I crossed 50

I don't even remember my password to get in to my blogger account. Yeah, it's been a while. I did not want to write anymore and still don't. But today, I feel that I have to start again. But what do I want to talk about? Let's start with how I feel about turning 50, well, it is not "turning" anymore because it arrived 8 months ago. In my previous blog I talked about turning 50 and how much I looked forward to it. I said that because I had fun in my 40's. Even with my conversations being peppered with words like peri, menopause and hormonal avalanche, I had more highs than lows. It was a mentally and emotionally challenging years but momentous nonetheless. But now everything is taxing - physically, emotionally and mentally. I have slowly accepted the fact that Victoria can no longer hold my Secret. Thongs still fit but only if I wear it in between my toes. Regardless that I adjust the strap all the way to my shoulder to pull them totoys up, they still like to race as to which one would get to the knees first. My friend Lynn used to offer me her daughters used clothes, now she offers me hers.
Four years ago, my doctor told me to start doing exercises that builds muscles to avoid thickening around the waist. I reasoned that I need to sleep more than I need to squat and besides, I need fat for padding for when I round them corners carelessly. I should have listened because now, I can't turn a corner without strategic planning. Not only does my knees crackle, my hip needs 2 weeks advance notice before it will even turn.

So what am I trying to say? Fifty is definitely different. It makes me rethink of my position in life. I no longer think so much of where I should live (Philippines or Texas) but where I should be buried. Only a year ago, I wished for a husband to enjoy the days of travel and food adventures with me. Only a year ago, I imagined a husband to cuddle up with on cold nights but now, I get panic attacks just thinking about sharing my 600 count bedsheets and not being able to sleep diagonally across my king size bed.

But really, being 50 is not all bad. Fifty is the springtime of the second half of our life---euphemism for menopause. At 50, I have become more philosophical to which I can do things I am not supposed to do or skip the things I am expected to do. All can be explained away by saying, "Well, you know, since I turned 50, I don't retain much information; the only thing I retain now is water."
When people say nasty things about me, I have a hard time putting together who said what and when.
And when I am praised or given a compliment, I don't get a big head--I simply grin and silently say "of course, because I'm perfect."
As Dr. Christiane Northrup says : Menopause is the perfect time to download who we are and play it out loud.

In search of Home

From my journal of 2006 - when I was in Cebu

After a long and agonizing flight from Dallas, I landed at Hongkong airport with a renewed energy. I say agonizing because when I left Dallas I was sad leaving behind friends, a boyfriend and my 30-year old daughter who was bawling after she dropped me off at the airport. On my lay over in San Francisco waiting for my flight to Hongkong, I contemplated on canceling the Asia leg of my flight and just turn around and go back home. But where is home? All my earthly possessions were in storage and some are on the belly of the Boeing 747. The sadness I felt was paralyzing but there is no looking back, I have let go of my apartment in Dallas to travel around Southeast Asia and try living as a female nomad then eventually settle down in my country of birth; the Philippines.
We landed ahead of schedule in Hongkong so I had more time to roam around but the only place that was open was Starbucks. I was glad to see it but after considering a cup of regular coffee which costs as much as feeding a family of 15 in Cebu, I decided to exercise my legs instead. I then took pictures of the planes against the backdrop of early morning sunlight beaming the cap of the mountains. A Filipino man approached me and offered to take the camera from me and took my picture with the planes and the mountains behind me. I asked where he came from. He would not tell me; all he would say is that he is a nomad. I did not like him already because of his evasive answer. A Filipino vagabond? I don’t know of a Filipino vagabond except the ones’ roaming around the streets in Cebu in tattered clothes and sleeps on the sidewalk. Proudly, I told him I live in the US even without him asking me.

