“When an elder passes away, a library burns to the ground.” ~African Proverb
For much of my existence, I thought aging was linked to physical deterioration—white hair, lapses in memory, smaller strides. Yet, looking after my ninety-six-year-old mother unveiled a deeper truth: the slow erosion of wisdom in a culture that prizes the new, overlooks the elderly, and rushes past to acknowledge what is lost.
We live in a society that idolizes youth and newness—modern technologies, fads, concepts. “Old” equates to “obsolete.” When wisdom fades into the background, we stop asking profound questions and forfeit the insight from those who have traversed life’s vast experience.
One afternoon, as my mother shared a tale about her father, I came to a disquieting realization: by not being fully attentive to her in the present, I was not only facing her potential loss but also losing the chance to carry forward her insights and enhance my self-understanding.
The Moment of Realization
The room was filled with late-afternoon sunlight, warm and soft. My mother was opposite me, sharing memories of her youth—ration books from wartime, the first time she heard music playing on the radio.
Suddenly, she halted mid-story. A hush ensued. I felt my usual impatience rising—the desire to complete her sentence, shift topics, return to my checklist.
But this occasion, I remained.
I embraced the quiet and felt a change. The pause was full of significance—it encapsulated her endeavor, grace, and her attempt to connect across time with something important. To hurry her would mean obliterating more than her narrative. It would deny her the chance to rediscover it.
In that instant, I understood that listening transcends mere kindness. It is an act of preservation—of her narrative, the bond we share, and my capability to stay engaged amidst life’s challenges.
Insights on Decline
Supporting an elder extends beyond ensuring their safety, nourishment, or medication. It requires being a witness as their world shrinks.
Witnessing necessitates active engagement—the job of recognizing subtle shifts in voice, the sparkle in their eyes at a known melody, the joy they express while telling a tale unique to them.
This journey enlightened me that dignity is not synonymous with perpetual strength. Dignity involves being acknowledged and cherished until the very end. This is something we can afford each other—if we choose to take our time.
The Price of a Culture That Diverts Its Gaze
Our community hastens forward, frequently turning its back on aging, decline, and mortality. Youth is exalted; aging is feared. “Old” becomes something to conceal, amend, or even worse, overlook.
Nevertheless, every act of emotional distancing leads to an irretrievable loss—not solely their narratives but also our readiness for the same path.
These caregiving experiences