A cull of the best of us

 

The table is set, the tree decorated slowly by stiff, twisted fingers and even red cushions added to make a festive statement.

But no faces around the table, because of love.

The Christmas cards from loved ones hang in the hallway. These cardboard tokens of love from all are cherished.  Each one re-read with news of the passing year. 

But no conversations face-to-face, because of love

The box of children’s toys, from decades ago, remain packed away in the garage.   Stored with a custodian’s devoted care. No squeals of great-grandchildren as they rediscover their parent’s playthings. 

But no cheeks pressed against wrinkled faces, no hugs to give energy to old bones because of love.

Christmas music is not played this year. Familiar songs of shared times somehow hurt the spirit in this season of suffering.

No singing of old favourites with others because of love.

Presents are left on the doorstep, while their givers stand 2 meters away. Strange for those of so many, many decades to remember these rules, after a lifetime of love and hugs. 

They are no longer allowed because of love.

Christmas dinner is delivered to the same doorstep with all the trimmings including dessert. Made with care, a real expression of love.

But they cannot hug those that share these gifts because of love. 

Behind the glass boundaries, there is an aching void.  Age already has taken so much away. Memories evaporate. Joints stiffen in pain and simple tasks become fraught.  Bowls of pills become one’s daily fare.  Breathing is constricted without inhalers. They must work harder just to cope but the years have taught them its lessons of endurance and steadfastness. These later years are ever tough and now the grim reaper has reached their field. 

Yet habits ingrained of care and devotion continue because of love.

Even in these days of Covid-fear, the elderly still think of others. Relatives, friends and neighbours they hold them tenderly in their failing hearts. 

Their hearts are lacerated by the suffering of refugees or children in far-off lands because of love.

Sometimes I think we are losing the best of us. A horrid cull of those who have amassed so much valuable knowledge and experience. In their place,  an army of social media, internet intoxicated fools, who know everything not worth knowing.

"The second half of a man's life is made up of nothing but the habits he has acquired during the first half."

—  Fyodor Dostoyevsky, 1821-1881, Russian writer