The 4 Things I Learned From My Father About Growing Old
The importance of everyday interactions:
I am very lucky. My Father lived till he was almost 92. That gave us many years together. I was born when he was 40 years old. So I was 51 years old when he died. I had the great luxury to watch him grow old. And he was able to share with me both in our conversations and by example, what the final stage of life could be like.
My dad by all appearance was not a religious man. He was very grounded in the practical aspects of life. He was born in 1910 and died in 2001. He was 18 at the height of the depression which was a defining time in his life as well as WWII where he served in the medical corp in France.
We never owned a car with a radio or air-conditioning. At least not until you could not buy one without it! That was an excess you did not need. This was his depression era mentality thinking. Just buy what you need and save your money for the uncertain times that may make working impossible. Surprising today, but with our rapidly changing economy, that is still very good advice. It also supports a sustainable and less materialistic lifestyle!
When I wrote my first book on fatherhood I said in it that my father never attended, other than my high school graduation, any of the events of my early education. I could never look out in the audience of a school play, or a school assembly and see my dad. Thank goodness my mom would always show up. After he read that part in my book, he called me on the phone and in a bit of a panicked voice asked if I knew why he wasn’t there? He then told me he needed to be working. He wasn’t able to leave work.
A few months after that phone call I was visiting my parents home in Southern California. He got my book out and read me the few lines in which I wrote I how missed my father not being at my school activities in which I participated. With all sincerity he said he would have come if he could but he really needed to be working. Since my dad was a small business man and owned his own business, he was the boss. There was no one stopping him from making the choice to leave for a few hours.
Fortunately, I had the wisdom to not argue the facts but stayed with my feelings. I said how much I would have liked him to have been there. He continuing to defend his point and that I needed to understand his needing to be working.
I could feel his guilt at not wanting me to be hurt. He paused, there was a calm and spacious moment between us, our conversation fell into silence. I said “I know how much we love each other, I know that was not your intent but I did miss not seeing you there.” He then looked at me, into my eyes, and said “I can see I disappointed you.” “I am sorry,” he said. He got it! It was a moment of deep intimacy between us. He understanding my disappointment and me reaffirming our love for each other.
In the Jewish tradition there is something called an “Ethical Will.” In it you bequeath all the qualities and insights in life you wish to leave your children; the emotional and philosophical aspects of the inheritance you would like to leave your children. A wonderful tradition. Unfortunately all the good and ethical loving insights, one leaves in their ethical will are not be equal to the legacy that the actual relationship you have with your children leaves them remembering. The day to day interactions throughout their lives is what they are left with. The feelings and memories of what kind of person/parent you were is embedded in them.
Also in the Jewish tradition, of which I am a member, is a lineage tradition, dating back over 4000 years. One of the main points of its most sacred text, the Torah, is that each father is instructed to teach his children the Torah’s teaching, passing it on from generation to generation. Much like the Japanese Zen tradition. Each school of Zen Buddhism has a history of passing on it’s teachings from teachers to disciples. So in some ways each Jewish child is a disciple of its parents. When you think about it every child is a student of their parents…for better and worse!
The affirmation of the Jewish tradition is you are instructed to pass on via the Torah the Ten Commandments, or how to be an ethical person in the world. And we can see today in the era of Trump, Netanyahu, Duarte, Erdoğan, these “fathers” of countries; we may want to question the ethical choices of these leaders and ask what values are they transmitting?
My father, being able to empathize with my feelings in that moment about “not being there for me” created a legacy of great value to me. He passed that value on to me. I can see more readily when I “miss the mark” with my children, family and friends and can apologize and deepen my relationships with those I care about. What a great legacy to be given!
He tried in his own way everyday to be a decent person, not complicated. Although not a religious man I think he expressed the best of the Torah by just simply living as honest a life as he could. I saw that. I try to do the same. I talk about this tradition with my children. The essence of the Jewish sacred teachings; be kind, be thoughtful, give your best effort. Take care of yourself and take care of others, we are all in this together. (Something courageous for Jews to do given their history.)
