Sara Davidson
|September, 24, 2018
This month, I had the privilege of being with my son, Andrew, and his wife, Fay, as she gave birth to their second baby, Emma. I’d been present when their first daughter, Siena, was born, two years earlier. But this was miraculous all over again.
At the hospital, Fay had started pushing, and we could see the top of the baby’s head with pitch black hair peeping out. The head inched forward with each push, then receded. The doctor, a young woman with a butch haircut, kept saying, “You’re gonna give birth any moment.
Push now, hard as you can, push!” But again, the black hair moved a fraction forward and then back. I turned aside to reach for some water and when I looked again, it was like an explosion.
Out came the whole baby, with long, thin arms and legs, chest and buttocks, eyelashes and fingernails. We’d known, of course, there was a baby inside, but to see it emerge, fully formed, attached to the thick white cord, was a shock.
The baby was placed “skin to skin,” on Fay’s chest, and very quickly began to nurse. Could there be any greater joy?
Siena greets her new sister
Two days later, I watched the memorial service for a rabbi I’d admired for decades—Rachel Cowan, who died at 77 of brain cancer.
Hundreds gathered at B’nai Jeshurun Synagogue in Manhattan, and the service was streamed live to people across the country. Her family and colleagues spoke with humor and tenderness about her exemplary life. With her husband, journalist Paul Cowan, she’d served in the Peace Corps in Ecuador, registered black voters in Mississippi, and organized Vietnam War protests. After Paul died of leukemia at 48, Rachel created a remarkable second act. Having converted to Judaism, her husband’s religion, she began studying to be a rabbi, helped found the Institute for Jewish Spirituality, and became known as “the mother of Jewish healing.”
Rachel once wrote, “I believe it took a group of women, including rabbis, to break through the Jewish cultural barrier that saw medical treatment as the only response to illness.” Her son, Matt, told mourners that she’d taught him much, including the difference between pain and suffering. “Wishing things were different than how they are-–that’s how you turn pain into suffering,” he said. “She would want us to feel the pain of her loss, but she would not want us to suffer.”
Rabbi Rachel Cohen
Birth and death. Little lights coming on and great ones flickering out. A stream of arrivals and departures has made me feel, acutely, the brevity of time I may have left. A month ago, I learned of the death of the man I’ve loved most deeply in my life. I’ve also lost important people in my field, writers I looked up to or was mentored by: John Dunne, Nora Ephron, Tom Wolfe, Philip Roth.
I’ve been pondering, how best to move through the time that remains? How can this stage of life be meaningful and expansive, as we’re continually required to let go: of friends; activities we used to do with ease; sharp eyesight, hearing, and memory?
When I created my Facebook page I wrote, as my theme, “Aging well is the best revenge.” It was a variation of a phrase made famous by Gerald Murphy, who, with his wife, Sara, was friend and host to Hemingway, Fitzgerald, Picasso, Cole Porter—all the great artists of the 1920’s, who flocked to his home at Antibes, on the French Riviera, for memorable feasts and entertainment. Murphy liked to quote what he said was a Spanish proverb: “Living well is the best revenge.”
Gerald and Sara Murphy
These days, though, my mind sticks on the word “revenge.” It implies fury and the need for retribution. But on whom is revenge being taken? Time? People who’ve hurt us? The Fates?
Calvin Tomkins, who wrote a book about the Murphys, titled Living Well is the Best Revenge, quoted Gerald as saying, “I believe you have to do things in life to make it tolerable.” Murphy was suggesting that we have agency—to affect the quality and fruitfulness of our lives. But that does not guarantee unmitigated happiness. He lost two children to illness; he knew pain, and, I imagine, he knew suffering. Did he know that the only thing over which we have true agency is how we react, how we respond to what life bestows?
Picasso spoke about the relationship between what we do and what life gives us when he said, “Inspiration exists, but it has to find you working.” The words are embedded on the sidewalk a block from my home, and I take pleasure walking on them, absorbing the reminder.
