Once a month I facilitate a group called WISE -- Women Investigating, Supporting, and Exploring -- a gathering at my Unitarian Universalist church for women over 60. We investigate what it is to be an "elder", how our culture views us, and what we can do to bust a few myths of aging. We support each other with sharing of joys and sorrows, challenges and victories. We explore where we are and where we are going next, setting goals, making plans, making peace, and still raising our fists, fighting to the end for a better world. We laugh a lot too.
Yesterday we exchanged recipes, which is about the most traditionally "old lady" thing we've ever done. We had a blast, each pulling a recipe out of a passed basket, then listening as the person who brought the recipe told the story behind it; why it was special to her. We also talked about what kind of Christmas we are having this year: Joyous, Lonely, Cranky, Broke, Sick… there are all kinds of responses to this season, not all of them Merry and Bright. Our minister gave a really good sermon on this topic right before our WISE gathering.
Something that came up for one woman was acknowledged by many. There comes a time, often, when we are no longer the hub of the magic. We are "retired" from being at the center of the festivities, as kids marry and move away, go to the in-laws instead, or just decide they don't really like Christmas. Maybe we've lost a spouse, or have moved to a smaller house, or just don't feel like continuing with all the hoopla. Sometimes Christmas sucks.
We decided there is a degree of freedom in stepping back, but there is also the possibility of a great deal of grief when our role changes, often not of our choosing.
My "kids" still come to our home for the holidays and I am grateful for that. Yet there are times when I feel sad about losing the place of importance and primacy in my grown sons lives. We were so close when they were young and my life pretty much revolved around them. Gladly so. Yet, the successful outcome of all of those years of dedication is bittersweet…they grew strong, independent, and capable of creating families and lives of their own.
There are times when I miss the "old days" and indulge in a bit of longing for more closeness and intimacy at times. I feel a little sorry for myself and that feels good -- to acknowledge my sadness and aloneness. Then I dust myself off and realize the days of holding them in my arms, tousling their hair, hearing their most secret hopes, dreams, frustrations and griefs may be gone, but...
My job isn't really finished. I continue to teach and show them the way, just as I always have. I continue to model for them what I hope for them to experience as "elders" -- a life that is lived at a slower pace, but one still filled with passion and purpose.
I can still reach out to them in ways they can accept now -- with a text or a phone call or a Facebook post, a small gift, a word of encouragement, a reminiscence, a loving hug, a weekly family dinner. I am there for them, a constant in their busy lives, even when they don't notice.
I am there, just as they will be for their own kids, in some far-off future Christmas season when they will shed a tear, too, for what has passed, what has changed when they are no longer the Center of the Universe for their grown children.
And that's as it should be; it's just hard sometimes. Our work is to acknowledge new realities and adjust accordingly, with love for them…and ourselves…at Christmas and always.
I am there, just as they will be for their own kids, in some far-off future Christmas season when they will shed a tear, too, for what has passed, what has changed when they are no longer the Center of the Universe for their grown children.
And that's as it should be; it's just hard sometimes. Our work is to acknowledge new realities and adjust accordingly, with love for them…and ourselves…at Christmas and always.
At least, that's the view from here… ©
