Growing Old, Positive or Negative

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
                                       Dylan Thomas

The poem "Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night" by Dylan Thomas is the voice of a younger man speaking to his father, who apparently is dying.

Of course, the myth is that old men are wiser than young men (and maybe older women than younger). In this poem, it is the younger man who is full of wisdom.

Reading this poem reminds me of my father. He was a fighter who did not go gentle into that good night when he died three or four years ago. He fought hard through the later years of his life, mainly against cancer. He won that battle several times. He also had some heart problems, and they're what took him in the end. An interesting fact is that he never complained about his health problems or his aches and pains. He was always superior to them, and that is a form of living bravely. He was also a happy man. He was humorous right to the end.

In old age we can become consigned to our end, lazy, and despondent. This probably has more to do with falling into depression than to the process of growing old itself. How you think affects greatly how you live. And how you think about your life in old age has a lot to do with how you thought about your life before you grew old. Our lives are a continuum of thoughts and experiences from the time of birth until the time of dying.

I'm getting older now and I wonder sometimes: Am I going gentle into that good night, or am I raging against the dying of the light. I like to think that I'm doing the latter. Part of being human is having a sense of self, and hopefully a strong and happy inner self. As a writer and painter, I continue to allow my inner self to come out of hiding. Our inner selves are often a mystery to us, we cannot 'see' our inner selves directly, except perhaps in meditation (something I cannot speak for, because I do not practice meditation). We mainly experience our inner selves indirectly, through moods, thoughts, day dreaming, sex, good work (work that feeds our inner strength and happiness), and perhaps writing and other arts.

What about the religious angle? People who believe in God, and believe that God is good and/or loving, may actually have a kind of positive resignation. That is, they are resigned to growing old and dying, but with a positive view of the process, because they see a good outcome to dying: meeting God. What about the atheist? What positive outcome is there for someone who sees the end as a dead end, as an end to self-consciousness? How do they view growing old and dying? Is raging against the dying of the light more important for them, because after this life there is no other?

Here is a link to Thomas's poem. If you go to the end of the article, you can actually hear him reading the poem. It's worth listening to just to hear his deep and resonant voice, which he was also famous for.

Hear Dylan Thomas reading this great poem

A Eulogy For My Father Ernest E. Hughes

I've had the sad experience for the past few weeks of my father's dying and death. He finally died on March 20, 2014. (see obituary here) I had the honor of leading his memorial service, which included testimonials by several other people and the playing of taps and the presentation of the United States flag to my mother by the United States Marine Corps. I'd like to share with you and the world my address at his service.

My father was a rugged individualist who did things his way and, for the most part, did them himself.

Born in rural, depression-era Jamestown, North Carolina, he had a rocky relationship with his father, running away from home more than once.

When the Japanese attacked Pearl Harbor in 1941, my father wanted to fight, and enlisted at age seventeen, with his parents' consent, even though he had two brothers already enlisted and fighting.

After the war, with an 8th grade, and no doubt, being from the deep south, deficient education, he set about supporting a family, raising two children, and putting them both through college.

After educating his children, he earned his GED and was a member of the first graduating class at the University of North Florida.

His achievements are considerable, especially based on from where he came. He was a warrior for his country, a hard worker for his family, who managed to retire early and obtain his college degree and to use his know-how to buy, sell, and lease real estate.

My father was the bravest man I've ever known. He was absolutely fearless. No one pushed him around. Yet, at the same time, he was a most considerate person. He would help anyone in any way he could. Few know it, but he was a blood donor all his life, giving a pint of blood every opportunity that he could. He once told me, "Most people don't donate blood, but they expect it to be there when they need it." He wasn't that kind of a person. He was a giver, not a taker.

In his final years, he did not, as Dylan Thomas wrote, "Go gentle into that good night" but he "Raged, raged against the dying of the light."

A victim over the years of several types of cancer and heart problems, he never gave up on life, recovering over and over again, until his body finally gave out. And when it did, he died at 3:40 in the morning with my mother, his wife of 68 years, holding one hand, and the nurse, a complete stranger, holding his other hand. And that's as it should be. At his moment of death, he was comforted by his wife, who knew him best, and by a stranger, who didn't know him at all, but who may have benefited from his generosity at some point in her life.

Having a meaningful life means different things to different people. But, if living up to your own beliefs has anything to do with it, his life was meaningful in the most meaningful way.

Everyone who benefited from his life, friends, family, and strangers alike, will miss him, more than he'll ever know.

Baby Boomers, What Are We To Do?

There's a new genre of writing developing called Boomer Lit, What is boomer lit?, apparently being brought to you by the same people who developed, or for whom, YA Lit was developed, us Baby Boomers. Now that we're aging (retiring), what are we to do? How are we to fill our days? What is expected of us? What do we expect of ourselves? Of course, our writings will reflect the answers to those questions. But actions speak louder than words. So, what are we to do?

Are we to sit back and luxuriate in the large and small fortunes many of us have amassed over the past forty years? Are we to pat ourselves on the backs and watch T.V. off into the sunset? Do we go out with a whimper or a bang, to borrow from T.S. Eliot? We came into the world rather quietly, I believe. I don't think our parents realized what they were doing, what they were unleashing on the world, when they produced us out of the goodness of their hearts and love for each other. Our parents were the products of The Great Depression and WWII. We children shared in the spoils of their victory.

My father was a U.S. Marine who fought in the Pacific. He was never one to boast about the war. In fact, I don't think I've ever heard a single WWII veteran boast about what he did. They were too busy getting back to living. The war was their launching pad to a new era and a new way of life. Like so many of the men who fought in WWII, my father came off the farm to live a different life than his parents had lived. He experienced too much in the war to ever go back to just struggling on the farm. And there was no blueprint for my father to follow, or for many of the men back then to follow. They had to figure it out for themselves. And they did. We are a part of their experiment.

I plan on writing more and more about Boomer Lit and living this end-stage of my life. Hopefully, I'll be better in old age than I was in my youth.