So, how do we “do things,” as Murphy said, or, as Buddhists would say, “not do things,” to make the years ahead rich and satisfying? What will be the prime directive? Kindness? Gratitude? Family? Service? Making a bucket list and checking it twice? Or just greeting each day the same way you turn a new page in a book—open and interested in what comes next?
What strikes you as important? Please join the conversation‑-LEAVE A COMMENT BELOW.
You can hear the speakers at Rachel Cowan’s memorial service HERE. They begin about 3 minutes in.
Last summer (2017) at age 77 I walked 120 miles (200 ks) of the Camino (Sacred Way of St. James the Apostle) in northern Spain. My intention, like yours, Sara, was to find out what I should best be doing with my life going forward. At the end of the walk I received two answers. The first was, “It’s none of your business!” The second was more user-friendly: “On this Camino you have been guided by yellow arrows pointing the way to your destination and keeping you on the path. Everyone has such arrows inside. They just need the eyes to see and the will to follow them. You are fortunate. At this point in your life, you have both the eyes and the will. From here on, all you need to do is look, walk, and follow.”
Thank you for this Reynold, the Camino is on my bucket list and I like so very much the answers that you received!
LEARNING. Continuing to experience and to process and ponder our experience. That’s what humans do, the way earthworms process and enrich soil. It’s hard, with less energy and drive, to keep pushing the boundaries of one’s comfort zone, even though you don’t have to rock climb or skydive to do so. But continuing to do so is your best investment in ever-renewed aliveness “at this age.”
I have studied the Feldenkrais Method, a modality of lifelong learning through deprogramming ingrained somatic habits and exploring more optimal alternatives, that restores much flexibility of body and mind (they’re not two things!) to older people. A lot of the participants in my training were over 60 (and many of them were under 30, too). I highly recommend it. There are practitioners all over the country who teach affordable Awareness Through Movement classes as well as work hands-on one on one. By softening and reorganizing the way you carry yourself in gravity, which preserves your whole history of improvised development, anxiety, compensation for injury, self-protection from trauma, occupational repetitive stress, and more, the method can often relieve chronic pain.
A Romanian writer friend of mine says “Curiosity keeps me going” at this age. My late mother-in-law said a few years before she died, “I am curious about this last great experience.” We were with her when she died, of pneumonia, and, still observing curiously, she expressed surprise at how hard it was to actually die — how the body fought not to quit.
Yes, Annie, it can be hard to leave the body. A friend who’s volunteered in hospice for many years says it’s often similar to how hard it is to be born. It’s a kind of “labor.” She also noticed that often, when friends and family are present, it’s hard for the person to let go. When they leave to take a break or have a meal, that’s often when the person actually dies.
That is very, very true. I’ve never experienced or seen birth (except on video), but I’ve been with three people as they died: my husband’s mother, my husband, and my father. Much of our family, 3–4 generations, was gathered around my father and I remember thinking, “The family is laboring to give death.” (It was as good as it gets short of immortality: he had an emergency bypass at 67, the age when both his parents died, and got 30 years out of it. He made it almost to 98, in full possession of his mental faculties until very near the end.)
Did I read about “death doulas” somewhere?
That’s just been my fate (not my choice) in this lifetime, to have more to do with life’s end than its beginning. Based on my small sample, I suspect no two deaths are alike, and they are not predictable, although there are some common themes.
Oh, and: Some people will wait till loved ones leave the room; other people (and cats and dogs) will wait till they arrive.
YES: “Andrea Fink is a Certified Death Doula and received her certificates in Foundations and Doula from the NY Zen Center for Contemplative Care.” “Andrea Sherman, PhD, is a gerontologist, educator, trainer and End of Life Doula.”
