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Nobody said the pandemic was over

Generations in our family have lived for decades. They have run with the wind and sat at the feet of the generation before them. They have come into their own by way of strategy or haphazardly, however, not without a good dose of God’s grace.

As one generation ages, and fades, the time for the next to ascend quickly approaches. Preparation for ascendence is never made. Eldership arrives without notice and you realize you must pick up the pace.

Eldership comes in the fall when you have less time ahead than you’ve spent in the past. The young folks are convinced that you have the answers, you’ve lived the examples from which they can withdraw advice. Proof of that are the etched lines that accent your face.

So, step into your office. Don’t be mean. Don’t be a curmudgeon. Be the elder you’re called to be and offer guidance from which the frayed edges of life young folks can lace.

Old and Blessed

I’m sharing a Facebook post made by my niece. I won’t divulge her full name. Her first name is Bethany. I found her post quite powerful, as she lists some devastating events that have occurred in her life over the last seventeen years or so. Although she is my niece by marriage, I feel a strong connection to her and her siblings who know quite well what grief is. When she mentions her auntie, she is referring to my wife, who passed away recently. This piece has no title. It begins with a warning that it’s a “Long post.”

Long post….

Today makes one month since my dad transitioned…

At 23, I became a caregiver. I was just a baby myself.

At 26, My mom started Dialysis.

At 31, we received the devastating news that my dad had dementia…we started the long goodbye.

At 33, I watched my mom take her last breath. It changed me forever.

At 36, I got married during COVID. It was the most bittersweet day I had experienced up to that point in my life. My heart was full, but there was emptiness because my parents weren’t there to witness it.

These past few months have been an emotional roller coaster for me…

In March, my auntie received heartbreaking news. I am so thankful I was able to spend time with her, laugh with her, and have some incredible conversations before May 18th…

Sixteen days later, on June 3rd, my caregiving journey came to an end…another bittersweet day. Bitter because my dad was gone. Sweet because dementia had robbed him of so much, and he was finally free from the disease that had slowly taken pieces of him away. He was no longer suffering.

I thought time would somehow erase the depth of my grief, but 2026 has reminded me that some emotions never truly leave us. They soften. They become quieter. But they remain a part of who we are.

This journey has taught me that life can literally change in the blink of an eye. One phone call, one moment, one breath can divide your life into “before” and “after.” What I’ve also learned is that even when a loss is expected, it can still catch you completely off guard. You may prepare your mind, but your heart is never ready. There is no countdown that makes saying goodbye easier.

For nearly two decades, caregiving shaped so much of my life. I had to make some difficult decisions, but it taught me about patience, sacrifice, resilience, and unconditional love. It also taught me that grief doesn’t always begin the day someone dies. It can begin years earlier, with every diagnosis, every decline, and every goodbye you have to say long before the final one.

Life is fragile, love is precious and every moment is a gift. So, make the phone call, take the picture, hug a little longer, forgive, or simply be present…because tomorrow is never guaranteed, but love leaves a legacy that outlives every goodbye.

Bethany

            They keep on shooting.

Your advice to me, after a devastating tragedy, is to take it one day at a time. Good advice that I don’t really have to use. How else can I do anything except one day at a time? Isn’t that the way life comes to us? We trudge through life, and time moves at its own pace, in its own time, the same for every one of us.

Old and Blessed

                                                                                    The memo

She passed away

What a way to say

She’ll no longer be with us for another day

She passed way

But I still feel her presence anyway

I can still hear her say, “Have a nice day,” in her special way

She passed away

Yes, she did, but the love I have for her will never decay

And the grief I’m left with will be with me as I build a new normal day by day

She passed away

And now she’s with her Lord and savior

She’s now enjoying a better way

Love you, and with me you may forever stay

Old and Blessed

Where would I be if I had not experienced all that life has served me? There have been dreadful things, some with long-lasting effects; with pain and suffering that stifled my movements for lengths of time, that I told myself I did not select.

There have been good times that brought joy beyond measure. These were times that I still treasure; times that I count as blessings. Times that have made the journey worth every step along the way.

But where would I be without it all? Whether I, at times stood tall, or suffered badly with the greatest of falls. I am who I am because of it all.

Was that the plan?

Old and Blessed            

No matter how good life seems to be,

something will go wrong at times.

The rhythm will go flat,

 and there will be an absence of harmony.

But this is just the way it is.

Can’t you see?

He said, during hardships lean on me.

Old and Blessed

I recall a time when we romped with endless abandon, playing indoors and out without care, enjoying life as kids everywhere. We would enjoy cartoons on TV, as much as going outside to ascend a tree. Our joy was unconditional, not dependent on any outside occurrence to make it eventful. As time passed by, we assumed the responsibilities of adulthood marriage, mortgages, service to others. We viewed all who were needy as our sisters and brothers.

And now, as we age with God’s grace, we find ourselves experiencing changes in our bodies and the need for a slower pace. We no longer romp about, but we cherish each moment as we know our lives are closer to running out.

We’re blessed to still be here, no longer romping, but holding memories of those days near and dear.

Old and Blessed