Recently my granddaughter Claire suggested I do a post on hospital chaplaincy. It got me to reflecting on that period of my life. I did my training at Holy Cross Hospital in Silver Spring, Maryland and then worked at Georgetown Hospital in DC. All this was in the 1980’s.

Looking back I can not remember any lightbulb moment that immediately drew me to chaplaincy. Our five children were getting older, I was starting to have a little more free time and I wanted to have a plan for that free time. I had loved my nursing experience – perhaps that was a hint of the direction I should be looking. Then I read about the chaplaincy training program at Holy Cross and felt confident that this was the avenue I should explore. I knew that I would feel at home in the hospital environment and I knew from my Cornell days the significant role that could be played by a caring hospital chaplain.

Monsignor James Wilder was the main chaplain at Cornell / New York Hospital in my student days. He and I became good friends. I had many opportunities to witness his kindness and his caring. When Jerry and I were married a year and a half after graduation we asked the Monsignor to be the celebrant at our wedding. My brother Bud who was studying for the priesthood was also part of the ceremony but since he was not yet ordained he could not be the official celebrant.

I started the training at Holy Cross in early Fall of 1980. ( Our son Jim was born at Holy Cross Hospital in 1966 – that made it even more special to be going there for chaplaincy training.) It was a new program at Holy Cross and the training class was limited in size . We were a mixture of lay men and women and religious Brothers and Sisters. I enjoyed the classes and the on floor training experience. And then we started a learning experience that some of my classmates had already experienced in their college days. I had not and it was tough. The specific name I can’t remember, but I can easily describe it. As I look back I believe there were eight of us in this class whose purpose was to make us aware that the words we use might mean one thing to us and something very different to our audience. This is a basic concept of communication that as we grow and develop becomes more apparent. It certainly was woven into the fabric of my nurse’s training. And now even more so into the pastoral care training where it was emphasized – that listening and talking were two of our most valuable tools. The basic structure of the class was to focus on individual members and their various sharings. You never knew when it was going to be your turn.

And then my turn came in the last class before Thanksgiving break 1980. I got there early, along with the facilitator and several of my classmates. I remember wondering who would be “picked on” that day. There was social chit chat while we waited for the rest to arrive. A classmate with whom I was particularly friendly asked me what my family was doing for Thanksgiving. I launched into how excited I was for the holiday, that it would be the first time we would be seeing our son since he started college, that we also would also be gathering with my brother and his family. And then the facilitator started class. After getting some administrative stuff out of the way she turned to me and said, ” I was really upset by your Thanksgiving conversation”. She then proceeded to say her college daughter was not coming home for the holiday, that she and her husband were so disappointed. She wanted to know if I thought everyone had happy holiday plans. The facilitator said that she knew my Thanksgiving remarks were in response to a question that I was asked, but that in working with patients we must always be aware of our words and of the possible frame of reference of the receiver of those words. In spite of the fact that I felt like I had been hit with a verbal sledge hammer it was a point well made.

A happy memory that stands out from this time was the intimate celebration when training was complete and Catholic Hospital Chaplaincy certification was obtained. My husband was in Japan on business but our daughter Maura, at that time a senior in high school, said that she wanted to come and represent the family. It meant the would be missing a day of school but she was such a good student that missing a day was not an issue. I was touched and honored that she wanted to be there.

At that time Georgetown Hospital was looking for lay chaplains and I applied and got one of those positions. I loved my work at Georgetown. It was thirty five plus years ago so I don’t remember my actual dates of employment but it was under two years. Why did I leave a job that I loved? It was because they started requiring the lay staff to rotate working nights and weekends. I gave it a try but I was a very sleepy failure. When I would go home after a night rotation, if the kids were not in school or if Jerry was at home, I wanted to be up with them rather than get my much needed sleep. Summertime was particularly bad. I wanted to be with my family. I sadly but realistically gave my letter of resignation.

What did I love about Georgetown? In nursing sometimes your patient load was so great you could not spend as much time as you liked with each patient. That was seldom the case with chaplaincy. A patient who stands out in my memory was a woman in her 80’s – the age that I am now. She was a retired reporter for the Washington Post. It had been a very successful career for her and when retirement came she was not prepared for it. She had lots of friends but most of those friends were themselves in questionable health. She had no family. In chaplaincy some visits were spiritually focused, some were to provide a caring, listening presence for a lonely patient. She fell into the later category. I was happy that we connected, that she felt she could share her concerns with me.

In both nursing and in chaplaincy and in life it is important to keep the needs of others in proper perspective. It is impossible to be a source of comfort and meaningful help to others if you let yourself be overcome by the tough times they are going through. Sometimes I found it hard to maintain that empathy balance. My husband’s law partner’s wife was a patient at Georgetown during my tenure. They had four young children and she was dying of pancreatic cancer. She and I were very good friends. I had a hard time being a meaningful source of comfort to her family.

I was working at Georgetown on January 28, 1986 when the space shuttle Challenger broke apart just shortly after take off. That morning was particularly busy for me. When I was moving between floors sometimes I took the stairs , sometimes the elevator. This was an elevator day. I pressed the buzzer and waited. When the elevator doors opened I heard the sound of crying. When I got on the elevator – everyone was crying – some softly, some loudly. The person next to me, realizing my confusion, whispered -” It is the space shuttle Challenger – it has crashed – there are no survivors”. I also cried.