This place is worth a look: https://zencare.org
HI SARA, i AM A 83 YR. OLD WOMAN WHO DOES NOT PARTICULARLY LIKE THE IDEA OF BEING SEEN AS AN OLD LADY BECAUSE I STILL SEE MYSELF AS A MUCH YOUNGER WOMAN. I HAVE SOME PHYSICAL PROBLEMS THAT SOMETIMES GET IN THE WAY OF ACCOMPLISHING SOME OF THE THINGS I LIKE TO DO, BUT I HAVE ALWAYS HAD A DEEP CURIOSITY ABOUT SO MANY THINGS, LIKE, SPORTS, POLITICS, READING ETC. LEARNING NEW THINGS AND KEEPING UP WITH WHAT IS GOING ON KEEPS ME SANE AND ALMOST CONTENT. SO I BELIEVE THAT CURIOSITY AND ENGAGEMENT WILL MAKE OLD AGE LESS THREATENING.
THANKS FOR LISTENING,
I totally agree. Curiosity is my defining characteristic, which led me into journalism and reporting. And learning new things, especially if they challenge you, is a sure way to stay engaged and vital.
What works for me is to start the morning by sitting in a comfortable chair with a cup of coffee and think about what I am grateful for but if a negative thought try’s to inject it self tell myself right now I am in to grateful so for the present choose not to consider any negative thought or idea, then return to what I am grateful for maybe even thanking Spirit for the many advantages that I have. After only a few minutes of being grateful I am so happy, satisfied and pleased with my life that my day just goes well. When I am in a grateful mood I am more inclined to be sure that others as some say, “Have a good day “. Jim
Thank you James for reminding me of what I have been trying to do lately,
Thanks, Jim. I’m going to try what you do in the morning. We have so much to be grateful for. Even what seem like simple things, like ability to breathe easily, to have water at the flick of a knob….
Oh wow…. I’m struggling with the same-sort of thing:– how not to struggle as we age. I love what you said about suffering and pain.
I’m a self-care author and now I’m having the SUPREME thrill of traveling–my goal all my life–a little older than I had in mind–I’m having to make adjustments.. Having had polio in the early 50’s, I’ve had a lot of years to develop strategies–and now, I’m not alone.
Holistically speaking (is there any other way?), the body and mind express each other–and to keep our minds active, we must do the same for our bodies….
I’m not one who “loves the burn”of exercising–I’ve been known to be parked outside of the “club”, and drive away….. But I can tell you that music makes me move–and there are plenty of studies to back that up. It’s a ‘boomer thing’
Another observation that I have has to do with how I see people in Europe treating their elderly–they walk with them, sometimes 3 generations-abreast, with Grandma in the middle, supported by her descendants on each side Something very homey and comfy about that
There are wheelchairs at the outdoor dafe`s as old folk have a sip or a shot or whatever their fancy
People parade the plazas, arm-in-arm, unselfconscious about personal space and the old stay younger because they are moving and involved and touched
Thanks, Gini, for the inspiration. I also find joy and connection through music. Am currently singing harmonies and playing ukelele with others. And I’ve seen, on hiking trails in Colorado, people walking with their elders. Not frequently, but when I see it, I’m moved.
(Incidentally, reading of Rachel Cowan’s death reminded me that I got my Village apartment, via a mutual friend, from her sister, Connie Brown, in 1971. I still live in the building (though next door).
Thank you for sharing your feelings and thoughts about how to do the best of the life and time we have when we grow older ! I’ am 68 now and every day find me with this same question!
Living each day with all my heart, mind and soul and trying to learn a little more about myself and the others arond me, is what seems we can do now. Take care with love of ourselves and with empathy for others, always!
Kiss and thank you again
Ilana Novinsky
Psychanalist and writer
São Paulo/ Brazil
Wonderful to hear from you, Ilana. Love and empathy are available to us every moment. Thanks.
I’ve known death all my life. Two grandfathers died when I was six. A third grandfather died when I was almost nine. My father died when I was 12 followed that same year by my great aunt. A boy I knew died when I was 12 or 13. Sara, you may have known him, too. He lived on Hi Point. A girl I had been friendly with in junior high died when we were in high school. A very close friend died in our freshman year of college, and a young man I had a few dates with died the next week. And of course more friends from the close community I live in have died in the past seven years. I learned early on that death was a part of life. As my husband experiences some physical problems, I am sad but realistic. Is that the pain without the suffering you mention?
