Old Man In Winter

This morning the air is balmy and mild after a night of heavy rain. The temperature is supposed to rise to about 60F today, which will be a nice break from the grip of cold. A nice break for my joints, as it were. When I opened the door a while ago to let Jinx out, I could smell a skunk on the air, and I hoped that Jinx would not find the aroma delightful and decide to go investigate further.

I have recently spent much time thinking about my life and what remains of it. Sometimes the plainest facts elude us until one day when they come home with a force that surprises us. Several days ago, I realized that, all things considered, I don’t have that much time left in this life. The biblical guideline of approximately seventy years has always been abstract to me…until I apprehended the fact that I may very well be in my final decade.

It’s not an easy thing to talk about with most people, because I’ve noticed that most people react violently to the idea of aging and death. Not their own, but other people…and in the abstract! It’s very curious. I have in the last couple of years begun to refer to myself as an “old man,” and the snippy reaction that I get from my peers is very instructive. “You’re not old!” they bark. But it doesn’t pass my notice that these people are around my age…so what they’re saying is, “I’m not old!”

Why do I refer to myself as an old men? Why, because others do. Others who don’t even know me. I can’t count the number of times in the last year that I’ve heard someone (either friend, coworker, or stranger in a car waiting for me to cross the street at a crosswalk) refer to me as an old man. And the fact is that I AM an old man. I do get annoyed when people try to argue with me about this. My standard response is, “Oh, yes, you’re quite right. I’m actually young and vital. I have no gray hairs, no wrinkles, no aches and pains. I can do everything a young man can do. I’m exactly like a television commercial for some snake oil supplement. You’re right. I’m not old! I’m not I’m not I’m not I’m not! There! Feel better? Did I convince you?”

I need no convincing. I know what I am, and who I am. I am an old man, and I have far fewer years in front of me than I do behind me. This realization does not cause me to fear. In fact, I increasingly despise this world — or at least the system under which the world groans — and long to return to wherever it is that I came from. The thought of being separated from my wife causes me great internal distress, as does the thought that she may be the one to depart this earth first, But I am comforted by the steady confidence, the inner conviction that she and I will be together in the next life.

The question that flits through my brain several times a day is this: If I am nearing the end of my life, how should my remaining time be used? What should it look like?

And lo and behold, I read Bruce Charlton’s recent musings on the subject. I especially liked what he wrote about a man working on the nature and implications of the transformation that death will bring. Working on these things. I like that. I see that as my task these days. Scripture tells us that it is good to work with one’s hands and seek to live a quiet life; this resonates with what Bruce has written.

The intuition that I have discovered my marching orders for this final stretch of my life is an exhilarating one. Much more than a mere memento mori, the determination to work on my own coming transformation fills me with the same peace and health and stimulation that I get when I step outside and draw the cool mountain air into my lungs. It is a good thing to have a task on which one can work steadily and quietly.

~ S. K. Orr