It was in an earlier blog that I spoke of my friendship with Sister Jean . She was a fellow chaplain at Georgetown. Her softness, her kindness, her unassuming manner were her trademarks. When I left Georgetown we maintained our friendship. When she died I was devastated but comforted by the standing room only crowd at her funeral. The professional staff and housekeeping were all equally represented. Jean had touched many lives!!!

In my last days at Georgetown I reflected on how grateful I was for my time there but realistic that I just could not cope with the mandate to work evenings and nights. I would take away with me many learnings. I had seen first hand the courage of those facing death; the fears of those facing death; the resilience of those on losing a loved one. I prayed that I had been some source of comfort to those who had allowed me to share in their most vulnerable moments.

It is important in all stages of life to be honest about our individual capabilities. I had come to know so many wonderful people – both staff and patients – but it was time for me to move on.

IN 1959 I graduated from Cornell ‘s Nursing School and right after taking the RN exam nine of us headed off to Europe for six weeks. I had already lined up a job as a public health nurse starting in September. When my friends first started talking about this trip I had no thoughts of going. If I did anything like that I wanted to pay for it myself. After all I would soon be a working woman. But when my parents heard what my friends were up to, they insisted I go.

My great Aunt Rose died when I was about 12. She left me money to get braces on my teeth. She told me she was going to do that. Unfortunately Aunt Rose did not specify in her will why she was leaving me the money and since I was a minor my parents were not only not allowed to use the money, but my mother had to go through a court procedure to be appointed my legal guardian. And once a year, till I was 18, she had to file papers with the Court detailing her care of the money. In the end my parents paid for me to have braces and when I reached eighteen and the Aunt Rose money came to me, I gave it to them. It was about two thousand dollars. As far as I was concerned the money was theirs. Unbeknownst to me, Mom and Dad put it in a bank account for me. When they learned of the planned European trip they insisted I use that money and join my friends. I insisted the money was theirs. What finally made me change my mind was their saying that Aunt Rose would be so happy to have me going on such an adventure. I knew that was true. The picture above is when my cousin Jim surprised me by coming to see me off.

Jim and his wife live in California. He called today. Growing up we spent so much time with Jim and his sister Fran that I often thought of them more as my brother and sister rather than as first cousins – probably pretty understandable since our identical twin sister mothers were so very close. Jim is two years older than me, the same age as my brother Pete. We were all very close. Jim has dealt with some tough health issues but has never lost his sense of humor. I have always enjoyed his take on life and since I was planning on writing this blog about feelings on being old I probed him for his thoughts. He laughed. He certainly did not think 80 was the new 40. We both agreed that aging was easier when you retain your mental capabilities. But under that scenario you are also very aware of the aging process chipping away at your health – sometimes in a minor way sometimes making a more major inroad.

About two weeks ago I went for a skin check by the dermatologist. Might have cancelled the appointment in this time of Covid 19 but there were two spots on my face that were red and irritated and sometimes given to bleeding. I had pointed the spots out to the dermatologist on a previous visit and had been told it was just aging skin. Since I have a rather robust history of basil cell and squamous cell cancer I pay close attention to skin aberrations.

I am proud of my Irish heritage but fair skin combined with a childhood where many hours were spent in sun-filled outdoor pursuits has made me fertile ground for skin cancer. The doctor decided it was time to biopsy both spots. I was told I would get a phone call if the biopsies came back positive – that I did not need to call but of course could if I wanted too. Since about thirty five years ago I had the experience of not getting a call back when a test result was positive I have always followed up in these circumstances. I was glad I did. Though the doctor’s office said they had tried to reach me there was no record of such a call on my I-phone. It turned out the secretary had the wrong number. The smaller spot was a basil cell , the larger was squamous cell. I took their first available appointment for Mohs surgery – a week from today – thanked them , said goodbye, hung up the phone and started crying. The tears were strictly vanity tears. I have been down this road before. It was not a matter of life and death. I am a breast cancer survivor – this was definitely not a matter of life and death.

My last Mohs surgery – about a year and a half ago – was down the center of my nose. l had handled that well. After a little rest at home following that surgery I had gone with my husband to an afternoon of bridge – with a large pressure dressing on my nose. This was a local bridge group of contemporaries that Jerry and I belonged to. I figured everyone could care less about how I looked – they were into their bridge. Why was I being such a baby about this new skin cancer? Pure unadulterated vanity. Maybe vanity gets worse as you get older. I had a vision of my face filled with ugly craters that gradually got worse with the passage of time. Fortunately at that moment our son Jim called. He is partially named after cousin Jim. Though I tried to act like all was fine – Jim quickly sensed that it was not. And I finally succumbed to his concern. He said all the right things. And between Jim’s words and my husband’s hugs – he had been working in the other room and was not initially aware of what was going on – I got my head on straight again. That night Jerry and I played on line scrabble with our son who is sheltering in place with his family at their beach home in New Jersey and with his daughter and her fiancee who are in California. In the chit chat before the game began I never even thought to mention my impending Mohs surgery.

What does it mean to be old? Is there a number that can be attached to that pivotal point when one passes from the first half of life to the second. I believe it is different for different people. And what makes for the difference? The first half is a time of family, school, focusing on a career, perhaps raising a family. It is a time to gain wisdom and set priorities for what is truly important, to work on becoming comfortable with our inner self . The second half of life flows much easier when we see a purpose to our lives; when we are able to share the wisdom and experiences that are part of aging; when to the best of our ability our focus is not on the physical aspects of aging but rather on the opportunities for growth and learning that abound in our world.

I believe the meaning in being old is to be found in setting proper priorities for what we want from life and what we feel we can give to life.