I’ve been meditating for over six years now. Meditating is known as “dying every day.” The focus is merging with God after death. It makes aging more acceptable for sure.
Linda, most people won’t know that you and I knew each other in high school, and lived very close by. It’s a joy to hear your thoughts at this time of our lives. And yes, pain is feeling sadness, empathy, and allowing it to be present in our inner landscape. Suffering is what we do to ourselves because of the pain. Like, wishing it wasn’t as it is, thinking it’s our fault or someone’s fault. Buddhists call it “the second arrow.” The first arrow is the painful thing that happens. THe second is what we do to ourselves because it happened.
Great question, Sara!
Well for me, I plan adventures such as backpacking in the Canadian Rockies for a month when I turned 60. Not car camping, actual backpacking many miles a day over huge mountains in stunningly beautiful wilderness! I felt dauntless. I went to Africa to teach orphans for the first time when I turned 50. Life altering and amazing! I joined a Celtic women’s mystery school a few years later that is a big part of my life now. I traveled to Wales and to England with them to deepen my Celtic shamanic spiritual practice on two summer vacations and also gave myself reasons to remain in Europe to have even more adventures when the pilgrimages were over. First I did a private Beatles tour of Liverpool and even went into John’s and Paul’s childhood homes. ( I’m such a huge fan !). Then last summer after the pilgrimage in England where we visited many ancient Neolithic sites including a private hour just for our group of 21 women from all inside the stones at Stonehenge, (We sang and chanted and had a very special experience.) I took an Outlander tour through the Scottish Highlands! I visited an old friend in Edinburgh who has a doctorate in Celtic Shamanism from the University there. It was magical! I’ve returned to Africa to work with children, refugees and with women in CapeTown where I started a womens’ empowerment Program. And I did all this because of you! Years ago I was sad, depressed, and in the Narrows! It was then that I emailed you and you returned my email that same night! The fact that my favorite author responded to me immediately gave me hope. You were such a positive inspiration for me and I was very grateful. I studied Leap and printed out and worked with the workbook. Leap inspired me and I realized I wanted to give back in a big way. I volunteered at the Marine Mammal Center and fed starving baby seals. I became a pet pal at the local Humane Society and walked the dogs. I went to Africa to teach. I sponsored two orphans in Zambia. All of that helped give my life a structure and purpose. I taught my students about world events and concentrated on teaching them to give back, creating many unique learning opportunities for us all. Your wonderful book really helped me through that period. I can’t thank you enough.
For me, I move forward by making an effort to give myself some dreams and adventures. Currently I am reading Jane Yolen’s book, “Touch Magic”. I decided to have friends over for dinners ( that I’ll prepare myself) and tell them stories that I love and that hold meaning for me from the WelshMabinogion or from Scotland or Ireland. The myths and legends that I’ve studied for many years. I’m going to be a storyteller! Just for fun and to gift my friends with my passion. This summer I was sitting underTintagle Castle in Merlin’s Cave and I was meditating on the question, “ Whom does the Grail serve?” and “ What is my path?” I then had an image of me serving food to my friends and telling them stories. I heard the words,” Spin the tales; share the stories.” So, I thought, yeah! That’s a cool idea and a way to share my love of mythology with my friends. I can also develop my cooking skills!
I’m 62. Can’t believe it! I’m still teaching full time and will-as long as I enjoy it. There are three things I need in my life to be really happy: spiritual nourishment, intellectual stimulation, and creative expression. I also need community. Living in Marin, CA there are many ways to make this happen, but I have to work at it. I have read and reread your many books a million times over. They bring me much joy. You are a beautiful and brilliant woman. I love reading your blog. When I’m feeling lonely, I read, and though I am an avid reader, always with a new stack, I often reach for your books. They’re like being with old friends that I resonate with. Thank you, Sara, Joey Bortnick
I think the best thing that I can do for society and myself is to heal the parts of me that have never healed. I am in my 60s, and I have worked spiritual and psychological wounded parts for many years. Just when I think I am healed, something comes up and reminds me that I am not even close. I am too judgmental, too opinionated, too angry, too quick to agree.
