The Burning of a Small Library - 3

"The death of an elderly person is like the burning of a small library." (Author unknown (to me)See His Scribe for Burning of a Small Library - 1

     Recently I had a couple of weeks of palpitations--not just like a small bird fluttering in my chest but like a dove-sized bird flopping frantically to break out of it. I have mitral valve issues and had had a treadmill test some time before that was inconclusive so I was referred to a cardiologist, a new one.
     He made me feel right at home because he was part-Japanese and had an aunt from Hiroshima. He had a round, jovial, middle-aged face and smiled and nodded a lot. I described my symptoms, explaining that they got worse when I lay down, when I lay on my left side, when I got up, and when I climbed stairs. I said they kept me from sleeping and if I fell asleep, they woke me up. I talked about several other medical concerns. I found myself telling him, insanely, "I just don't want to drop dead of too many things at once."
     Without examining me, he leaned back in his white coat, crossed his arms casually and began to talk about life. He pointed out that I am 66: "You can't die prematurely. When you were young your children depended on you, you needed to help pay the mortgage. Now life will go on." He said it was time for me to relax and enjoy what life I have left. 
     He said palpitations were common, that if we asked the person ahead of or behind us in line at any check-out stand we'd find out they all had palpitations. He said he'd had them himself for a couple of decades and had never had them checked out. He said "People with MVS are at no more risk of dropping dead suddenly than are people wearing black sweaters."
     He said he could order tests and more tests and I would end up in the hospital--and what was the point of that? Forget about your cholesterol, he said. Don't worry about clogged arteries. Don't worry about anything.
     As he spoke, I heard his words and I did feel myself relaxing. At the same time I was aware of a disturbing undercurrent of meaning to them. He's part of an HMO and isn't that what HMOs are all about--talking the patient out of having anything done that costs them money? Don't ask, don't tell? And wasn't this the whole culture of death people have been warning us about, the devaluing of life at both ends of the spectrum, the dismissal of seniors as expendable?
     But I was attracted to the idea of not pursuing answers for every medical question I have, not pursuing treatment and especially not landing in a hospital, where so many of our friends have contracted staph infections. I'm old, I'll have aches and pains, why not ignore them best I can and enjoy the rest of what time I have.
     I told him I agreed with him and he beamed, nodding enthusiastically. Then he strolled over and listened to my (still abnormal) heartbeat and re-iterated his prescription to stop stressing about it.
     Somehow I knew he was telling me I am old and useless, I've lived my life and now it's time for me to die. But somehow, just as they did when my granddaughter said them, the words were strangely comforting. I can relax now and enjoy life, however much of it I have left.
     Abnormal heartbeat or not, my heart has felt fine ever since.

 Today I am thankful for truth-tellers.

The Burning of a Small Library - 2

"The death of an elderly person is like the burning of a small library." (Author unknown (to me)
See His Scribe for Burning of a Small Library - 1

   Once, with several family members within earshot, our then three-year old granddaughter Kate asked me  (business-like), "What do you want to be when you grow up?"
     "A mommy and a grandma."
     "You are a mommy and a grandma." Astonished.
     "Yes."
     "So you're done." Pause. Bewildered: "Now you have to die!"

     Months ago I shared with you (on His Scribe) my feelings about being a small library. Now I want to talk about the burning part. Death.
      I think about death a lot. I thought about death--morbidly--when I was suicidal in my late teens. I wanted to be rid of myself but was scared to die. It seemed then as if life was too strong to destroy. Now I'm at an age where many of my friends try desperately to cling to life--and can't. Life seems so fragile. I think about death now, though, with anticipation and curiosity. Some of my favorite people are on the other side of that "veil."
     I've discovered that the things I have dreaded most, like flying, chronic pain, persecution, and death, may actually prove to be the very things I would embrace if I knew the joy God offers with them. I was always hung up on the dying but that only has to be done once so now I look beyond it.
     Firsthand accounts, in Scripture and in books like Don Piper's 90 Minutes in Heaven, assure me the afterlife, for those who are trusting Christ's merits not our own to get us there is going to be great! Colors that go beyond our known spectrum, music with harmonies more beautiful than we can even imagine--and the presence of the One who loves us and Whom we love more than anything in this world--literally!
     So what we call "death" must be absolutely, unbelievably, fabulously, marvelously delightful and fulfilling. "In His presence is fullness of joy and at His right side are pleasures forevermore," the Bible says. Pleasures! Forever! And productive things to do, like ruling cities.

     I don't mind the library burning but I want to transfer its contents to other libraries before it burns. I'd hate to have all that accumulated knowledge wasted.

Today I am thankful for hope beyond this life.