Recently I celebrated my 83d birthday. Birthdays are a good time for reflection and the dogwoods pictured above provide good material for reflection. They were both planted thirty years ago. I have not always loved dogwoods. As a child when I learned the legend of the dogwood – that it was the wood used to make the cross that Christ was crucified on, I didn’t want to have anything to do with dogwoods. And then I learned the rest of the legend. After the Crucifixion God punished the dogwood and shrunk it in size and twisted its branches. But God also gave the dogwood a beautiful flower whose four petals could be thought of as being in the shape of the Cross. With the passage of time I decided that in giving the dogwood such a beautiful flower God was ok with my being a dogwood fan.

The two dogwoods pictured have always had very different growing schedules. The one to the right as you come out our front door is very robust. In early spring as soon as the weather starts to warm this tree with its new leaves and buds is truly magnificent. The tree to the left is about two weeks behind in its growth schedule but when it finally reaches full bloom it is just as magnificent. Perhaps not quite as robust but it definitely has a very appealing delicate beauty. Makes me think about the various stages of human growth. So often our physical growth does not match our internal thinking, feeling, intellectual growth.

When I was in sixth grade I was five feet six inches tall – the height I stayed at till my seventies when I started to head back down again. There were nine boys and nine girls in my class. We were part of the last class of February students in the New York State school system. I started kindergarten in February, grade school, and high school and college – all in February. February students spent the Fall of the school year sharing a room with the incoming September students as the oldest in the class. And then in February when we moved up a grade we became the youngest in the class as we now shared a classroom with those a half year ahead who would be moving to a new grade in June. The September students were at least forty in number – so that made the average class size about sixty with just one classroom and one home room teacher per grade. It was a small parochial school with an amazing cast of teachers. The lower grades were on the first floor in four separate classrooms , the higher grades, fifth to eighth were on the second floor.

I remember standing at the bottom of the school stairs, looking up, longing for the day when I would belong on the second floor. I was shy and very conscious of my height. My best friend, Gracie, was several months older and about five inches shorter than me. When we were thirteen we decided that the upcoming halloween would be our last “trick or treat” outing. I only went this time because Gracie asked me to. Since I looked older I was very conscious of the hype that painted going “trick or treating” as a fun time for young children. The first house we went to was a cruel blow to my self confidence. The woman who opened the door “oohed” and “ahed” over Gracie’s costume and though she gave me some candy, she also asked if I didn’t think I was too old to be making the halloween rounds.

I don’t know what years are the toughest as we struggle to develop and learn our God given gifts – I believe they are different for different folks. The two dogwoods in front of our house are both equally beautiful and each has come to their beauty on their own tree life schedule. When I was young I thought school was the source of all knowledge – that when you graduated you just rounded out your school knowledge. Little did I realize the scope of the world knowledge that awaited me.

By senior year of high school my social development started to catch up with my academic side. To my parents delight I now cared about my appearance. I am not sure if I had ever focused on the fact that I had a lot of freckles. Once after a basketball game I went with some friends to a pizza parlor. There were about ten of us who went. We were seated at a two sided table where those on my side were facing a mirrored wall. This was not the nerdy group that I usually hung out with, but they were very friendly and I was happy to be there with them. As I looked in the mirrored wall there was one girl who for a second I didn’t recognize, and then I realized that freckled face was my own. How many of of us go through life without ever really taking a good look at ourselves. This was my lightbulb moment.

High school graduation was on a Sunday night and then two days later I started college. I was in a rush to move on to the next phase of my life. My plan was to be a teacher and eventually to go to law school. The teacher part was because I liked school and the law plan as I now look back was probably because that was what my parents did. I commuted to college in New York City. One morning when I was riding the subway and hanging on to one of the ceiling straps since it was rush hour and I had been unable to get a seat, to pass the time I started reading the many ads that lined the walls of the subway cars. I kept going back to one posted by the American Red Cross that advertised a home nursing course. I found the content of the course very appealing: first aide; how to cope with a medical emergency; signs and symptoms of various illnesses. Later that day when again on the subway, heading home, I looked for the Red Cross ad. It was truly another lightbulb moment for me. It was early March, I was in the process of making a novena that I choose the right direction in my college courses. Within about a week, with my parents blessing I made an appointment with the college guidance counselor to learn about various nursing programs. I was very excited. I felt like my prayers were being answered, that I was being directed into a nursing career. When I learned of the nursing program that Cornell University – New York Hospital offered, I never applied anywhere else.

Lightbulb moments are special times of clarity – I have always looked on them as answers to prayer. There are unexpected pleasures in aging. In this second half of life I find meaning in the words of Harvard professor, Dan Gilbert: “Human beings are works in progress that mistakenly think they are finished”.

Easter has always been a special time in our family – a time of renewal, personal growth and perhaps relief that the personal sacrifices of Lent are finally over. When my brothers and I were small it was a big deal what you gave up for Lent. I remember one year giving up candy. And then a friend of my parents came for a visit. She brought three big Hershey bars for my brothers and me. We put them in the freezer section of our refrigerator to preserve them till Lent was over. In the 1940’s the freezer section was very small – in our case we had two shelves that held ice cube trays. We squeezed the Hershey bars in on top of the trays. I remember so clearly running to the frig at noon on Easter Saturday when the fast was officially over. The freezer wasn’t working properly and water had condensed on the chocolate. They were ruined – they tasted terrible. With the passage of time I finally understood that Lent was more meaningful if the focus was on positivity – doing spiritual reading, attending holy week services, being present in a meaningful way to those in need with some self denial thrown in to make the Lenten experience complete.