The flight from Hongkong to Cebu takes less than three hours and after flying for 13 hours from the United States; this feels like a skip and a jump. An American friend of mine who now lives in Malaysia told me once that he feels like kissing the ground every time he lands in Asia from a trip abroad. This is how I feel everytime I land in Cebu. But this time I had mixed emotions; I was not happy nor was I sad. The ambivalence bothered me. I hold an American passport but I don’t feel American when I am in America, yet as soon as I land in Cebu, I could not wait to hand my passport to the immigration officer so he would see that I am an American. And that I am proud to be an American. This makes me realize that I don’t know who I am anymore. In Texas where I have lived the last 20 years, I always say, “ I want to go home” every time I think of going back to Cebu for a visit. But once in Cebu, I don’t feel I am home. When I see the word “Balikbayan –1 year” (returning Filipino permitted to stay 1 year) stamped on my passport I don’t know what to think. Should I be glad that I am permitted to stay that long? Or should I be mad that I am now told how long I can stay in my native country?

My friend Julie married an Australian and lives in Australia; she comes back to the Philippines every year. Her husband retired from Qantas Airlines and has travel privileges with the airline, he complains that Julie does not want to travel to other places but comes back to Cebu every year then complains about everything when she is in Cebu. I asked her where she considers home. She shrugged her shoulders, “I wish I know.” We talked about the pollution and population explosion in the island. The island is dirty, the politicians corrupt and the vehicular congestion topped off by the Filipinos affinity to diesel-powered vehicles. So why come back? The answer reminds me of what this actress said when asked where she likes best, Dallas or New York. (She was from Dallas and now lives in New York) “ Dallas is like, you have to go there because your mother lives there,” she says.
Connie married an American and has lived in so many countries because her husband worked for an oil company that makes him travel all over the world. She now lives in Malaysia for the last 15 years where I visited her recently. She owns a beautiful and spacious home there, one of the very few homes I would like to have. She makes this home for her husband Ron; she gets involved in every community affairs and knows almost everyone in the island. Her sister and son lives with them and yet, she is building another home in her hometown in the Philippines, with the intent of “one day going home.” Ron wants to be buried in the Philippines because he said that he wants to be where Connie will be; he is certain that is where Connie will live once he dies.

Don is buried in Cebu with the thought that Cebu will be most likely the place where I would ultimately park my old bones and I want him close by me. But Chat is in the US, and I don't feel I should be anywhere but near her. Choices.....it depresses me.

So where is home? Jesus said He is preparing a place for those who trusts Him and that one day He will come back to welcome us to Himself. There's the answer-thank God.

Enriched and Hollowed out

I watched Anthony Bourdain as he was leaving a jungle village in Malaysia and he said something that reverberated in my bones. " I don't feel like I belong here, but I also don't feel like I belong back in New York anymore-- is it possible to be enriched and hollowed out at the same time?" He said that with this look in his eye that seem to say he was deeply pained. Or was it just my imagination, knowing that it is me who was pained by the statement.

I want to live in Spain, in Malaysia, in Cebu or wherever just as long as it is different. I say that all the time, but when I think about moving to another apartment outside of the same area I am used to, I dread and I fear. Confused? yes. Restless? yes.

When I travel, I travel alone and that's the way I prefer it unless it is with a boyfriend or husband. I have no problem getting on a plane( alone) and go to another totally foreign country but at home, I go to the same gas station, same restaurant, same grocery store. Outside of that familiarity, I don't venture out because I don't do well if I do. I have tried to analyze myself on why I do what I do. I could come up with an acceptable excuse but not a valid answer. I don't think a psychiatrist is necessary because I feel that as long as I want to analyze myself, then I must still be ok. I need a psychiatrist to write prescriptions to knock me out of my lunacy sometimes but even that I am hesitant to do, because someone said (was it Willie Nelson) that he is glad to be crazy because "it keeps him from going insane."

This question of "sense of belonging" has haunted me constantly. I know that God created us with this need to be needed, the need to feel wanted and the need to belong. When we don't feel any one of these needs, then we are in trouble. Hardness and bitterness will set in if we lose the right perspective on these things. God has granted me the favor of being well liked by most people, but I have to tell you, before I developed a personal relationship with Jesus, I did not accept this favor, this gift from God. So I walked around with this chip on my shoulder, feeling sorry for myself, unwanted and mad at everyone. I do not want to go back there, but every once in a while, I feel the old self resurfacing and this happens mostly when I feel trapped by financial restrictions. I only have 2 vices -travel and spa treatments, oh and food. As long as I am able to do these things, I don't feel trapped, thus I am happy.