I have been working back through Erikson’s stages, and I find that the little child in me was never comforted. We all have places in us that have been wounded; it is a part of being a human being. I am finding that working through these issues, it is making my life a richer experience even though it can at times be painful.
Thank you for this blog, Sara. I found it moving as well as all the replies to it. I lost my husband 5 years ago, and though my life has changed , I feel I have opened up more to possibilities. I like to stay connected to people. I tutor kids at an elementary school, and it is very rewarding volunteer work. My favorite thing and I highly recommend is taking classes through the Life Long Learning program at CSU. I love learning (and no tests or grades!). I have enjoyed art classes, history, philosophy, and currently taking a class on dreams and dreaming taught by a retire psychotherapist. Many of the classes are taught by retired professors and I love how passionate they are about their subjects.
I too have been trying to meditate each morning, not easy for me yet. But I am grateful for what I have.
Funny Sara, Having turned 69 a couple of weeks ago, this question of yours about what will I do with my remaining years is forefront in my life these days. I want to invite you to a talk tomorrow if you can make it.
Aging Courageously, A Community Conversation
September 28 , 6:30 pm – 8:30 pm
Boulder First Congregational Church
$15 tickets available at the door
Join us for this lively intergenerational conversation with authors and experts
including, Mark Gerzon, Rick Moody, Bob Atchley, Kari Henley and Michelle
Gabrieloff-Parish
With special guest Dr. Ken Druck, author of Courageous Aging—Your Best Years
Ever Reimagined
Sara, your comments brought tears. I have recurrent ovarian cancer which is in remission. I feel well and look well, but my heart is heavy because i feel the passage of time much more acutely now. This is the GIFT that cancer bestows…the knowledge that time is precious, and that we must be grateful for each and every day. I will say, at the risk of sounding like a cliche, that spending time with my grandchildren is the most guaranteed way of forgetting my heartaches and fears. I spend an hour with two of my grandsons, who are teenagers, and I laugh so hard it hurts. Since we’ve retired, my husband and I have been traveling quite a bit, which always takes me out of myself, but coming home can sometimes be brutal. This year I volunteered to prepare tax returns for elderly (ha-ha, more elderly than me…) and indigent people through AARP, and it was a wonderful experience I plan to repeat this coming year. Helping others was good for my heart, and seeing how some people survive on such small incomes each year, really made me grateful. I guess for me the best revenge is not giving in to the constant pressure and fear caused by the passing of time, and instead relishing what Emerson called “the unguarded epiphanies of every blessed day.”
Thanks, Louise, for your deep and personal message. I just saw the documentary, “Love, Gilda,” about Gilda Radner’s rather brief life. It made me laugh, and cry. She had ovarian cancer, but it was decades ago, and I wonder if there might be better treatments now than what were available then. If you have a chance to watch it, it will probably make you laugh, and remind you, as it did me, of the joy and healing power of laughter.
Emerson had what we would now diagnose as Alzheimer’s at the end of his life. He wrote that he gave a lecture from written notes, and afterward, had no idea what he was lecturing about. But he had equanimity. When a friend asked how he was, Emerson is reported to have said, “Quite well. I have lost my mental faculties but am perfectly well.” I wrote about it for Newsweek, at https://www.saradavidson.com/my-mothers-case-of-pleasant-dementia
Hi Sara,
One of my favorite sayings about aging well – perhaps you’ve heard it – is: “Getting older is inevitable; acting older is an option.” I always pretend to be considerably younger than I am and, so far, it keeps my body and mind happy.
Warm regards,
Karl
Great idea, Karl. Carry on!