The church Jerry and I attend, St John Neumann, has been amazing in its efforts to serve the spiritual needs of its parishioners. When my mother reached the age where physically going to church was difficult, and my priestly brother was not available to say a home mass she got spiritual solace from televised masses. I just couldn’t relate but I was happy for her. Now I understand. Easter morning Jerry and I watched the streamed mass from our church. It could not have been more powerful – more meaningful.

Covid 19 is an interruption of family traditions. In our almost 60 years of marriage Jerry and I have always celebrated this holy time with family. And thanks to the marvels of Zoom and under the guidance of tech wizard granddaughter Annie, we were still all able to be together. Joined on the screen were family members from California to Quebec, to New Jersey, to Pennsylvania, the District of Columbia, and Virginia. There was time for sharing , albeit briefly so that all who wanted to would have time to talk, and that was followed by a family sing-a-long. Granted being together is the absolute best but this was a darn good substitute.

Covid 19 offers many opportunities for positivity. The pandemic is here. We can’t ignore it so we might as well make the best of it. To quote singer/ songwriter Townes Van Zandt ” To live is to fly both low and high, so shake the dust off of your wings and the tears out of your eyes”. As Jerry and I take walks through our community – maintaining our social distancing – I continue to be touched by the hellos and waves from fellow walkers – many of whom we don’t know. There just seems to be an air of “we are all in this together”. We are the oldest residents by far on our twelve home cul- de- sac – this was not the case when we moved in thirty years ago. We have been touched by the thoughtfulness of our neighbors’ offers of grocery shopping help. Our niece Mary and her family live just a few miles from us in a neighboring community. Holy Saturday she arrived at our front door with a loaf of freshly baked bread, a beautiful Easter lily and some family pictures. We stood outside – at a safe distance – and caught up on family news – it was lovely!

Jerry and I would never choose to be quarantined but it is OK. We have a loose schedule to our days and I think some form of schedule is important. Exercise is a must, Not only the daily floor exercises that are essential to keeping our various body parts functioning, but also some form of walking either on the golf course or exploring new areas in our community. Online bridge has been challenging and fun. We belong to the Lake Ann bridge group and this morning we participated in their kick off electronic gathering. We have played online bridge with friends in Florida and with my brother at his home in the Shenandoah.

Electronic devices are so helpful both in helping us to stay in touch and in providing meaningful activities. We love the online weekly Scrabble games with son Jerry and grandson Jeremy and his friend Amy. I read somewhere that we should approach electronic gatherings – either with one person or with many as though we are actually getting together in person and dress and prepare accordingly. I try to follow that idea. And perhaps it was a stretch but before our Easter gathering I even sprayed on some of my favorite perfume that I know the older granddaughters like. I was already so excited about our impending electronic gathering – this cranked up the excitement even more.

In this pandemic time Jerry and I sometimes reflect on our own parents in the 1918 pandemic. My parents were older teenagers. Jerry’s parents were in their early twenties. How were their daily lives impacted? We wish we could talk with them about that time in their lives. Was it a lonely time for them? A scary time? What kind of restrictions were they under? Jerry and I know that we are truly blessed in the love and caring of our Family!!!

MARCH 22 – We have now been back from Florida for five days. We have been practicing self isolation after our trip on what was a crowded and perhaps very germ-filled auto train. A precious daughter-in-law asked if we were feeling lonely in our isolation. And so far the answer is not really. Today our grandson Graham texted and set up a FaceTime call to check in on us. It was so much fun. We are blessed with 19 wonderful grandchildren and most times our interactions are with more than one grandchild at a time – which we love – but there is a special charm to just one on one time!

March 23 – FaceTime with granddaughter Lilly. She is an editorial producer with a New York based magazine. And is now working remotely from her parents home. Am awed when she tells me that ten thousand people have signed up for the webinar she is facilitating on Tuesday.

March 24 – FaceTime with Granddaughter Annie, December 2019 graduate of the University of Virginia. Starting in June Annie is supposed to begin a two year stint with Teach for America. I was not surprised when she was accepted into this wonderful volunteer program. Annie is a gifted , caring woman.

MARCH 26 – last night our son Jerry set up a Zoom conference call where for about an hour husband Jerry and I played on-line Scrabble with son Jerry and the team of grandson Jeremy and his friend Amy ( they won). We each were on our own computer screens. There were some technical glitches but we played through them and the glitches just resolved. We will play again next Wednesday.

For the first time ever in our almost 60 years of married life we were forced by our self isolation to order groceries on line. I put a lot of time into making the list and was taken aback when I tried yesterday to place my order at about 2 in the afternoon and was told told ” no more orders for today.” This morning I placed the order at 8 AM and it went through. With 27 items on my list I wondered how many I would actually get. When the shopper could not get a list item she texted me for approval of her replacements. Though I happen to actually like grocery shopping I was impressed by how smoothly the shopping on line went.

And then at 3:30 we had a FaceTime with granddaughter Claire and with her boyfriend Greg. Both of them have good jobs which allow for working remotely. They cared for my two favorite houseplants while we were in Florida. Both these plants are more than 30 years old so they are treasures and putting them in the hands of Claire and Greg they got the best of care. Face timing gave us the opportunity to meet Claire’s pussycats, Angie and Gloria who were rather shy with the computer camera but I can relate – sometimes I find being photographed a bit difficult.