So let me go back to whatever my point of this rant was; being enriched and hollowed out at the same time. Yes, it is possible to feel both at the same time. But right now, I am only feeling hollowed, so I better drive over to some market and be enriched. At least, temporarily.

Problems or Opportunities

My son in-law's uncle came to visit him last week and over lunch with them I mentioned my latest car woes. Trying to empathize with me, he said jokingly, "I am going to get a horse and get rid of my truck, because I too, am tired of car repairs". I started to like the horse idea but very quickly I realized that as long as we are breathing, there will always be costs to pay. Horses will break down too, then you have to make a choice; horsemeat stew or vet bill.

I drive an old Mercury Mystique that I bought three and a half years ago. I paid cash for it because I don't want a monthly bill. The car is clean and runs well until one day it stopped cold in the middle of the road and my mechanic changed the timing belt. It has not been the same since. I got very frustrated and even angry, but I thought to myself that at least it is not my body that got messed up. I have taken it to 3 different mechanics including my favorite ones from Ghana. None could figure out why it jerks, like it is choking.

I received all kinds of opinions and advice, but they are just that. In all of these, I have to thank God that I have friends who are willing to help me. There's Don who got dirty crawling on the ground trying to change my tire. Actually his efforts were spent mostly on trying to figure out how to operate his industrial jack ( he just bought one and wanted to show it off) he did not know how to lower it after you raise the car. I have not operated one myself, but I know it should not be that hard. And he calls me everyday checking on my car. Then there's Billy, he is recovering from a liver cancer surgery and yet happily and willingly took the time to go with me to different garages. And after I casually mentioned to him that I need a better paying job to afford a better car, went on to get me an interview for a job with one of his friends in the electronics industry. Another friend offered a weekend get away to temporarily forget my car woes.

There are days when I could not see the light, all I could focus on is the black and empty space. No hope, no relief and things unraveling in my head. But at the end of the day, I stop and see a glimmer of hope. I recall the past of how God has always carried me through. On days when I could not see Him, I could feel His hand. When I could not feel His hand, I know I could trust His heart. And on real dark days that I doubt His heart, I don't worry because even when I am faithless, He remains faithful.

My car problem is not over yet- I don't know what the future holds, but I know Who holds the future. After all, I am in America, a land where "Be all you can be" is not just a military slogan, but a promise of reality to everyone.
I am thankful that I got this car problem, because now, I am forced to scrutinize my spending habits. Am I squandering my time and money? What area of my lifestyle needs to change? What do I need to cut back on in order to be able to save? Money saved is money earned.

At times when I feel sorry for myself for not having a husband or a boyfriend to take care of me, I have to shift gear immediately. Being single carry its' own merit. If I have a boyfriend, I would not have a lot of other male friends who makes me feel special. But on the other hand, if I have a boyfriend, when my car breaks down I only need to make one phone call instead of going down the list. Ah, you just can't have it all.

Them Jews

"We are Catholics" my parents and everyone around me said that. I did not know what that meant, but growing up I was told anything other than that was a cult. And when I did something bad as a child, my parents and siblings would then say " you are a Jew"- implying that I was as bad as the "Jews who killed Jesus." I bet you the Pope's adviser at the time was also the personal adviser of Adolph. After all, Adolph lived closer to Rome while my parents island was just a squigly among the thousands of islands in the Philippines. Yet, that man in the Vatican controlled my household and them Filipinos like puppets. And them hooligans claimed they went to 4 years of seminary schooling, but how come they don't know that although it was the Jews who made the cross and pound on the spikes, it is our sins who killed Jesus that "the scriptures might be fulfilled."

To a lot of Filipinos, Ninoy Aquino is a hero. Not that I would dare compare Jesus to Ninoy. Jesus is a Jew killed by the Jews, ok. Them Filipinos pulled the trigger on Ninoy, so why don't we call our malfunctioning filipino kids " you're a Flip ".