A number of years later, on the golf course my dad he told me this. “I always wanted to give you kids what I wanted; a nice house, good food and nice clothes, and a chance for an education, all the things I dreamed of as a kid, but never had. I thought I would be a great dad if I could do that. I never realized you wanted me to spend time with you! I can see now that I didn’t need to be working so much. But at that time, when you were young, I couldn’t understand it. I was so afraid of being poor from what I saw in the depression, I was afraid not to be working.”
Accepting people for who they are:
It became clear to me as my dad grew older that he accepted everyone for who they were and where they were in their lives. I understood his teaching of “everyone is trying the best they can.” This teaching acknowledges that life is hard and we all do the best we can. I sometimes think the greatest psychotherapist is time. As my dad grew older this wisdom of accepting and appreciating others became apparent in all his interactions. I hope I am as lucky as he was to reach this stage of development in my own life. He showed me it is possible.
I have committed myself to being a lay Buddhist monk and for the rest of my life to practice the Buddhist Precepts I have been transmitted, work towards caring for all of life. Everyday I am committed to the practice of being kind and trying to be helpful, grounded in being aware of how I relate to those around me and the world in which I live. Sometimes this seems like an impossible task and I am so unaware of my own actions. But, I continue on, trying better the next day and remembering how the talmud coaches us “even if the task is impossible, one must still begin.” Becoming a more accepting person is hard work for me!
Always focus on what you can do:
One day while visiting my dad he brought me into the kitchen. He wanted to show me something. “Look” he said, as he pointed to all the cans he had taken from the shelf and put on the counter. “Ok,” I said… “so?” “Well now I can just reach a can without getting on the stool. Less chance I’ll fall.” At the time I did not quite understand that. Now I know 66% of older people (over the age of 65) actually end up dying from complications from falls. He knew his balance was not good and he figured out how to live with it.
He had been a big walker. As he got older he was limited to to walking to the bus stop nearby, about a block from his house. But every time we spoke he would share what he saw from that bus stop. I asked him how it was giving up driving. He said “I never focus on what I can’t do. I always look to what I can do.” He continued to find ways to enjoy his life regardless of its changes. He never regretted the inevitable limitations that aging brought.
Accepting Help:
This one was hard for my dad. He seemed more gracious about it as he aged but he did fight it. He didn’t want people to do things for him. After my mother passed away, having someone clean the house or prepare food for him was difficult to accept. He went through an austere time both with his grief at the loss of our mother and being lost without her. Meals on Wheels came first because you can not live with only being able to cook an egg and heat canned soup.
Although he did lose a few pounds on that diet. He got over his irrational fear that someone who cleaned his house may steal from him. So once the basic structure was in place he began at 79 to play Bridge again. He also enjoyed attending classes in his retirement community where he lived.
He met a really good Bridge player they paired him with. Immediately, after that afternoon of card playing he sent her a dozen yellow roses. After about six months they decided to live together! They merged their lives and for the next 10 years, until he passed away, they had a wonderful romance. They were both so appreciative to have each other. He relaxed and let my oldest sister and me help with some of his life tasks. I actually found him an extra $100,000 he didn’t know he had in one of his investment accounts!
He learned it was “ok” to depend on others. I think he prided himself in being the one his children could depend on. Now, letting us help him out was a big change for him. Looking back on those days, it was a gift to us to be able to be there for him. Letting other people help him made his life doable both for him and his partner living in their shared home. They lived independently because they could accept a little help. At almost 92 he went to take his 2PM nap. That was his last nap. He passed away quietly from a heart attack. He lived the last 10 years of his life in love, appreciating the simple pleasures of each day, always appreciative of a good conversation, and a dedicated fan of the LA Lakers. He was a man with a keen eye on the stock market and current events. Most importantly a man who found the beauty of the moment.