MARCH 27 – today Jerry and I golfed. Our club has put together meaningful protocols to keep members from being infected with the Coronavirus. And it was a beautiful day so we were grateful to be walking the course.

Before we headed out to golf our daughter Meg and her son Liam FaceTimed us. Liam proudly showed us some homework he had worked on. The school district he and his sibs are part of has a very robust program of home schooling in this scary virus time. Liam is very comfortable with FaceTime whereas I am continuing to learn its capabilities. I just love the way it makes you feel physically close to those you are talking with.

MARCH 28 – Had a Zoom video hour set up by Annie with our family who live locally. Was so good to see everyone. There were 16 of us on the screen. It was very reassuring to see everyone and to hear about their virus coping activities – virtual birthday parties, virtual happy hours, etc. Jerry and I asked for movie recommendations that we will check out. I shared my anger at the Washington Post comic strip WUMO – that showed a doctor speaking to family members about their father who had just died. This was supposed to be funny when the Doctor said ,” Technically your Dad died of natural causes.What’s more natural than senior citizens unable to handle technology?” This is not funny – it is insulting. I have written a letter of protest to the Post!

MARCH 29 – No church in this time of pandemic but grateful to be part of a parish skilled in use of social media for spiritual purposes. Some of their messages are long, some are short – all are very meaningful. Midday we had a very fun Face Time session with son Joe and his wife Lane as they headed to an afternoon gathering of some of their family. It was great to see them looking so well. Joe is a doctor – an internist in private practice. Lane is his office manager. They, like our our daughter, Maura, who is a nurse practitioner, are on the front lines in this time of health crisis. We need the reassurance that comes from checking in with these three.

In the afternoon we had a Zoom call with granddaughter Emily and her fiancee David. They are recently engaged and we couldn’t be happier – for them and for us to be acquiring such an amazing and thoughtful Grandson -in-law. He and Emily are well matched both in their kindness and their desire to help others.

March 31 – Have been trying for the last two days to place a grocery order with either Whole Foods or Wegmann’ s. This morning I got up at 6 to place the order. By 6:10 I was too late for Whole Foods – no spots available. Wegmann’s had time available on April 5 between 5 and 7 PM. I grabbed it and placed my order. Only problem was we were out of some of our daily food staples. That was solved when Lilly, taking a break from work , offered to do our shopping , and her brother Gus offered to bring it out to us.

April 1 – This is the day Jerry and I should have just been getting home from Florida. We appreciate the loving concern of our all our children who because of Covid 19 persisted in urging us to return early. It was our son Jim who realized that in Florida we were not getting a realistic picture of the pandemic disaster that was descending on our country. And he was right, we weren’t. It is a role reversal when parents have to acknowledge that their children know what is best. We thank them for their persistence.

This morning (March 17) we have been busy packing – we were scheduled to return from our Florida winter on the March 31 auto train but with the urging of our five very caring children and concerns about the coronavirus, we have moved up our departure. Fortunately we were able to get space on the March 18 auto train. Now we are keeping our fingers crossed that the train does not get cancelled. Two years ago , just as we were closing up our condo and heading to the train station in Sanford – two plus hours away – we got a robo call from Am track that the train was cancelled. There was no explanation. We decided to drive. When we were close to entering into Georgia we got another Am track call, this time from a human being, offering us tickets on the train two weeks later. We said no thank you and continued on our way. We survived the trip just fine but we do not wish to repeat the drive and have got our fingers crossed that the March 18 train, with the appropriate sanitary precautions in this time of coronavirus, will be carrying us home.

We realize that the train station, where if the train is full, could have as many as seven hundred of our contemporaries, many probably with comprised immune systems. It has the potential to be a hotbed of germs. You have to arrive two hours early at a minimum. We plan to be there early to check in and then to do the rest of our waiting outside in the fresh air. Maybe everybody else has that same plan. We will find out.

Packing done we decided to head to the golf course. Originally we had a bridge and dinner date today scheduled with old friends. They understood when we called it off. Last Saturday night we did join some friends for dinner – but that was last Saturday. Each day the virus updates get more fearful, golfing in the fresh air on a very beautiful day was a nice option. And both Jerry and I played “well” so that made it even more fun.

We headed back to the condo for a dinner of scrambled eggs and bacon with toast and apple slices and carrot sticks and toast – this was a meal to clean out the frig and it was actually quite yummy. We took ourselves to bed early because there would be no time in the morning for a leisurely wakeup. We had to be on the road by 11 to make it to the auto train on time and we had to allow time to swing by the rental office to drop off keys.

The car trip went by smoothly and we got to Sanford in the two hours and twenty minutes that GPS had forecast. It is a bit of a stress when driving to the auto train. If you are late they will not take your car- an understandable but harsh rule. It could be weeks before there is space available on another train. Last year there was an accident on 95 and that section of the road was closed down. With blind faith in GPS we got off 95 and headed into unknown territory. It was scary but we just made it to Sanford before the deadline.

Now Jerry and I are sitting in our roomette. The sleeper section of the train is full. We understand there are plenty of seats in coach. We ate dinner in the roomette as did most folks. Checking in and boarding the train was an interesting experience. There was not the usual buzz and hum of excitement. Some people were very conscientious about maintaining social distancing, others not so much. Some looked worried and some very solemn. Some wore masks.

Our children and grandchildren have been checking in as we head home. Lilly, whose job allows for her to work remotely was taking a break and texted that she was about to make some date banana bread. Just the thought of it made my mouth water – I texted her asking for a picture of the finished product. Actually getting a piece to eat would be best but I will enjoy the picture.