I have learned to love the Jews not because of my late husband, but through reading the Old Testament. If I claim to love God and God is and was patient and nurturing towards them inspite of their being "stubborn and stiffnecked" who am I to do otherwise? When God calls on an individual, God will accomplish His purpose regardless of that persons obedience or disobedience. God is not only long suffering, He is nurturing and forbearing. I want to show a few examples of how God's calling is irrevocable.

Abraham : For him to leave his country and family to "a land I will show you" an unclear order from God as to where that place is, yet Abraham pulled up stakes and left. But somewhere along the way, Abraham had some doubts about God's promises to him, or he would not have presented Sara (his wife) to Abimelech as his sister because of fear. Also, why give in to Sara's haste of having a child by Hagar if he was sure that God would give him a son from his own body, as He promised?
Then there's Gideon asking for signs (2 signs) before he will do what he was called to do -so he can be sure it is of God.
And what about Moses, explaining to God why he can't be His spokesman to led Israel out of Egypt. As if God did not know his frailties and his strenghts already? Isn't Moses' reluctance and explanation to God a sign that he really was not sure if God can deliver? Did God change his plan and agreed to use somebody else instead because Moses doubted Him? No, He gave in to Moses request to use Aaron but only as his assistant then went on the explain to Moses ; Who made man's mouth , or who makes him mute or deaf, or seeing or blind? Is it not I, the Lord?"
And what about David? Solomon and Peter? I can go on and on, and show how God nurtures and show patience to people.

God put The Jews in charge of the oracles of God. God knows that their stubborness will be useful in His ultimate purpose in the end. His messenger (the Jews) will carry HIS message the way HE intended it to be, regardless that we don't think so. In the end, the Jews will lead us to the perfect blessing from the Jewish Meshia but for now, we should not withhold our love to the unbelieving sons of Israel. Christians are supposed to make the Jews jealous..in the sense that we claim and live out Yeshua HaMeshia as the fountain of life.
Pray for the peace of Jerusalem and eat from the heritage of Jacob.

Another Today

As I was going through old photos, cards and letters, I have once again been reminded that life has to be lived in the present only. I have worried senselessly in the past about the future. Today, I started to fret again. I want things to happen but not sure what things. I am mourning the demise of a relationship but also eager to see what's going to open up for me. Doors are opening but my heart keeps yearning for the past and missing the future; what could have been. Why couldn't he love me as much as I loved him? I have not loved anyone as much, but it must not be enough for him.

We love who we love and we should never apologize for it.

I have made a big decision in my life this last week. I was told never to make a major decision soon after an end of a relationship, but I know that this is the only way to proceed. I already got someone involved so I have to go through with it. I may have decided in haste but for now it makes me feel good and it enables me to get up in the morning again with a sense of purpose.

I will be leaving friends and loved ones, but sooner or later, each of us will have to do what we have to do anyway. New beginnings, new sorrows and pain. But nevertheless, it has to be faced.

TODAY

I don't even know who Murphy is but the often quoted Murphy's Law "What can possibly go wrong, has" did happen to me this last 2 weeks. My car, my body, my personal love life has given way to breaking down. What could possibly break down, has.

TODAY, as I was listening to the singing and preaching at church, I realized that repentance about our sins does not come as easily when we want to. Of course we have to want to repent, but most importantly and very necessary is the help of God for us to "truly repent". True repentance only happens from the heart, not from the mind. My mind has told me so many times in my life of the things I needed to repent, but my heart continues to misbehave and do it's own thing anyway.

When things don't go well in our life, we need to ask God why things are happening and learn the lesson that needs to be learned and move on. Some things are not always clear, as to how we should proceed. This is when we really need the wisdom of God.

TODAY, I also was enlightened about prayers. Most of the public prayers I have heard in church are about telling God "how much we love Him, that we will serve Him and praise Him." God knows how and what we feel towards Him. But instead, we should rephrase it and "ask" God to "help us, to love Him, serve and praise Him, in the way that pleases Him."

