At my meditation class at the Mansion this morning, we practiced counting our breaths, in and out, and learning how to use meditation to go into ourselves and focus on the present and, in the process,  ease anxiety and fear.

Understandably, people on the edge of life fear death and the end of life and often feel that living in an assisted care facility, in many ways, signals the end of their lives.

My reading and meditation point was that this does not have to be so. The end of the meditation class is for the residents to use their spiritual courage to imagine lives as full and meaningful as possible.

The meditation classes have taken hold for at least six or seven of them and me.

This idea of seeking meaning has taken hold in my class, they come every week, and most say they meditate daily. The goal is for them to feel hopeful.

Today I also brought a book by Joan Chittister called The Gift Of Years; I’ve been reading passages in the class for the past couple of weeks. It’s an honest book, a hopeful book, and a relevant book.

The residents keep asking me to read more, and I will.

In the chapter I read today, Chittister says the most critical dimension of aging well lies in an awareness that aging has a purpose.

 

 

(Halloween decorations from the Army Of Good. Thanks.)

“There is a reason for old age,” Chittister wrote, “whatever our state of life, whatever our resources, no less this one than any other.”

She quoted the French moralist Joubert who wrote, “The evening of a well-spent life brings its lamps with it.”

We all loved that line.

I told the residents that being in assisted care didn’t mean there was no purpose to our lives, no reason for being.

One of the residents asked me what my goal was now that I was 75 (they read my blog). What, she wondered, was my purpose?

I said my purpose was to do good at this stage of my life, to be a loving and available husband, a sensitive and supportive father, a good friend, a good photographer, and a faithful and honest writer.

I wanted to help people who needed help and welcome it.

This was a critical discussion since I unconsciously did just what Chittister was talking about. I sat down alone and asked myself what I was living for.

What was the purpose of my life?

I didn’t have an answer for a long time.

In addition, I said my purpose was to share the things I have learned with other people, especially children. That and mentoring were the purpose of my aging.

They nodded their heads and took it in.

I asked them if any of them had a purpose for aging that they cared to talk about.

They thought about it for a while. One said her purpose was to help her grandchildren with their school work and to guide them toward college.

She was a school teacher for 35 years, she said. They have asked for her help.

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Another said her purpose was to take care of her friends at the Mansion, especially several that were primarily bed-bound and needed visits and support. She visits them daily and brings them books, snacks, and tea.

A third said she wanted to go online and use the tablet we gave her to contact her friends from school and college and her former life. She said she wanted to talk to them every day.

And a fourth said she wanted to knit a sweater for her daughter before her arthritis made it impossible. And then, she wanted to make skullcaps for newborn babies who might be cold in hospital intensive care units for newborns.

They all said they loved the idea of having a purpose. Several said they would think about this; this was the first they’d heard of the concept. They wanted to talk about it again.

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The photo at the top of the page is of Jim, who I wrote about some months ago. He plays the guitar and sings country songs (once in a while.)

I found him sitting in the Mansion hallway with a blanket over his head; I was with Zinnia, who he loves to see. I asked him softly if he was awake, and his head popped out of the blanket.

I asked him why he was wearing it over his head, and he said it was cold. I remembered that the Mansion had no absolute control over the cooling and heating systems in the facility.

The state decides what day the air conditioning can be used and when the heat can be turned on.

I suppose they are afraid the owners of some facilities might hold back cooling and heat to save money, so the state decides when to turn on the heat or cooling systems.

The first weeks of summer are always roasting in the Mansion, and the first cold weeks of fall are freezing.

I noticed many of the Mansion residents were wearing sweaters and sitting with blankets over their legs.

I will find out one day why residents can’t make some of these decisions themselves. But the Mansion staff can’t help; it isn’t up to them.

I first noticed this when the Army Of Good bought air conditioning units for every resident who asked for one.

They couldn’t use them for days.