These are scary times. So much is unknown. Jerry and I and our contemporary friends are in the most at risk age group. When will the virus slow down? Are we taking the necessary precautions? It is important to focus on the precautions but equally as important to go on living, to be evermore aware of the caring and thoughtfulness of others.

When my Father died 1n 1971 I don’t think anyone of us were prepared. Is anyone ever really prepared for the death of a beloved parent. Our five children were ages 9 to 3.5. They had been blest to have both sets of grandparents who loved them dearly. Now one grandparent was gone. I was so caught up in family needs and in wanting to be present to my Mother I’m not sure I ever adequately mourned Pop’s passing.

I loved my Father very much. He was a strong personality full of love and Irish humor. He and Mom were law school classmates – along with Mom’s twin, Aunt Marg and her husband Uncle Jim. Pop was the oldest of three brothers born to Irish immigrant parents. My Mother’s family was also Irish – but they had been in this country a long time. Her parents were both graduates of Cornell University and her father went on to practice law. As did my parents. When they graduated from law school my Mother was awarded the prize for being number one academically in the class. But my Father always said that he actually got the prize because he won her.

They married in 1930 in a double wedding with Aunt Marg and Uncle Jim. The twins were so identical in looks that as a child when I would look at their wedding picture hanging on the wall in our home I couldn’t tell which of the brides was my mother and I thought it would be dumb to ask. I was about six when I finally figured out that of course my mother would be standing next to my Father. The couples decided to honeymoon one week at the Jersey Shore and one week at Niagara Falls. Mom and Pop went first to the shore and then to Niagara Falls. They were royally treated at their Atlantic City hotel. The waitress assigned to them for their weeks stay made them feel their specialness as newlyweds. When they switched places with Aunt Marg and Uncle Jim, Mom painted a glowing picture of their hotel beach stay. But from the moment of their arrival at the hotel Aunt Marg and Uncle Jim had the opposite experience. Unfortunately the waitress who had been assigned to Mom and Pop was also assigned to Aunt Marg and Uncle Jim . She was particularly not nice to Aunt Marg. This went on for several meals. Finally Aunt Marg confronted the waitress who told her that it was wrong that the previous week she had been honeymooning with one man and now just a week later she was with a different man. Needless to say Aunt Marg and Uncle Jim were shocked and amused and quick to set the waitress straight, The rest of their time in Atlantic City was just as lovely as Mom and Pop’s.

The two couples started their married life sharing a house together in New Jersey. My brothers and I were both born during those years. It was very much the Depression time. Pop had taken a job teaching in New York City to provide them with a stable basic income – and since these jobs were good paying – for that financially troubled time – and with good benefits – there were many applicants for these teaching jobs. When New York City passed legislation requiring its employees to live in New York City it was time for both couples to move on. My parents bought a home in the Long Island part of New York City. And though the twins were separated it in no way impacted their closeness. Plus the fact that their husbands were good friends.

For about the next thirty years my parents lived in the house they bought at this time. Pop kept his teaching job and together practicing from home, they gradually built up a law practice in real estate and estate law. At a pretty young age my brothers and I learned to answer the phone ” McCloskey and McCloskey Attorneys and Counselors of Law”. We felt very important , very proud to be such phone answerers. By the time Bud had been in the seminary for several years, and Pete was finishing his college years and I was starting mine, my father was talking about retiring from teaching. He was a gifted teacher but it was a pretty heavy load to combine their now stable law practice with his full time teaching.

When my brother and I married and started our own families our parents could not have been more excited. They loved being grandparents and when they eventually made the decision to relocate to the Washington area it was a pretty easy decision for them because all their precious grandchildren would be close by.

We had a blessed year and a half before Pop’s heart attack. My mother was truly inspirational as she tried to carve out her new life without Pop. When she moved to Virginia she had the loving support of my brother and his wife as she strove to develop a new life. She loved her time with Pete and Louise but she did not want to be dependent solely on them. Her skills in the game of bridge and her love of the Bible provided her with a Bible study group and a bridge group which gave her much pleasure. When Mom’s twin and her husband retired to Northern Virginia and Mom moved into the condo next door to them, they developed a rhythm to their lives which they found very satisfying.

When Aunt Marg died in 1983 her passing was hard on Uncle Jim and in a different way perhaps just as hard on Mom to lose her identical twin. Mom was sustained by her deep faith and her motivation to live her life to the fullest – within her health capabilities. She continued to be focused on her children and her grandchildren. She maintained her interest in world affairs and she continued with her Bible studies and her bridge playing.

When Mom came for the visit that turned into her living with us for the final ten months of her life she appeared to be in such good health. That soon changed. Good health is a gift not to be taken for granted. She was unable to return to her condo. Those ten months were a very special time.

Initially Mom was able to climb the stairs in our home – with support – and occupy the bedroom that had been our oldest son’s. He was now graduated from college and working in New York City. I took Mom back to Northern Virginia for doctor appointments. When she no longer had the strength to climb stairs we rented a hospital bed and turned our dining room which had a door for privacy into a downstairs bedroom for her. At this time we hired a caring helper who came in at 7 at night and stayed till 7 the next day. With the help of a sliding screen we were able to turn the living room into the helper’s bedroom. I was in phone contact with Mom’s amazing Virginia doctor and one time he even came to our home to see her. This was an amazing supportive gift on his part. I needed reassurance that our care protocols were appropriate.

