Dear Dee,
It was a good Sunday this morning, with a chalice lighting and a sermon that were both of particular meaning for me. The chalice reading was from a woman who could not deal with the loss of her mother until she was willing and able to let go of her grief. I am still struggling with the loss of my freedom. I know that letting go of this struggle is something I really do need to do.
The sermon was “Great Trees of Life” using trees as a metaphor for getting older. Before I came here, I spent very little time ruminating about my advancing age. I guess that’s because I tend to think young. It’s not really denial. It’s just how I’ve always thought. I have a cellmate who is two years older than I, but from the way he acts and thinks, he could be my grandfather. For all that, however, I’m well aware that my time grows shorter. I wrestle with that a lot, feeling so unutterably stupid for having done something that resulted in losing six and a half years from a life that doesn’t have that many left in it.
There is, in here, a distinct dislike of older people, with the exception of Mexicans whose culture teaches them to respect their elders. A couple of weeks ago, I was working in the chow hall, filling cereal pans as fast as they were emptying out. This young kid was standing in the doorway between the serving line and the kitchen, blocking everyone’s way and talking about how old people were in everyone’s way. I was working, he was doing nothing. So I invented a reason to go into the kitchen, brushed past him and said, “Excuse me—you’re in the way.”
Love, Kent
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