But If I Had Paid Attention…
So, in my younger years, there was planted an image of what it would be like to grow old. Wrinkles would appear, and getting up would be a bit more difficult. Movement would be a bit slower. But in mind’s imagery, the one thing I left out was the pain which comes with it all. If I would have listened, paid attention, they were telling me all along. But clearly my mind was elsewhere.
It was not like they said it out loud. My Mother of blessed memory (z”l) would chuckle with the old expression, “Those Riter boys are tough, but the toughest of them all is Arther.” A teasing expression about arthritis. A grunt here or a groan there. But Mom was tough as nails. Her arthritis was rheumatoid arthritis, same that my beloved Skip z”l suffered with. But Mom would not take pain meds for her lung cancer until that final day when she died. Heck, she refused Novocain when she had dental work. She had an uncanny capacity to handle pain with it hardly showing.
But, I’m here to put words to that which she did not speak. I live with constant pain. It’s just a way of life for me now. I want to share a story here. Last night I crashed early. Later this morning, I dreamed that I arose out of my wheelchair and began taking steps. It was such a glorious feeling and despite the pain, the dream was allowed to soar and the joy I felt was palpable. For those few moments in dream world, I could walk again! Of course, then I had to awaken. After arising, the pain was very real. To paraphrase the old rhyme, my neck, my back, my sacroiliac! Oh, and the legs and both knees. I had to laugh, telling my wife about the dream, and remarking, “I sure am sore this morning, guess from all that walking.”
The reality is that the pain is real, and we have a choice. I can sit and whine and complain about it (sometimes I do just that if it is especially bad) or simply live with it. As my mother did, and grandparents and all the elders I knew over the years. Most of the time I just live with it and go on. As I bury my head into writing projects, or my current project for our Yom Kippur Kol Nidre service, or a host of other things where I dabble, the pain though there slips into the background and becomes bearable. It is a part of life, but only one part of it.
As I write these words, I realized how blest I am. Yes, I have the pain. Also, my wife is very much an introvert and not a conversationalist. My family is far away and rarely having visitors aside from the caregiver who comes in once a week for two hours. Loneliness is ever present, not uncommon for the elderly. But I have a roof over my head, living mostly independently with a wife who if not much on conversation, nevertheless loves me and I her. Sitting here in my office, I face one window out to the street, and a window looking out to the neighbors who have beautiful flowers that often catch my gaze. My mind is active, and I love research. All to say, I am fortunate to have what I have. As with the pain, why obsess about what I do not have, when there is much to celebrate. Life is a mixed bag, the blessing, and the curse. I choose life. I choose the blessing, even as enduring the curse. Such is life after all. L’chaim!
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