As I look back now on that time with Mom I am surprised that I never doubted that we would be able to care for her. Jerry was very supportive and the kids were now in their late teens and early twenties and when they were home they were awesome. So many good and touching and occasionally difficult memories.

One day I had given Mom a bed bath and was changing the sheets of her hospital bed. She was sitting supported on one side of the bed as I was fixing the other side. Suddenly I realized she was slipping but was too late to get to her as she gracefully slipped to the floor. She assured me she was fine but she couldn’t get back up and try as I might, I just could not lift her. I was able to get her to the sitting position and supported her with pillows. Then I sat down on the floor next to her and we plotted what to do next. And we both laughed at the quandary we were in. Jerry was at work, the children were either away or at school. I knew the neighbors would be at work. What to do? I did not want to call 911 and have a siren blaring ambulance come to our rescue. Mom really seemed to be fine and was vehement that in just sliding down she had not been injured. Finally I thought of our local volunteer fire department. I called them and explained the situation. They could not have been more understanding. One fire truck came immediately – without sirens – but with two compassionate volunteers who lifted Mom back into bed and then stayed a little bit reassuring the two of us that they were glad to help out.

For the first couple of months Mom – an avid reader – was eager for a good book but reading was getting more difficult as her macular degeneration progressed. We were able to order large print books and that worked well for a while. What was for me perhaps the most meaningful was her desire to organize her many photographs. We worked on that together and we today have an album where the first picture is from the 1860’s. Also Mom had memory boxes of papers and souvenirs. It was a treasure to slowly sort through them with her and to listen as she relived the memories they invoked. A particular treasure were letters from my father to my mother when she was on a trip abroad. He wrote her one for every day she was to be gone and gave them to her when she left. He made her promise to only open one a day. She kept her promise – staying up to after midnight to read the next day’s letter. She picked out one of those letters and said I could put it in the album we were working on – the rest with a precious smile she asked me to destroy.

These ten months of saying goodbye were not always easy but they were so worth it.

Talking recently with my friend, Karen, about aging I was surprised when she said ” my mother never told me what it was like to grow old.” Then she laughed and I laughed. I knew Karen was very close to her mother and she wasn’t comfortable saying anything that might be construed as negative about her mother. But it got me thinking about the whole aging thing and how do we prepare for it.

I grew up in a family rich with Aunts and Uncles, a fair number of great Aunts, and one great Uncle. My father’s father died before my parents were married. His mother died when I was very young. I am not sure if I really remember her or if it is the stories about her that make her seem real to me. She and my grandfather immigrated from Ireland and lived in Illinois , in the Hells Kitchen section of New York City and in metropolitan New Jersey. My Mother’s mother died of cancer when Mom and her twin sister were just toddlers. Mom’s step mother whom we called Nana lived into her 8o’s and Mom’s father died in his 70’s. He combined dignity and kindness and caring. Nana was a tad intimidating. The Aunts and Uncles and the Greats were all strong characters.

One way we learn about anything is through example. Perhaps because we had such a vibrant assortment of older family members that we saw with some regularity – even though we didn’t live that close – I did not think of my own parents as being that old. After all, there was another generation of family members that were even older than they. And if I thought about it, it seemed to me they lived pretty full lives.

I was particularly blessed that my great Aunt Rose took me under her wing – she felt I was a bit too timid. Aunt Rose liked to take me to her favorite New York City restaurant, Schraffts. In the 1940’s Schraffts was considered a very appropriate restaurant for an unescorted woman. One time we went there after a morning spent in Central Park where she treated me to a helium filled balloon. I was very appreciative – I can still remember how much I wanted that balloon. Balloons were a staple at birthday parties but one filled with helium that would fly away if you didn’t hold on to the cord was a real treat. After we left the park and as we marched down Madison Avenue to Schraffts I was concerned about how I would hold on to my treasure – I didn’t want to lose it. Aunt Rose was firm, “Peggy Ann stop worrying”. When we entered Schraffts the hostess looked askance at the balloon. Aunt Rose in her very self possessed way said ” We would like to park this on the ceiling while we eat.” I don’t think the hostess had ever had a request like that before but she agreed as long as we parked it near the cloak section. I was relieved when we were seated at a table which made it possible for me to keep an eye on my treasure.

Aunt Rose brought a Chinese checker game to all family gatherings. My brothers and cousins and I would line up to play her. She took no pity on anyone. And when you finally won a game you knew you deserved to win and were very proud. Aunt Rose had red curly hair. She told me that it was God’s reward for her being a good person. It was years later that I learned that she dyed her hair and that her curls came from permanent waves. Aunt Rose died when I was about 12 years old. When we went to the wake my brothers were able to go into the viewing room with our parents but I could not bring myself to – I was too upset. Aunt Rose had been such a part of my life. I sat in one of the family gathering rooms and waited. When my brothers returned I asked them how it was. They said everything was OK till Aunt Rose sat up in her casket and asked ” Where is Peggy Ann?” I was able to giggle nervously but I still could not go in.

When all of the generation beyond my parents were gone I finally realized that my beloved parents were aging. In 1970 they decided to sell their home on Long Island where they had lived since I was a year and a half and move to the Washington area to be closer to their children. They planned to buy a home in the newly-built suburban Maryland community where Jerry and I lived with our family. I was so excited about their coming. But the more I thought about it, I realized that most in our community were families with young children. My parents loved their children and grandchildren dearly but they were also used to having a social life with contemporaries.

