One of the great surprises of aging and retirement for me has been the steady stream of decisions that present themselves. I had imagined it not as a time of rest per se, but at least one of settledness. Yet questions such as How should I spend my time? How do I balance self-care and caring for others? and Where should I live? are considered and reconsidered as families grow or move away, old interests become new again, or health problems bring limitations. These questions are with us in every phase of life, of course, but when we begin to recognize that our remaining time is limited, they can become fraught with urgency and even fear, miring us down. What if I make the wrong choice? What if things don’t turn out well and there is hurt or suffering?
Like many of our peers in their late 60’s, my husband and I have been discussing how long to remain in our current home. Though we are healthy and physically able, there will likely come a time when we can no longer navigate stairs, mow the lawn, or cook and clean for ourselves. I had been through a very difficult few years of caring for my own elderly parents, facing a series of decisions which seemed to hold no good alternatives and which never seemed to turn out well. Placing them in institutional care was one of the toughest. Their decline seemed to hasten after that. Was it natural progression or a response to their environment? I’ll never know, but the question still haunts me.
Perhaps this is why, when it came to the question of where my husband and I will be, my mind was already made up: I would live and die in my own home, drawing from a network of help from family and in-home care providers as needed. But behind this rigid stance has been painful regret about my past decisions and anxiety about what I might encounter in my own aging process.
But recently, in listening to an older woman in our Centering Prayer group who has been facing a similar decision, I was changed. Lois is in her 80’s and in good health overall but has needed a couple of surgeries in recent years that required in-home care during recovery, some provided by professionals and some by her very attentive three children and grandchildren. Her children raised the question of whether she should consider moving into an assisted-living facility.
It has not been an easy decision for her. This woman loves her home. One week it seemed that she was inclined to move; the next, that she was doggedly determined to stay put. Her children were not pushing her, she said, and were committed to helping her look at all options, including staying in her home. They had cooperated in helping her through her recent surgeries and would gladly continue to help. “They just want me to be happy,” she said. For herself, Lois did not really want to move, but she worried that her needs would grow more complicated and create stress for her children and their own families. The well-being of her family was Lois’s own deepest desire and motivation, mirroring their love for her.
As I listened to Lois’ story over the weeks, I began to get a glimpse of what Barbara Brown Taylor calls the “luminous web of divine love that weaves all things together.” Here, in Lois’ family, was a foundation of mutual love and care in which the boundaries between individuals had become porous and transparent. Making decisions together, family members seemed to move fluidly in and out of caregiving roles, almost as one body. In the process, they were deepening the bonds that would help them adapt to changing circumstances, even if a change of course if required.
When we are embedded in a web of caring that is so deep and true, perhaps there are no wrong choices. Cynthia Bourgeault teaches that at the heart of this web is Mercy, which is the very Being of God, the “Great Weaver,” holding past, present and future. This is not to say that our decisions are unimportant or do not require prayerful discernment. Nor is it to say that there will be no hardship or unintended consequences of our decisions. But it is to say that if our intention is to give and receive God’s love, to be ourselves weavers of the divine tapestry, whatever choice we make will be working toward the good.
I feel fortunate to have been present to the unfolding of Lois’s decision making process. I’ve begun to see that, rather than regretting the past and worrying about the future, my task is to anchor myself firmly in God’s love and weave my own web of care, for there is more than enough divine mercy to heal the past and to sustain me in the future, whatever the hastening years may bring.
Reprinted from Benedictine Center E-Newsletter, July 28, 2023
