Life is Precious

Yesterday my step-sister texted me to say her father had fallen on the basement steps. She was at the hospital and he’d broken his right clavicle and left ankle. Actually, he’d fallen the day before around 5am but didn’t want to “bother” anybody. Twenty-four hours later, he called 911 – though still not his kids.

When Ray and my mother married eight years ago, he sold his house, gave away his belongings and moved in with Mom. Six years later, on their anniversary, my mother died. In her will, the house was left to me and my sister with the stipulation that Ray could live there as long as he wanted. So, technically, he’s been living in my house. Mine and my sister’s. I’m the one who lives five minutes away. My sister, 900 miles. You know how that goes.

After Mom died, I sat down with Ray and we talked. He’d had a stroke three months earlier and, although progressing, was still shaky. I was concerned about him being alone in the house. Going up and down the stairs. Unsteady on his feet. Seventy-nine years old. Stubborn as a mule. Two years later, and just two days ago, my fears were realized.

Of course, I wanted to see him. See how badly he’d hurt himself. His single room was smaller than a box of toothpicks and with three of his children, two spouses and me, we were packed in tightly. His chest and shoulder were bruised badly, his foot in a cast and he said the docs had noticed Pneumonia in his lungs. I was glad to see him sitting up, talking with his kids. Of course they were yelling since he didn’t have his hearing aid at the hospital. Things seemed fairly normal, given the circumstances.

It was two years ago tomorrow that Mom was taken by ambulance to this same hospital. Ray is on the same floor she had been, and when we walked past that room… gosh it was hard. Now that I hear Ray has pneumonia in addition to broken bones, I am feeling pretty anxious. Mom got pneumonia in the hospital, which, I’ve learned, is quite common for older folks. Although the diagnosis for her admission was cancer, she died three weeks later from respiratory distress (ARDS). I’m worried about Ray’s chest x-rays.

I’m at the age where the next generation is fading. My mom once told me that the worst part of growing old is that your friends keep dying. It’s certainly a stage of life with a different perspective. More awareness of the impermanence and fragility of life. More cognizance about spending my time on things that matter and declining to engage in the things that aren’t. I wish I had learned this lesson earlier in life. I’m grateful to be more mindful of it now.

Begin doing what you want to do now. We are not living in eternity. We have only this moment, sparkling like a star in our hand--and melting like a snowflake...  - Sir Francis Bacon

Life. Live it!