Today

Dears-It's my 69th birthday.

And guidance is interesting. In my working life, I've been a guide for families as they welcome their newest members. It's so hard being a parent! Nothing can prepare us for the rigors, the anxiety, the fierce love that is pulled, sometimes wrenched from us. And the long arc of parenthood falling into grandparenthood for some of us. The leaning back into received wisdom, the eye to what is and what isn't important after all. Love and acceptance, showing up, telling the truth to the next generation. I have spoken to my grandson in ways I would never have to my children. I am less attached to being liked by him. I am interested in being an anchor, if he needs one, because I am trustworthy and I love him, no matter what.

But today, as I consider my own mortality and the mortality of all I love, including everything, I am reminded of the 5 Remembrances: Old age, sickness, death, ceaseless change and the fact that all we 'own' are our actions. How do we conduct ourselves in old age. What does it mean to be old. This old face and body, the encoded reason for the death of this body, these cells. Unknowable right now but there, the dark angel awaits us all.

A brilliant morning in Seattle, clear blue sky with sun and birds. A bit of Mozart. Tea. The dog always game for whatever comes along. I think a walk in Discovery Park, a huge waterfront park with lighthouse and numerous trails. We can easily spend a few hours there.

I am listening for the voices of my dead parents, some guidance for old age. I remember my mother sitting on the couch knitting a yellow sweater which I never saw her wear. I remember thinking she might be making it for me (no). Each time I saw her, she looked smaller and older. It was always a shock. When you see someone occasionally, the changes are dramatic. I think that was the generation that never talked about real things: menstruation, sex, childbirth, aging, menopause. I learned it on my own. And decided to talk to my children about all of it.

What does it mean to be old, to get old? My desk holds a few photos of dear ones who have died. Gone before...I have time I haven't had before. Just being off call now is amazing. I just...noticed that I was no longer on the call schedule. What a relief. And is there some diminishment there? Some feeling that I'm no longer needed as I was. How egotistical. I've alway maintained that we midwives are interchangeable although our families remember just who was there and give that person special attention. We want to be special to someone.

I know I'm rambling here. Still putting it down and it is mysterious to me. We are exhorted to rest and relax, go on vacations, put our feet up, etc when we are old. But why? If our bodies and brains still work, why go into that kind of slumber? I sit and watch the young midwifery students conduct prenatal visits and they have heads chock full of facts and figures. I step in where there is a problem; a mother is depressed or angry, a family is in distress for some reason. I am less interested in the check list and more interested in the interplay, the mystery of connection and love.

And maybe that is a gift of the old. It's what we learn and study throughout our lives. A distillation of the ten thousand joys and sorrows. The deepest kind of compassion and equanimity.

Where there is love, there is life.
                                                   - Gandhi