The Short and Long of Time
With a life almost in constant motion (see: Time Tested) how I relate to time differs from my mother. She needs more today to do what she did in half the time when half her age. She is eighty-eight. Retirement, however, affords time to do what she can. And, if it is a must-do that she can’t do, then others help.
Time is both short and long. For my mother time is “short” when failing memory wipes the slate of things from recent experience–good when it’s a painful hip operation but bad when a name once well-known flounders to rise from the well of her memories. And then, time is “long” when arthritic pain depresses her spirit and she grumbles why the Lord has not yet taken her when most of her friends are gone. The grave is still too far even with her time so short.
Helpful Pace
For two years I volunteered with a seniors club in our church. With a head shake someone close made a deprecating remark about how since my involvement I seemed to be slowing my pace. In a caustic response I challenged the person’s failure to notice I, too, wasn’t far from becoming a senior and, good Lord, what on earth was expected! To this point most of my life had run at full steam. At least now I qualified for the discount at Shoppers Drug Mart yet I wasn’t anywhere near the qualifying age for Canada Pension Plan.
But becoming clear was in attending to the elderly I was learning to pause. To help meant matching my pace to theirs.
Time Whole & Ageless
I often align my pace to my mother’s encouraging her to do what she can within her current capabilities. I don’t temper my pace all the time; just to journey with her as she needs. Like, at Longo’s while she carries on with the cart I scoot back three aisles to grab a missed item on her grocery list. Then later, after the groceries while catching a respite and sipping on tea, I concentrate in frustration at the cards in my hand and prepare for defeat at crib, again. My mother is generous and tries not to smile. Before leaving, I join in her delight as she signals me to the backyard so I might see the latest blooms in her garden. And back at my home during the ritual supper hour phone call we chat while our separate dinners cook. These times my pace tempers.
And the sweet and surprising joy of synchronization is the rich nature of our camaraderie and friendship. One heart touching the other–time spent listening, speaking, sharing, and remembering. Makes me wonder who actually receives the help.
My mother can hardly believe she is eighty-eight. Her body betrays how she feels in spirit like no time has passed. She feels forever herself… whole and ageless.
To be continued…
In what ways do you align your pace to others?