As I approach my birthday this year, I know that I am inexorably closer to the sunset of my life, and that I am called to meet it with gratitude and acceptance.
Last winter, my beloved pastor friend, Carol, gifted me with Vesper Time: The Spiritual Practice of Growing Older by Frank J. Cunningham. The next-to-last chapter is entitled, “Gratitude” which Cunningham calls, “the first movement of the spiritual life.” After reading the chapter, I made a list:
The last chapter is entitled, “Acceptance” and is about learning to accept our “steady diminishment.” According to Cunningham, “the virtue of acceptance is found in surrendering to the truth of the matter rather than pretending it doesn’t exist.” He then delineates three acceptances:
First, accept our story — “the supreme achievement of the self is to find an insight that connects together the events, dreams and relationships that make up our existence.”
Second, accept our brokenness — the freedom to seize hold of that strength, “choosing to face an uncertain future with hope rather than immerse oneself in the weight of one’s past.”
Third, accept the need to reconsider our cultural norms for death — “We don’t win a battle with death. We only win with a peaceful death.”
When I first read these acceptances, I wrote in my journal, “NO WAY! First, I’m not even certain what my story is. Second, you try lifting the weight of my past, and last, I hate to wait for ANYTHING, let alone a peaceful death.”
I then re-read what I wrote and thought, “Good Lord, what a little kid you are. Don’t you realize how far you have come? You are tirelessly investigating and writing out your story; the weight of your past is nothing compared to the unbearable lightness of your loved ones; and what do you mean you hate to wait for ANYTHING?! You have been waiting for decades for your story to become more and more clear. And heaven knows you don’t want a peaceful death. You want a heroic one — you know, like saving a bus load of nuns and deaf kids from falling off a bridge.”
I paused to laugh at myself. What a goof ball. Look at yourself, Sharon. You’ve come so far and you aren’t done yet. You’ll keep going. You’re going to face your final sunset with peace and sass and humor surrounded by loved ones. Yeah, you’re going to do it, girl. ACCEPT. IT.
The photos of the Grand Canyon were taken at sunrise on February 17, 2025 between 5:48 and 5:56 p.m.
Yeah acceptance, but what about raging against the dying of the light? I’ve nearly died a couple of times and one of these days it’ll be all the way. I haven’t done anything right so far so why would I start with dying? My one big consolation is when I was in hypnotherapy one time I was able to voluntarily leave my body and it was the best feeling. Bliss, relief … truly a good feeling. I imagine and hope that crossing that doorway feels the same.
Good morning, dear Neola!
What a potent point you make. Yes, Dylan Thomas was on to something for sure. I did not know that you had nearly died more than one time (which is bad enough), and I am sorry that you were so close to crossing the doorway a couple of times. I declare here and now that I am deeply grateful that you are still among us because I love the world so much better with you in it.
This post reflects some change in me that I didn’t realize until I wrote about it. I seriously did write out a snarky response to Cunningham’s three acceptances when I first read them. But when I read over what I had written, it seemed false, and worse, boring. Something or someone inside me whispered, “Why do you keep falling back on tired, default opinions about yourself and life? Seriously, lately don’t you feel a bit differently? What might it be like to live more than five minutes as though you really had a more positive perspective on life?” Thus that declarative paragraph that ends with a bus load of nuns and deaf kids. It surprised me.
I wanted to explain the use of the word, “inexorable” in the title of this post. It is a kind of homage to Mary Hood’s short story, “Inexorable Progress” from her collection, How Far She Went, that won the Flannery O’Connor Award for Short Fiction in 1984. This story haunted me when I first read it and still haunts me. In it, Hood explores the life and dying of a woman out of her time, too late for the women’s movement and unstrung by its possibilities. It is engaging and startling and does not have a happy ending. The ending is one I always imagined for myself. The first sentence of that story:
“There’s not much difference between a bare tree and a dead tree in winter. Only when the others begin to leaf out the next spring and one is left behind in the general green onrush can the eye tell. By then it’s too late for the remedy.”
Isn’t that one of the most hauntingly beautiful opening sentences for a story?
Happy Birthday Eve Dear One. Aging is not easy. Being human is not easy. Aging is being human. I am consoled that we are Souls with bodies. Right now I am taking Cynthia Bourgeault’s conscious aging class. She points out that if we focus on keeping youthful we miss discovering our vast internal world that carries over as our cellular structure wears out.
“. . . if we focus on keeping youthful we miss discovering our vast internal world that carries over as our cellular structure wears out.”
Wow, Charlotte. That’s one helluva profound insight from Bourgeault. Thanks for posting it.