Congregations dealing creatively with their seniors will appreciate this perspective on growing older.
I did my sixties
Rather well thank you.
Wrote several books
Married off my kids
Welcomed several grandchildren
And shed ten pounds
But the seventies
Are a different animal altogether
I feel as if I've been body-checked
Against the boards by a female
Hockey player
Wearing diamond earrings
And a team jersey with
My nation's flag on it
It's a new game, that's for sure
And knee pads are no protection
I was there for the other revolutions
In the nineteen sixties and seventies
Fought for tolerance and freedom
For other races, women, the disabled,
Other faiths, gays and lesbians-
Now at seventy-seven I respect the wisdom
And the skill that for the most part
Remains untapped in the older generation
I fear
Our voices are too faint
Speaking as we do
From wheelchairs
And power carts
Nursing homes and
Extended Care facilities
Gated communities
And Tim Horton franchises
Where we sip coffee
And nibble a sour cream donut
What do we want?
To be heard as we face
The inevitable changes
To be seen as we cross
The street or approach
A salesclerk or a stranger
We need help
Sorting out what life is about
What success looks like
At seventy or eighty or ninety
How do we deal with the anger
Over declining desire
And diminishing energy
We have difficulty
Celebrating endings
as well as beginnings
Of course we were trained by a stoical Depression-era Generation of sturdy folk
who never discussed
Private matters or family secrets
It's time we opened the Pandora's box
Of Aging and dared to question, damn it,
Gave voice to our anxieties, phobias and fears,
Our dreams, schemes, whims and wishes
Without looking over our shoulders expecting
Reproving glares from the generation behind us
Who have gone to therapists and fitness gurus
Spas and five star resorts to lower stress
And build quality family time into their lives.
The fight continues for tolerance, justice and peace
Are things any better than when we started?
Someone bombs a holy site in Iraq.
Mud buries a village in the Philippines,
a just-born baby receives a new heart
My son flies a burning plane to safety in the north
And a jeep blows up in Afghanistan.
God, my dear and mysterious God, that is within everything
Including me (and even Your existence is denied by many)
-may I face what lies ahead and not hide or run away.
Help me hear the poetry singing through all of life
like the Northern Lights that dance across the late night sky
Give me the courage to share the laughter
The tears and the one-glass-too-many-because-life-is-good moments
With spouse, friends, sons, daughters and grandchildren
So they will approach their seventies
With more wisdom than I have
Because I walked the path before them
And cared enough to share my story.
Mary Woodbury, an author of adult poetry and youth fiction, lives in Edmonton.