What's Left

I stood in an open area of a retirement home. Here I watched as two residents happened upon each other. These two ladies ended up standing close to one another briefly chatting. Still, I could tell the two weren’t quite comfortable with the moment. Casual glances between the two evolved into closer examination. Finally, a certain recognition fell onto the face of one of the ladies. She then spoke to the other lady, “Are you Emma Jones?” The other lady grinned slightly, then in a world-weathered voice cracked, “Honey, I’m what’s left of her."

That happened a few years ago and I can’t help but think of it from time to time and smile. Despite the humor in that moment, growing older is a reality most of us will face, and it is one reality I am not certain I will truly enjoy.

Still, I guess when you hit a certain point in life you shift some of your focus away from some things to other things. Some of the things you felt so passionate about at a certain stage in life no longer mean as much. For some, lessons learned from experience tend to turn a hard head into a softer heart while for others, it just seems to make them turn into a cauldron of simmering bitterness.

I have seen enough of life to see people grow old. I have seen enough of that to know that growing old is no fun. I have seen loved ones who have a place in my heart no one else could replace grow old making me understand how watching them grow old is no fun either. And, I know if God grants me more time on earth I will follow this same path.

So, now, November settles in. November, that time of year that sits here just damp enough so you can smell the fallen leaves sticking to the dirt of the earth. November that time of year that allows us to see through the forest of trees to the other side where the light of the sky meets the gray horizon. November that month that rushes in the premature cold of January in sharp gusts in the wind.

Maybe it is in this stark setting where the very being of our lives seems so transparent. Distinct seasons come and go without fail one after another, spring follows winter, summer follows spring then summer gives way to this, fall, first in glorious colors then a monochromatic landscape. Maybe it is here where we look at growing older and realize it follows all those other seasons and how those seasons can be likened to our lives.

It’s all enough to stop and be grateful for the measure of health held at the moment. It’s enough to wish for more seasons, a wintertime snowfall, a bouquet of spring flowers and a sandy beach in summertime. And it’s enough to wish for one more autumn, even in its most stark moments, just to contemplate what’s left of life and what’s left of us to make what’s left of both truly worthwhile