In the bible, Jesus warned : by their fruits you shall know them. Actions, not words. I have no problem with corporate prayers but my problem is when we toot our own horns about "how much we love God". I believe that corporate prayers should be to petition God to enable us - because without God, we could not even love Him. To arrive at true repentance we need God - to calm and discipline our heart. NO other way will work, and no other work will suffice.

TODAY, also is a red letter day for me. About 2 months ago, when I visited the Holocaust museum, inside by the front desk a sign reads " Remember Darfur". I had no clue where or what is happening in Darfur. I heard of it but resigned it to some political "crap" I thought. Then I happen to read on it again and I started to feel a pang in my heart about it. I said " No, Lord, not Darfur." I am not going to Darfur. Well, how can I get to Darfur? Again, no Lord, not Darfur.
Well, TODAY, the founder of Safe Harbor International spoke in our church about Darfur. Am I going to Darfur? Ask God.

Living and Let Die

There's a Hindu belief that formulated the course of a human life into 4 distinct stages. I am not well versed on the Hindu teachings but this I find to be noteworthy. Something to ponder upon.

1st stage - Childhood and Youth
2nd stage- Householder, child-bearing, building a family
3rd stage - Retirement to a forest hut, live simply and talk philosophy
4th stage - Renunciation of wealth and prepare for death.

I want to talk about each stage as it applies to me. As a child and into my youth, unlike some who remembers every detail of their childhood, I only remember bits and pieces. What I remember must hold deep meanings. It was a childhood of labor, most of it was spent in school or in the farm working or peddling produce from the farm. I did very well in school, always finished as valedictorian of the class until my last 2 years of elementary school. I got sick with typhoid fever which kept me out for almost 2 months, and when I got back in school, I was very weak. And even though I did not really try hard for the honor, I graduated with 2nd honor to the valedictorian. I did not like school, I only enjoyed the time when we did the gardening or when my boy friends play any game that we can throw a bet on.

I eloped and married at 17, had a baby at 19 and found myself -a child raising a child. It was a season of confusion, bewilderment and personal shake up but it was also the beginning of a life truly lived. My daughter was born and even though, I was overwhelmed with the new role I had to play, she served as my guide stick - like how blind people use it to feel the path before them. Chat and I, even though we lived with our extended family, it was unspoken but understood, the family we will build is just her and me. Her father chose not to build with us.

Four days ago, I turned 50. To some it is middle age, to others it is a number they don't want to talk about. I have been waiting for this number to come and it is here and I love it. If God chose to give me this long life, I must be special, therefore I am grateful. The number does not define me, I define the number. I don't feel it is the retirement year as to "not working" kind of retirement. But I feel it is time to retreat to a forest hut. Of course anyone who lives in a hut has to live simply and be philosophical.

The other day, I laid out all my jewelries that I have accumulated through the years, trying to find a way to store them. These are not cheap ones, I thought, and at one point they were what defined me. About 6 years ago, I started to feel the burden of this material things in my life. I started to feel not only the heaviness of the metals on my body, I also started to see the worlds' goods growing strangely dim. And what a liberating feeling! I then slowly understood that in order to prepare for death, I have to master the art of living. Slowly, I have learned to shed off the things that so entangles me, but daily I am reminded that it is not easy. Daily, I push myself ( I say push, because again, it is not easy) to focus on the real wealth that I have inherited, this is not to be renounced but to be preserved, protected, cherished and be grateful for. What I have in Christ transcends everything the world has offered and continues to offer.
Thomas Kempis, a 14th century Christian monk prayed that he wouldn't die of sudden death, but rather be given the knowledge that he was dying so he can prepare to let go of the body and return to the Divine his spirit.
My prayer is simple but is born out of fear; I pray for my mind to be blocked so I don't hear the murmuring and complains of my caregivers on my last days on earth, but I also want a lucid mind so I can see the curtain part open before I cross over and feel Jesus leading me to the father. But before I cross over I need to live. And live abundantly.

Rolls Royce and The Salvation Army

I first visited Hongkong in 1984. My American boyfriend wanted me to meet him there for the weekend because he was working in Guangzhou and I was living in Manila. It was my first trip outside of the Philippines and yes, I was 27 and never been away from the farm. Jerry made all the arrangements and you bet, it was always the best money can buy. I know that now.