I decided to see if I could get a social club for Seniors off the ground. With guidance from the county, help from a local church and assistance from two good friends, and the support of my husband SLOGGS (Slightly Older Guys and Gals) was launched. We opened membership to not only our own community but the surrounding areas. And there must have been a need because it was a success from the very beginning. I still treasure the Christmas gift of one couple, a blue stone they had found years before while hiking in Oregon that they had made into a pendant for me. Like my parents they moved locally to be closer to family and were grateful for the new friends they made through SLOGGS.

As it turned out, I need not have worried about my parents social life. They were delighted to be close to family, to their children and their nine young grandchildren. They bought a home about a mile from our house and their new neighbors welcomed them warmly. It was idyllic and then the demons of ill health set in. In the period of about a year and a half, my priestly brother was hospitalized with a bad leg infection, I was hospitalized with an orthopedic issue, several of the children were also hospitalized for a myriad of causes from pneumonia to eye surgery. And then my father had a heart attack. He died in 1971 when he was just 69 years old. My mother was 67. I was 34. The first time my mother ever talked to me about aging was a few days after Pop died. My mother saw a couple – her contemporaries – walking down the street together – she turned to me tearing and said ” your father and I were planning on aging together.”

In the weeks and months following my father’s death Mom was courageous,, heartbroken, loving, sad and determined to deal with her sadness. My brother Pete and his wife Louise invited her to sell her house and to come and live with them and their children in Virginia. They had a large home with a lower level suite of rooms that would make a comfortable apartment for her. It was a wonderful arrangement and Mom lived with them for several years till her twin sister and her husband decided to retire in the Virginia area. They bought a condo in McLean, not far from my brother, and my mother bought the adjoining condo and moved there. They were a very active threesome in family life, in a club for newcomers, in bible study, in bridge, and in trips to the beach. The message they lived was getting older means pursuing activities that match with your interests and your health capabilities.

In the Spring of 1984 my mother, now 81 years old, drove from Northern Virginia to visit us in Upper Marlboro. This was one of her first solo driving trips on the Washington beltway. She had never driven this distance on her own and was very proud of her accomplishment. Mom had a drivers license for many years because it was the easiest and best source of identification but she never drove. Pop did all the driving. We had a wonderful visit and then my mother got sick. She never went back to Northern Virginia. She stayed with us till she died in February of 1985. ( Those ten months will be the subject of a future blog.)

We can read about aging, we can study aging but I believe the best teacher is the example of those whom we love and admire. Abraham Lincoln left us so many wonderful quotes about aging. One of my favorites is ,” Every man’s happiness is his own responsibility.”

Last Tuesday I stopped being able to receive or send e-mail on what I call my “business” account. I have a gmail account that I use for family and friends – all other e-mail is on my Cox account. Before my Cox account closed down I got an e-mail from Instagram that my account had been hacked. I already knew something was up because even though the picture I had posted when setting up the Instagram account was still there, the name with the account had changed to a jumble of letters that I in no way recognized. And then there was one final Instagram e-mail before my Cox access ceased. This e-mail stated that the hacking was from Russia. I felt slightly overwhelmed. My Facebook account has been hacked three times to the point that I was thinking of giving it up and just using Instagram. Unlike the Cox account which had been completely closed down, Instagram allowed me to receive and to post as long as I used the jumbled-letter “handle” from the hacker.

I tried unsuccessfully to contact Instagram. We had some some fun plans for the next two days and I just let my tech problems ride. But as I continued to get Instagram messages addressed to the bogus name I got more and more annoyed and it felt creepy to me. I assumed the hacker was also seeing my messages. On Thursday I decided to start tackling my technical issues. For the next four days I spoke with different Cox representatives who tried to solve the issue. They were able to determine that someone had accessed my Cox account and as one of the reps said ” they messed with my settings”. Again I felt creepy – and a little bit of “why me”.

My work with the Naomi Project forced me to become comfortable with computer use, with texting, with websites and e-mailing. But this hacking issue became a major source of frustration. Solving it was way beyond my skill level. And after about fifteen hours of dealing with various Cox technicians from their customer service department I found it also appeared to be beyond their skill level. Even after removing the filters that had been placed on my account by the hacker none of the regular technicians could provide a permanent fix for the issue. Their fixes lasted while we were on the phone together and in some cases for up to a half an hour after getting off the phone. I was so frustrated.

And I am not proud of how I handled the frustration – I really got worked up at something that was not a life and death matter – that didn’t deserve the energy and angst that I was according it. In retrospect the whole experience was a good learning for me. On Sunday we went to the 12 o’clock service at Holy Family. This is the church that has become our spiritual home while we are in Florida. This is the Mass where they have a spectacular children’s choir, where there is interactive singing between the choir and the congregation, where the staff and congregation are diverse and very welcoming. In this calming and very spiritual setting I reflected on how worked up I had allowed myself to become over a technical problem – it was not a health issue but I could turn it into one if I continued to allow myself to get so upset. I had not even responded to the pounding music of the waves which was normally such a tonic for me. Previously I thought I had my priorities in order. This episode reminded me that it is very easy to “go off track”.

Monday morning I again called Cox – but this time I asked to be connected to their for a fee technical support. Before I had not wanted to put out the money for specialized assistance feeling that I had not caused the problem so why should I have to pay for its correction. By Wednesday all my technical issues were solved. The whole episode took about fifteen hours of phone time . The paid service took about two of those hours.

Hopefully I will retain my learnings from this hacking experience. It is just stupid to get upset, as I did, over a technical issue. As the country singer Jimmy Dean said, ” I can’t change the direction of the wind, but I can adjust my sails to always reach my destination.”