Spring is awakening, we're getting vaccinated and can carefully socialize once again. Is life going "back to normal"? I hope not. Let's move forward to incorporate lessons learned: what's really important and what we can do without; new ways to stay connected, find meaning and pleasure in our lives. The older and more compromised among us were most isolated and had the hardest times. Now it's time to offer a hug. Find someone distinctly older or younger than yourself to connect with. Being good to others is good for our selves.
From Facebook a while back. Still a worthwhile read...
"When
an old man died in the geriatric ward of a nursing home in North
Platte, Nebraska , it was believed that he had nothing left of any
value.
Later,
when the nurses were going through his meager possessions, they found the poem below. Its quality and content so impressed the staff that copies
were made and distributed to every nurse in the hospital. The old man's sole bequest to posterity went far and wide and was published in the "News Magazine of the St. Louis, MO Association
for Mental Health".
 |
Crabby Old Man |
What do you see nurses? . . . .. . What do you see?
What are you thinking . . . . . When you're looking at me?
A crabby old man . . . . . Not very wise,
Uncertain of habit . . . . . With faraway eyes?
Who dribbles his food . . . . . And makes no reply.
When you say in a loud voice . . . . . 'I do wish you'd try!'
Who seems not to notice . . . . . The things that you do.
And forever is losing . . . . . A sock or shoe?
Who, resisting or not . . . . .. Lets you do as you will,
With bathing and feeding . . . . . The long day to fill?
Is that what you're thinking? . . . . . Is that what you see?
Then open your eyes, nurse . . . . . You're not looking at me.
I'll tell you who I am. . . . . . As I sit here so still,
As I do at your bidding, . . . . . As I eat at your will.
I'm a small child of Ten . .. . . . With a father and mother,
Brothers and sisters . . . . . Who love one another.
A young boy of Sixteen . . . . With wings on his feet..
Dreaming that soon now . . . . . A lover he'll meet.
A groom soon at Twenty . . . . . My heart gives a leap.
Remembering, the vows . . . . .. That I promised to keep.
At Twenty-Five, now . . . . . I have young of my own.
Who need me to guide . . . . . And a secure happy home.
A man of Thirty . . . . . My young now grown fast,
Bound to each other . . . . . With ties that should last.
At Forty, my young sons . . . . . Have grown and are gone,
But my woman's beside me . . . . . To see I don't mourn.
At Fifty, once more, babies play 'round my knee,
Again, we know children . . . .. . My loved one and me.
Dark days are upon me . . . . . My wife is now dead.
I look at the future . . . . . Shudder with dread.
For my young are all rearing . . . . . Young of their own.
And I think of the years . . . . . And the love that I've known.
I'm now an old man . . . . . And nature is cruel.
Tis jest to make old age . . . .. . Look like a fool.
The body, it crumbles . . . . . Grace and vigor, depart.
There is now a stone . .. . . Where I once had a heart.
But inside this old carcass . . . . . A young guy still dwells,
And now and again . . . . . My battered heart swells.
I remember the joys . . . . . I remember the pain.
And I'm loving and living . . . .. . Life over again.
I think of the years, all too few . . . . . Gone too fast.
And accept the stark fact . . . . That nothing can last.
So open your eyes, people . . . . . Open and see.
Not a crabby old man . . . Look closer . . . See ME!!
Remember, we are all either old or getting old. Think of this poem when you meet an older person you might brush aside without looking at the young soul within.
The best and most beautiful things of this world can't be seen or touched. They must be felt with the heart.
PLEASE SHARE THIS POEM.
