"...when you were younger you dressed yourself and went where you wanted; but when you are old you will stretch out your hands, and someone else will dress you and lead you where you do not want to go." (The Risen Lord speaking to Peter. John 21:19)
Anyway, now an MRI has revealed lesions on his brain and he's going in for surgery this Wednesday. Mrs Silverfiddle is off to her mama's house with the kids and I had to call and give her the news. I hated to spoil her vacation, but our neighbor needs her prayers, and those of her mom, who is the most saintly woman I have ever met.
I thought I would be OK as I was dialing the phone, but I broke down as I was telling her the news. Isn't it weird like that? I was fine in my solitude, even as I went to Saturday mass and said extra prayers, but as soon as I tried to speak it out loud to my wife over the phone, I cracked up.
Maybe it was more for my wife. She's the neighborhood do-gooder, taking care of everybody. She's a big believer in prayer and in herbal medicine and having good health through eating good foods, no msgs or trans fats! She is personally offended by sickness, and has helped friends and family battle it by eating right. I've tried to tell her that sometimes when your number is called it's just time to go, but she won't listen.
Life happens. People like AOW, who are taking care of loved ones, know it all too well. I call AOW heroic, but she would probably shrug it off. She loves Mr. AOW and she's determined to put him on the road to recovery. All I can do is stare into an unknown future and know that my charmed life will come to an end eventually. Maybe quick, maybe slow and painful, but one day sooner or later I will meet my end
A few days before the wife and kids left, she and I watched the movie About Schmidt, hoping for a good laugh. Mrs Silverfiddle and I loved Jack Nicholson in Anger Management, thought he was outstanding in As Good as it Gets, and he was at his devilish best in Witches of Eastwick.
Anyway, About Schimidt wasn't a funny movie. It was a very sobering movie, a movie that made me think about the rest of my life. Like Schmidt, it would be just my luck that my wife dies before me, and I could see myself struggling to come to grips just as he did in the movie. It was painful to watch, but it was real.
I watched Papa Silverfiddle struggling to convince granny that it was time to sell the house and move into an old folks home. She's stubborn, and Dad loves her very much. After a lot of wrangling she is in her own little apartment where they keep her meds straight, do her laundry, and have a cafeteria and activities. Best of all, she's very happy and tells everyone how glad she is she decided to sell the old place and convince her son to move her to that wonderful apartment.
It was not an easy transition, and if she takes a turn for the worse, the next one will be more difficult. We all face it eventually.
In the movie, which has some kitschy late 80's Denver scenes, complete with Katherine Bates and Martin Mull as aging hippies, we realize that Schmidt has never really connected with anyone. Not his wife, his daughter, or his friends. The way he finally makes contact with humanity is amusing and quite poignant.
I have a dead Facebook friend, and Facebook keeps urging me to tell him about some new messaging app. He died slowly of cancer, but he died with dignity and respect, with his wife and kids, brothers and sisters all there with him the whole way. He lived a full life as a teacher and writer, father and husband. He loved and he was loved by others. What more can one expect from life?
