassery well into her eighties. When her hips wore out, she just moved her workouts into a pool and did water aerobics instead. I recall the time when teenaged Annalise and I took Grandma out to dinner at our family’s favorite pizza joint (Gabbatoni’s on Laurel Ave. in Springfield, IL). My mom was relating stories of “the old people” she chauffeured to church services every week. Annalise saw an opening to tickle her grandma’s funny bone. “Old people?” She sarcastically quipped, “Grandma, at eighty, what are you?” Grandma didn’t miss a beat, “Oh shut up!” She laughed and slapped Annalise’s hand. At eighty, my mom was anything but old.
Every study you’ll ever read regarding resilience and aging will include the recipe my mom meticulously followed: exercise, healthy eating, maintenance of significant relationships, a spirituality that provides meaning, a robust sense of humor, and more. Reading this literature can sometimes leave the impression that poor health outcomes are the result of weak character. At times, I read wellness articles that seem to suggest that you can outsmart or outwork death. My mom’s life tells a different story. Despite all of her healthy habits, she is currently caught in the throes of vascular dementia. Miraculously, most days, though not all, she’s happy, funny, and loquacious, even though much of what she has to say makes little sense.
Like every aging person I’ve ever met, Mom’s greatest fear was always dementia. If someone could have forecasted her eventual future, which would include the loss of her intellect, years in assisted living, and dependency on her children, I would have bet that she’d take up smoking again. But that’s not what happened. When Mom first learned of her cognitive problems, she was heartbroken but practical. She sold her house and signed up for independent living. Eventually, her car keys had to be wrenched from her hands. Finally, memory care became necessary.
I’m told of an ancient belief in Hinduism that just before souls enter into full enlightenment, a choice is offered to them. They can reincarnate for one more lifetime as someone with a disability. This generous decision provides others on Earth the opportunity to serve them, and hence, take a large step toward their own enlightenment. My religious tradition of Christianity contains no belief in reincarnation into another life on Earth. However, just like every other major world religion, care and service to the poor and disabled is seen to be the royal pathway to intimacy with God as well as spiritual transformation. Similarly, if one wanted to find God’s presence on earth, look no further than the naked, the hungry, the thirsty, the alien in our midst, the imprisoned, and the sick (Matthew 25: 31-46). On any given day, care for a seriously aging person brings one in contact with one of these dimensions of the presence of Christ. From any spiritual perspective worthy of that name, the aged are seen to be a customized present to us, gift-wrapped in wrinkled paper.
Life’s greatest gifts frequently involve the letting go of control. Babies have a way of tightening a family’s bonds. Likewise, an aged person, in their frailty and dependency, can exert a similar kind of centripetal force on a family that pulls together to care for them. It was a blessed thing when Mom used to tuck me in bed as a toddler and give me a kiss goodnight. It’s another kind of blessing she gives me when she offers me the opportunity to tuck her into bed and seal her forehead before I leave. To put it into Biblical language: it’s a meaningful thing to wash other people’s feet. It’s at least as meaningful to allow them to wash yours. When it comes my turn, will you help me remember that?
Dialogue and Discussion Questions:
Longtime SMC readers know that “the Dialogue” section of this article is set aside for a good conversation over a cup of coffee—with a friend, with a group, or just with yourself! As always, feel free to share your reaction or reflection in the “Comments” section below.
Was there something in this article that stood out for you? Was there anything that caused dissonance?
If you are using these questions for a discussion group, can you share the memory of an elder who was or is sacred to you? Try to tell a story that captures their essence. If you are reflecting on this question all by yourself, just take a moment to relive that story and savor your beloved elder.
This article made the claim that aged people are gifts in “wrinkled wrapping paper.” It also made the claim that babies—and by extension, toddlers—in their dependency, exert a kind of “centripetal force, pulling a family together.” But isn’t it also true that babies and toddlers can push a parent to a ragged edge in a whole host of ways? The same can be said for a declining elder. Can you think of a time when caring for an elder pushed you to the edge? See if you can hold the next question in your heart for a moment before you answer it: “What did you learn about the art of loving from those hard experiences with a declining elder?
Please share with the SMC community your thoughts and/or reflections in the comments below.
Comments