Jerry told me to just follow the sign after I clear immigrations and customs and he would be outside the door waiting. I was so nervous I just wanted to see him and know he was there. And there he was just as he said. We headed towards a black car with a uniformed driver opening the door for us. He told me we were staying at the Peninsula. Ok, I have been to the Pen in Manila, but what do you call this car? I have not seen one like this. Rolls Royce, he said.
When we arrived at the hotel, he mumbled something about afternoon tea. I was not interested in tea or the afternoon --I was mesmerized by the "grandeur" of the hotel lobby. But back then my vocabulary was very limited I could not have used mesmerized and grandeur at the same time. It was more like “Wow! Damn, look at this sh..”
We got to the room, and the first thing Jerry said was " don't pack that robe in your suitcase when we check out, I am not paying for it" I did not notice the robe hanging in the bathroom until he mentioned it. Jerry is just so romantic that way.

Our room was overlooking the water with the view of the buildings across in the Hongkong side. Jerry took a picture of me looking out the window. He gets tickled, he says watching my eyes grow big from excitement. We ate and shopped. And after seeing all the Chinese trinkets on the sidewalk, the pearls and the 24 carat gold chains and bangles in every corner and no money of my own to buy, I hinted to Jerry that I needed a blender. See? It’s only 35 Hongkong dollars. But he said I don't need it. Then he bought me a Hermes scarf from the Hermes store. I never wore it, but I still keep it, just to remind me the difference between need and want.

In 1986 I married someone else, also an American, and in November 1997 for our 10th wedding anniversary, Don and I came to Hongkong. It was the first for Don but this time it is different because Don did not have money like Jerry. We stayed at the Salvation Army’s Booth Lodge. We checked in around 2 a.m. wide-awake, Don started humming Amazing Grace while I checked out the bathroom. Definitely not The Pen. Don’s always happy anywhere; we sat in bed singing hymns until we fell asleep. The lodges’ cafe was its’ redemption because it was like having a meal in your porch. One time while out shopping, we found ourselves sitting in a restaurant where no one spoke English but we did not want to leave because the food on other people’s plates made us salivate. We managed to order using our hand pointing at other people’s food. Food and shopping in Hongkong we love but the elbow-to-elbow crowd of people made me feel claustrophobic. In fact, when 9/11 happened, the pandemonium on the street of New York reminded me of one afternoon when Don and I were walking back to the lodge and people packed every street you could not walk fast if you wanted to. The first couple of days we were in Hongkong we learned to just duck into an eating-place, which is everywhere whenever the crowds overwhelmed us. One time we ducked into a jewelry store and came out with pearl earrings.
Don loved Hongkong but he loves the flight attendants of Cathay Pacific more. Even flying cattle class, Don always acted like he was eating in a Michelin-star restaurant. He would run the flight attendants rugged asking for this and that. I would remind him we were at 32000 feet- under the mercy of a pilot not pampered by a chef. He loved the Cathay Pacific attendants "because they are always pleasant and gentle unlike other airlines" is his standard line when he brags to our friends. "And they are sooo pretty." Now, that part ticked me off.

Don really enjoyed his first trip to Hongkong, that even during the SARS panic, he refused to fly on another airline. When we flew in 2003 to supposedly retire in Cebu, he was not well. As soon as we boarded, Don immediately flopped into his seat making the other seats next to him his own. We were told at the Cathay Pacific counter the plane was almost empty because people were afraid to fly because of the SARS.

In 2005 my daughter Chat and her husband John honeymooned in Asia with Hongkong as their jump off city to get back to the US. Chat liked Hongkong because of the shopping – she bought all kinds of imitation anything ( she gets the flu if she does not buy) and she loved the train system. She would love the horse and buggy too as long as it would take her to the mall. And John? He crinkles them lips and rolls his eyes. Yes, even with his almost real Rolex.

