Ages
I’ve always wondered what’s the secret to not regretting life before I die. But I think that's part of life. I would regret life as an old person.
I grew up surrounded by old people. My parents ran a synagogue for Jews from the former Soviet Union. Everyone who came was at least seventy years old. I remember they'd tell me, “Oh, Gudinka, you're so young, you're so youthful. Appreciate it, enjoy your time.” I'd look at them thinking, what? What is youth? I didn't know anything else. I didn't understand that I would be old. I tried to imagine myself wrinkly, but it was impossible. I'd chuckle awkwardly when they repeated the same thing. Okay, I'll enjoy being young, whatever that means.
I grew up. I moved. Many of the old people I loved slowly died. There was a R’ Shimon who would come to my house every Friday night. He wouldn't say a lot. He just smiled the whole time. He had white hair split in half, which made him look like Einstein. I don't know much about him, but he came to my house every week for at least ten years. Every Friday night, he watched me grow up. His wife, sweet Tamara, taught me how to make sauerkraut and a cake of dried fruits. She’s not here anymore to give me her recipes. Then, there was R’ Alek who was in love with my grandmother. He'd write her letters and tell us about them. He would sing songs to us. He sang Tumbalalaika, one of my grandmother's favorite songs. R’ Alek tried to hug us, but we weren't allowed to touch men for religious reasons. We'd squeal and run away.
I came back home to visit this week. My mother picked me up from the airport. I asked her how Clara was doing. My mother told me that her husband was in the nursing home. He’s ninety-two and has really bad dementia. Clara and her husband had lived together for my entire life. How was it possible that he was in a nursing home? Where does he go after the nursing home? He wasn’t going to go back home. It slowly started trickling in.
I asked Clara if she wanted to get a coffee. She met me this morning, right before she went to the nursing home for the day. She's walking with a cane. She’s eighty-six years old. She's still driving. We talked. And even though she's the same old lady I knew back when I was a kid... I feel she's a little older. Maybe she walks slower or it’s knowing about her husband. It made me sad. I was always taught to not expect death of anybody. What if the Messiah comes? No one would die. But I knew she was eighty-six. She was getting older. Her husband was in a nursing home. What's next?
I was driving home after coffee. My grandmother was with me. Her husband died some years ago. How did my grandmother lose her husband of 30 or so years and keep on living? My grandmother told me that she got cancer because of the stress of losing her husband. When I think of all the people who have died. And all the people who are getting old and are dying soon. I think of myself. I used to be a child and now I'm an adult. Soon, I'm going to be old. Is there a point in living? I don't mean it in a negative or sad way. It's just a good question. What is the value of the moment if it's going to pass anyways?
I’ve always wondered what’s the secret to not regretting life before I die. But I think that's part of life. I would regret life as an old person. Because as I am young, I cannot know what I will miss. The same way I never knew what the people in my synagogue meant when they told me, “enjoy your youth, be appreciative for your health”. I didn't know anything else. Maybe I’ll regret something one day or maybe life isn’t worth it. I’ll only know that when I’m very old. For now, I can only keep living.
"I would regret life as an old person. Because as I am young, I cannot know what I will miss."
It is this mystery that excites me most. Where is this all going? And if indeed the seeming linearity of time is a construct, then how can I skip ahead and find out? The urgency, the doubt, the quiet sense that something is wrong—when I can step back and savor them like the weird funk taste that is essential to sauerkraut, then it all becomes a fun game. But obviously I can't stay there. I still have to respond to that email and pay that toll bill. I still have to switch my tax from Texas to Massachusets (impossible to spell I've decided). I still seem to worry about choking.
So as I turn 56 and notice the crazy network of wrinkles under my chin and the constellation of dim spots on my hands, I feel both: panic that this is ending, and marvel that this is going right to plan. Thanks for this meditation!
It seems to me you are not living an ordinary life Yehudis. It’s possible you will not experience an ordinary aging process. Some people hit 60 and feel like they’re just getting started. And the key to staying young in my experience is living so fully that you could go at any time feeling deeply fulfilled and grateful for what you’ve already had. Which comes back to not living an ordinary life.