Don’t Forget About Me
(The Perspective of Later Years)
On Wednesday, my friend came round for a cup of tea and a tour of my garden (I know how to give someone a good day out!). I collected her and dropped her home. She has green fingers. She loved seeing the new landscaping, the autumnal colours appearing and identifying all the different types of plants. She is 86. We have a lot in common. Even though, there is a generation or two between us, we are both mums, we both worry about our children and we both want to make a difference. We enjoy each other’s company. She is a fan of my writing so she is welcome anytime!
Our conversation moved on to the subject of church. It was her world for most of her life, her hands were never idle but she has not returned to a physical service since the start of the pandemic. She told me that she has struggled with some messages coming from the pulpit. She has heard warnings that if you are able to get your hair done or have a cup of coffee in a café, you should be back at church. She has been disheartened by the term ‘those watching at home’ as if she is a passive observer and the ones in the building are the true worshippers.
Whilst the intention is not to criticise, she has been given details of all those in her age group who have taken up their seats in the pews again. She has been asked many times what would help her to get back to church on a Sunday morning. She is not sure she can ever be back. Her mind is sharp, she has many stories to tell, she has great wisdom and insights but her body is starting to fail her. Difficulties with balance and vision have hugely reduced her confidence in public. She is anxious about a dizzy spell if she stands to sing a hymn, about needing out to get fresh air quickly and the complexities of the one-way system in the sanctuary. She is no longer able to drive further than short distances. Soon she will give up her car completely. The insurance doesn’t warrant the mileage.
She has started to say to people - “Don’t forget about me”.
“People die twice, first socially, then physically. We need to pay much more attention to the first”.
This was the stark message in a recent post on Twitter, highlighting the increasing isolation and loneliness of the elderly. The pandemic has massively exacerbated this. How soon, we forget those that aren’t visible. How quickly, we cut their connections. How easily, we dismiss the fact that roles and busyness gave them purpose. How little we understand what it’s like to lose independence and how hard it is to grow older.
She asked me would I write about this. Would I share the perspective of someone in their later years? So, that’s exactly what I am doing. Our chat has opened my eyes, I can’t bear the thought of her being forgotten. I hope I have served her well.
For many, online church is still a lifeline. It must remain in some form. Pre-March 2020, the only option if house-bound was usually a CD recording delivered a few weeks later. Those sitting in their front rooms are just as important as those of us that have the good fortune and good health to be able to show our faces on a regular basis. We must ensure they are not excluded. They are more than likely actively praying for us.
Whilst a pastoral phone call every few months is useful, and an occasional Zoom gathering has its place, those in later years also need to hear deliberate and intentional pulpit encouragement, they need to feel acknowledged to know they still belong, that they are missed. Many are grieving the loss of a community they were previously blessed by. Why not even start by mentioning them by name?
Let’s not forget about them.