One day, We will all be

I have finally set up my office --right in the middle of my living room. I liked this apartment because it was brand new when I moved in, I also liked the niche that served as computer/office space. The smallness of it did not make me feel cramped but rather secure, yet, regardless of the things I like in it, it just don't feel homey. But today I am going to tackle the task of trying to make it one. I will attempt to make it look like someone actually lives here. But I will not be at peace til I share this article I have filed away more than 5 years ago. This was written by a physician and published by Focus on the Family; the brain-child of Dr. James Dobson. It still touches me.

“The Golden Rule, Revisited”

They lie there, breathing heavy gasps, contracted into a fetal position. Ironic, that they should live 80 or 90 years, then return to the posture of their childhood. But they do. Sometimes their voices are mumbles and whispers like those of infants or toddlers. I have seen them, unaware of anything for decades, crying out for parents long since passed away.

I recall one who had begun to sleep excessively, and told her daughter that a little girl slept with her each night. I don’t know what she saw. Maybe an infant she lost, or a sibling, cousin or friend from years long gone. But I do know what I see when I stand by the bedside of the infirm aged. Though their bodies are skin-covered sticks and their minds an inescapable labyrinth, I see something surprising. I see something beautiful and horrible, hopeful and hopeless. What I see is my children, long after I leave them, as they end their days.
This vision comes to me sometimes when I stand by the bedside in my emergency department, and look over the ancient form that lies before me, barely aware of anything. Usually the feeling comes in those times when I am weary and frustrated from making too many decisions too fast, in the middle of the night. Into the midst of this comes a patient from a local nursing home, sent for reasons I can seldom discern.
I walk into the room and roll my cynical eyes at the nurse. She hands me the minimal data sent with the patient, and I begin the detective work. And just when I’m most annoyed, just when I want to do nothing and send them back, I look at them. And then I touch them. And then, as I imagine my sons, tears well up and I see the error of my thoughts. For one day, it may be.

One day, my little boys, still young enough to kiss me and think me heroic, may lie before another cynical doctor, in the middle of the night of their dementia, and need care. More than medicine, they will need compassion. They will need someone to have the insight to look at them and say, “Here was once a child, cherished and loved, who played games in the nursery with his mother and father. Here was a child who put teeth under pillows, and loved bedtime stories, crayons and stuffed animals. Here was a treasure of love to a man and a woman long gone. How can I honor them? By treating their child with love and gentility. By seeing that their child has come full circle to infancy once more, and will soon be born once more into forever.”

This vision is frightful because I will not be there to comfort them, or to say, “ I am here” when they call out, unless God grants me the gift of speaking across forever. It is painful because I will not be there to serve them as I did in life, and see that they are treated as what they are: unique and wonderful, made in the image of the Creator, and of their mother and me. It is terrible because our society treats the aged as worse than a burden; it treats them as tragedies of time. It seems hopeless because when they contract and lie motionless, no one will touch them with the love I have for them, or know the history of their scars, visible and invisible. I am the walking library of their lives, and I will be unavailable. All I can do is ask, while I live, for Gods’ mercy on them, as they grow older.

And yet, the image has beauty and hope as well. Because if I see my little boys, as aged and infirm, I can dream that their lives were long and rich. I can dream that they filled their lucid years with greatness and love that they knew God and served Him well, and were men of honor and gentility. I can imagine that even if they live in their shadow land alone, somewhere children and grandchildren, even great-grandchildren thrive. I can hope that their heirs come to see them, and care, and harass the staff of the nursing home to treat Grandpa better. I can hope that they dare not allow my boys to suffer, but that they hold no illusions about physical immortality, and will let them come to their mother and me when the time arrives. And best, I can know that their age and illness will only bring the day of that reunion closer.

My career as an emergency room physician has taught me something very important about dealing with the sick and injured, whether young or old. It has taught me that the Golden Rule also can be stated this way: “Do unto others as you would have others do unto your children.” I think that this is a powerful way to improve out interactions with others, not just in medicine but in every action of our lives. And it is certainly a unique way to view our treatment of the elderly. For one day all our children will be old. And only if this lesson has been applied will they be treated with anything approaching the love that only we, their parents, hope for them to always have.
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