Hi Sara, I’ve loved your writing and with this blog, I’ll continue to do so. I’ve written several books (two on aging) and at 70 now I know I’d write them differently. I’d focus more on the value of community. And not just gatherings of women my age, but of various ages. For example, I volunteer to facilitate a group for women writers and another group for folks interested in discussing metaphysical topics. One day a week I mentor a young girl at the local junior high school. Even though I struggle with disabling physical challenges, this girl and members of these groups inspire, uplift and teach me and for a few blissful hours each week I forget the pain. Pain reduction without prescription medication!! Thanks again, Sara for writing this blog. Oh, and congrats on the beautiful new grandchild 🎉
Thanks, Blair. I love that helping people in your community brings “Pain reduction without prescription medication!!” I’m experiencing the same.
Recently I ignored my 70th birthday, and the 4 weeks prior to the “event that shall not be named,” I was an emotional mess. The birthday hit me hard. Only a few friends of my approximate age could sympathize with me, and after the fact, I meditated earnestly on what I could do to feel better.
The operative word is “do.” Since retirement last year, I’ve kept myself busy with this and that, but I’ve noticed this and that isn’t contributing to society, a role which I dearly miss. I’m searching for my new role and trolling the internet for ideas.
One exercise that reaped ideas was tracing back to what I enjoyed in high school and my 20’s. What was my passion then? Fiber arts, especially knitting!
Now I knit, sit and wait for an inspiration. I’m happy I’m not alone.
Great idea, Marianne, to think back on what enlivened you in your younger days. A lot of men do that and come up with… riding motorcycles! I prefer what you’re doing. Knit on!
Congratulations on your new grandbaby! What an exciting moment to witness and be a part of, I am sure it was very special. My heart bursts for you. Conversely, I am so sorry for your loss. Losing a close friend and spiritual guide makes the heart ache. Truly little lights coming on and great ones flickering out. Thank you for sharing your experiences.
I agree, living well as a revenge doesn’t jive. Life is certainly not easy, but I always remind myself to cherish the little things. It’s not the big vacations that will stick, but rather the little moments with my son playing with pots and pans on the kitchen floor. And I know I will blink and that phase will be gone, they grow up too fast.
How true, Gina. It’s the little moments that we need to cherish. That truly nourish us. Thanks.
Opening my email and finding a new blog post from you is always a surprise and a treat. Thanks for continuing to share your life and insights
So well said. It is difficult to ask people to embrace the pain to avoid suffering.
Your latest note, Sara, had some really important thoughts in it. I mull over what I need to be doing with the years I have left almost every day–not to obsess, but to explore and discover, to see what is around me as clearly as I make plans for future events. Thank you– Rosemary
I thought you might enjoy downloading this app.
Regards
Ed and Tanja
https://www.wecroak.com/
Thank you Ed & Tanja. I signed up for this. Looks interesting & inspiring.
I also signed up for it, Ed and Tanja. I love the title, “Wecroak.”
Thank you for sharing your feelings and thoughts about how to do the best of the life and time we have when we grow older ! I’ am 68 now and every day find me with this same question!
Living each day with all my heart, mind and soul and trying to learn a little more about myself and the others arond me, is what seems we can do now. Take care with love of ourselves and with empathy for others, always!
thank you again
Ilana
Psychanalist and writer
São Paulo/ Brazil
At age 92, I think often about what a meaningful life looks like. My church discussion group enjoyed “The December Project” and I look forward to your blog.
Thank you for the beautifully descriptive account of this wonderful event.
Looking forward to hearing more as the stories unfold.
Have a beautiful day!
I wanted to tell you how much I enjoyed The December Project, which I finally read all the way through. In my real life in California I don’t seem to get books read, but I just spent two weeks in our old cabin outside of Estes Park (it belonged to my grandparents) with no TV and actually read a few books! Yours was one of the books I had left there to read.
Thank you for telling me about Rachel Cowan; I had just been thinking of the Cowans as one of Paul’s books was mentioned in a Peace Corps book I had been reading.
Nearly 30 years ago, the Cowans brought me to Judaism through their books (particularly their Mixed Blessings and Paul’s An Orphan In History. I was always a Jew but felt conflicted by it as I grew up in a biracial and interfaith home.
I’m in my mid 50s and read Loose Change as a 14 year old in 1977. Somehow I hadn’t seen this post but then I was scrolling through old email tonight and here it was. Serendipity.
