Old Age

by Cosette Sprague

 

Neither of my parents lived into old age. Both died in their 60th year.

My father left us instantly, while sweeping out his pickup in preparation in bringing home the Christmas tree. Mom, less than two years later, of Cancer, the same type that took Pat Lowe recently. At the time of diagnosis, she had only six months remaining of her life.

For me, then, there has been no precedent for watching someone that I dearly love slip slowly down life and enter advanced old age.

Fritzie, our fifteen year old Dachshund, and I are at present living his most ancient of days together. I am learning through him what lies ahead for all of us and what I see and sense is both frightening and reassuring.

I see a vital spirit still shining out from behind his clouded eyes that makes most of us seem senile in comparison. Old age, I learn, is a matter of relativity.

I see wisdom and gentleness, adoration, devotion, complete acceptance, trust and love. At times I also see a lost look.

I sense that inexorably he his leaving me behind. Slowly withdrawing. Calmly, and with great dignity, Fritzie is trying to prepare me for a time when he is no longer here. For all the long, lonely years ahead without him.

He has reached a plateau somewhere slightly above me, and is at the stage of looking back. Waiting for me to catch up.

This then is my grief.

I can never catch up. When his time comes, he will have to go on alone. Without me.

This is tearing me apart.

For over a decade and a half, this one beautiful, small Dog has been my best friend and constant companion. He has looked to me for his every need, completely confident that I will take care of any problem.

Merrily, with great gaiety and gusto, he has run through life. We didn't reckon on advanced old age. It crept up on us when we were not looking.

First he was reluctant to climb the thirty steps and platforms. It is such a long way uphill for 3 inch legs that are arthritic. So, I carried him.

Then, in Spring, there was surgery to remove a cancerous Thyroid gland and the parathyroid were removed inadvertently. So drugs kept him stabilized, alive.

His strength ebbs like sands in an hourglass steadily. Now he no longer dashes pell-mell down the stairs. His mind is willing but his body does not obey. A few steps only and he stops to glance back. Waiting for me to catch up. To carry him the rest of the way.

Each day has become precious.

One will eventually come when the soul of my beloved companion will no longer be able to cope.

It's not easy growing old. It takes courage. Because of Fritz, I understand.

With awesome cognizance I realize that this is what it will be like for me. For most of us. All of us. No matter how much we wish it to be otherwise, we will arrive at a time of diminished capabilities.

The lesson that Fritz is teaching me daily, however, does not relate in any way to diminution. It relates to acceptance, to the celebration of life despite infirmity and to the power of the spirit to rise above frailness.

He teaches me that we are much more than the sum of mechanical parts. Glowing out is the "spark".

I call it simply soul. Mr. Fritz would probably call it optimism.

Tomorrow will be better is his attitude.

His highs are now less high, and the lows come more often. He remains however, optimistic and joyful.

We have, he and I, forgotten what normal is. Normal has been relentlessly stolen away.

Therefore, we have decided to throw out all of the rule books. We'll live in the present, taking it one day at a time, as comfortably as we can. We'll try not to become discouraged when some of the days are downers.

We'll lay in the sunshine and we'll follow the sunny spots. If we sleep longer, deeper, that's no problem. What does it matter, truly?

We'll eat when we want to, as much as we want to, and not worry if we don't want to. We'll remember the wisdom of the body.

When we feel lost or frightened, we'll open our Eyes and see the friend who loves us, She is always in sight. Everything will be just fine.

We'll accept the good days with gratitude, and ask for grace to help us through those not so good. We'll "float".

Me? Fritzie's friend?

I often go to touch him, to reassure myself that he is breathing regularly. To look down on his lovely face, to kiss his finely molded head.

I take him everywhere that I go. The last thing that I want him to see is me.

And, I pray.

Please, Dear God, do not ask me to make the decision that would take his life, I don't know how I could say those words that would snuff out the spark.

Let him go here, at home, surrounded by love and with life going on around him.

Please, let him not awaken as he catnaps or sleeps curled beside me.

My beautiful little friend. Let him slip quietly away. It's true, old age is not for sissies.

It's also true, I've concluded, that it takes an understanding heart to watch someone that you cherish grow old.

Because of Fritz, I know.

But, forever is such a long long time and I don't want to say goodbye.