100 years old...and counting

One interesting aspect of a long-term continuing care community is that people live longer than the national average. A large number of residents here are in their 90s, making those of us in our 70s seem almost adolescent.

And there are a number of centenarians. These interest me. The 100-year-olds around here are all relatively sound of mind (notwithstanding short-term memory challenges) and positive in attitude. Those who don’t have these characteristics die younger.

The year I moved here, Margaret died at 107 years. Three of her offspring were also residents of the community, in their 70s and 80s.

This is what an awesome
100 year old looks like

Last year our neighborhood (the 5^th floor) celebrated Darel’s 100^th birthday. Still in the pandemic, we were masked and separated by the required number of feet. But we did celebrate the life of this feisty but soft-hearted man. He’s telling us now that he plans to finally give up driving this year on his 101th birthday. Some of us are relieved and glad he came to this point of his own will.

Harriet, 103, has become one of my best friends. We spend time with each other weekly, talking and remembering. She tells me stories from her upbringing in the Philippines. I tell her my stories. She is outgoing, interested in other people. When I arrive at her room, we begin our conversations with her questions about what I’ve been doing and the activities of my kids and grandkids. She actually remembers their names, although sometimes she mixes up the details.

100th birthday party

Harriet is still excited about learning new things and has a special interest in history. She recently finished listening to a biography of Thomas Jefferson, and is now in the middle of tales of the Oregon Trail. She loves to have me read to her. Last year we read The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe, and The Best Christmas Pageant Ever, among others. She always asks me to read my latest poems. She affirms me, telling me I’m “an amazing writer.”

Still, it’s hard being 103 years-old. Harriet walks slowly and painfully, with the aid of a walker. She spends most of her time in her reclining chair. She’s lost most of her sight, and that’s the loss she most laments. She’s tired of being tired all the time.

Yet she’s still very much alive. She tells me we’re soul-mates. I believe she’s right.

Ruth is another case. A life-long Quaker and activist in social justice projects, she finds it difficult to lead a more sedentary live. She still carries those same passions. She turned 100 in 2020, the first year of the pandemic. She wanted to celebrate with her friends, and although we were all under shut-down, the community administration made it possible.

Ruth and seven friends gathered around a large table in an outdoor pagoda. Others of us stood around on the hill outside the pagoda. We shouted and waved our congratulations. It was an unusual party. I wrote this poem in honor of the occasion.

Pandemic Party

Ruth’s been saying lately, “If I make it to 100….”
Well, she made it,
and yesterday we celebrated.
We partied in the health center pagoda
but under pandemic rules.
Only eight people were seated
around the table,
the sacred six feet apart.
The rest of us distanced ourselves
on the knoll above the courtyard.
We waved to Ruth, shouted
our names, then mingled among ourselves,
trying to keep distance
and also trying—perpetual problem—
to keep our face masks
from slipping down to our chins
as we chatted. I ate a cupcake.
After weeks of healthy eating,
I morphed down the sticky, lemon-flavored
sweetness and licked my fingers,
my mask hanging from one ear.
We all look pretty silly these days.

Thank you, Ruth, for holding on.
Thank you for letting us celebrate with you.
Thank you for your feisty, gutsy
grab on life, your pencil-sharp mind,
your weird political humor.
With people like you turning 100,
this pandemic doesn’t stand a chance.

I ask myself if I want to live to be 100 years-old. And I answer, “yes.” “Yes, but….”  I have a lists of ifs. Yes, if….

--if I am sound of mind, able to think, converse with others, read a book (or have it read to me)
--if I am still able to appreciate beauty
--if I am not in perpetual pain
--if I am a source of joy to family and friends (i.e., not a burden)
--if I am still growing in grace and in intimacy with Jesus (2 Peter 3:18)

If (that word again) I pray my list to God, is that being presumptuous? Perhaps.

Maybe it all comes back to realizing that our times are in God’s hands and that God does all things well. I’m glad I don’t know all the details of the future. I can rest that when God decides my time has come, it will be the right time.

Today I will enjoy the company of my centenarian friends.