Dancing with God – what an interesting concept. Entirely mystical. A foreshadowing of eternity, especially if you like to dance. Glad to hear of your becoming a doula, Sara. I’ve now logged seven years with my shepherd-husky mix “Cooper” as a therapy-dog minder at Hospice. So many stories. After all, Dog is God spelled backwards! Godspeed
“Dancing Lesson’s From God” is a beautiful post. Your reading of Cather’s novel to Ruth may have seemed like a mistake, but I believe there are no coincidences in life and death. I think that maybe you were to be there for Ruth too.
I have been a caregiver for many people. I was enrolled in a Master’s Degree of Spirituality when my Mother went through the final stage of Alzheimer’s disease. As part of my degree, we had to go through a mortuary where they prepare bodies for burial. What actually killed my mom was a massive stroke, but she held on for three agonizing days. Finally, I told her it was ok for her to let go. I went home and got some sleep with my father, mom died that night. I still miss her, but I knew I was not helping her holding on, and she was clinging onto life for her family.
Thank you for writing this piece for all Alzheimer’s Patients who deserve dignity and not to be forgotten.
Ah yes. I have often explained to people how to feel pain without the suffering.
Embrace it. Be grateful for it ,for it is the teacher for the lessons you have come here to learn.
It takes patience and practice to learn how to do it.
No need to suffer at all.
Hi Sarah: I’m commenting on the idea of living the next 3 months as if they are your last. The idea frightens me. What did you do?
The most important thing was to “start at the end.” and use the “best three months” to insure we’d have the end we wanted. If we wanted to die in our home, we secured info on how to do that. If I wanted to ask forgiveness or give it, I did that. If I wanted to be more accepting of death, I tried to think of what would help me get there–in my case, practicing Tai Chi Chih meditation, reviewing my life and giving thanks for the marvelous experiences and learning. Most important, forgiving myself for all the things I wish I’d done or hadn’t done. And spending more time with friends and family. This is what we should probably strive to do all the time, since we don’t know what will be our last months or even minutes. Does that make it clearer? xx Sara ps – please let me know if you get this message. We’re trying out a new link to let people respond to each other.
Hi Sara, I also practice meditation and tai chi chih. It is calming and peaceful and enables one to accept what comes one’s way.
Like the previous writer I have met a nice man (I am 74 & he 72). We are both currently in good health and enjoy exploring new places, talking, laughing and just enjoying each other’s company. Who knew in our 70s!
So thank you for this blog and for sharing your life and thoughts with us.
Susan
Hola Sara,
Thanks for this great read! Congratulations to you and family on the entrance of another precious child. Also congrats on your latest endeavor – death doula.
I feel I am in the childhood of my old age at (almost) 65. Although I have what they call a healthy life style I know that my physical aspect and well being are going to be more and more compromised. Starting yesterday – with a new temporary denture. I’m already dealing with glaucoma and a slight hearing loss.
I also am almost two years into the first significant relationship with a man since divorcing more than a decade ago. It is wondrous and sometimes daunting – the saying “we aren’t getting any younger” is evident on both our faces (and bodies) and yet we somehow find each other attractive. We are sad we didn’t meet earlier in life but who knows – only with our accumulated life experience can we appreciate what a blessing it is to have found each other…and the courage to face life’s end together – hopefully.
I have a little grandson who is the other light in my life. I am nourished on a daily basis by the love shared in these primary relationships.
And yet…I feel a niggling anxiety.
Am I realizing my full creative potential?
Am I contributing to my community?
How can I give back – show my gratitude for so much good fortune in my life?
Sara, your constant questioning and experimenting with each stage of life is an inspiration for me.
Thanks to all those who are sharing on this page. Wonderful to feel I’m in the same boat with such intelligent and compassionate people!
Sara, while I was not surprised by you adding doula to your already long list of mindful names, I was impressed and heartened by how beautifully you took to the role and title.
Thanks, Marian, for your kind words. Long time no see! I’m sure you’ve been up to good works, as always.