Uneven Aging: Traditional gatherings

Liz is an avid canoeist of Ontario's lakes; Stephen is a retired banker. The two could not be more different temperamentally, but share one characteristic: each has a health condition that has recently upended a beloved tradition.

For over fifty years, Liz and ten women who met in childhood at summer camp have gathered for a four-day canoe trip in Ontario's Algonquin Park. The group have endured health crises, family tumult (aka adolescence) and one ran off to New Mexico with a lover twenty years younger—but was back the next summer. Now, arthritis has severely impaired Liz' ability to paddle and portage. She decided, after last summer's exhausting trip, that it was time to bow out—and got the surprise of her life.

Arowhon Pines Inn, Algonquin Park, Ontario

Six of the trippers thanked her for her honesty, and suggested they try a walking and birding tour of the park on trails made from former railbeds, and swap their tents for a renowned inn. Three others tried to convince her that she could still handle the canoe trip, practicing a form of denial-by-proxy. (One said she did not care either way and would go with the majority.) The canoeists suggested hiring a porter for Liz, but she said she would rather adjust by way of "Plan B—for Bird."

The walkers had a delightful time. Liz noticed that, free from throbbing pain, she had deeper, more satisfying conversations. The four canoeists joined them on the last day for dinner at the inn and said it was mighty nice to have a gourmet meal served—and no biting bugs. One suggested, "Why don't we keep to our same time, next year schedule, but each will choose the inn or the tent?"

"We are all aging, but differently", Liz says, "and unless we admit that, we will lose friendships of a half-century,"

Stephen and his wife, Martha, are an American couple who have spent summers in Montréal for nearly two decades to escape the heat of their southern US city. Except for the two pandemic summers, they have returned each June to their favourite paths, parks and cafés. When I spent an evening with Martha in late summer, she mentioned that Stephen had been having symptoms of heart disease, but he insisted that he would wait to see his doctor until they were home in early November. 

When she told me his resting heart rate and said it had been that high for at least a week, I, a former runner, was stunned. I encouraged her to get him to a doctor here—or at very least call TeleHealth—immediately. She said, "He will not listen to me." One of the reasons Stephen resisted is that he knows how much Martha's Montréal summers mean to her. The city is more than an escape from torrid temperatures, its joie de vivre feeds her spirit. He did not want to compromise her experience.

Less than a week later, Stephen had urgent surgery at a Montréal hospital for a pacemaker—maybe not a close call, but certainly a wake-up one. His emergency underscored the need for more expedient intervention, and less procrastination. (He was entirely pleased with his care and made a full recovery.)

Liz and Stephen represent two different strategies. Hers was to alter the tradition, retaining parts but adapting to her limitations. His was riskier: hang in until someone or something changed the custom. 

Nor should we take risks with the heart metaphorically. Besides the actual health issue, the afflicted person also copes with guilt, frustration, and longing. They don’t want to alter a revered custom, so their reluctance can lead to unwise, even dangerous decisions. 

The healthier partner or friend might first anticipate that change will inevitably alter a longstanding tradition, and that the afflicted person—the very one who needs accommodation—may resist it most, downplaying fatigue, stress or pain in order to present a same-as-ever front. Liz said that because her Buddhist practice includes the recognition of impermanence, her faith helped her adjust to the "Plan B" Algonquin trip. 

Next, the healthier partner or friend needs to talk. The person struggling to keep participating will need reassurance that you are not suggesting that she simply drop out. 

If you have some ideas, offer them as possibilities. "How would you feel about us staying at an inn instead of camping?" sets a different tone than, "Last summer, I noticed you had to rest every couple of hours."  That may be accurate, but pointing out a deficiency takes the conversation into denial and defensiveness. 

Traditional gatherings take root because they are valued; the formative idea is, "Oh, that was wonderful; let's keep doing it!" With uneven aging, the question becomes, Can we alter this to retain what we most enjoy?  I'm not going to sugarcoat it; sometimes the gathering is too high-risk and the person does have to stop attending. Sit with them and mourn the loss of the live-aboard dive trip or the run that's now definitely perilous, and see if you can make a new tradition; they have to start somewhere.

Ideally, the matter is tackled a well before the date, but not always. Sometimes, only when the extra dishes are hauled out and supplies carted into the house does the person by your side confess to dreading the event—or you both are apprehensive, but haven't raised the matter. 

Soup party; Photo: AllRecipes.com

Alterations can be made even late in the game. Marie, expecting fifteen for Thanksgiving dinner, and suddenly without her husband's intensive culinary support, decided to furlough the big-deal turkey dinner and threw a soup party instead. She made three delicious soups in advance, bought an assortment of breads, and left the dessert-making to her adult children and older grands.

Every person who is aging thinks about time remaining: how much longer to hear a loon call from a misted lake? How much longer to cook dinner with old school friends at the annual weekend? Not long, we know, so it is natural to cling to these deeply-felt customs, and also important to recognize the deeper gifts of traditional gatherings or practices, whether private or cultural.

One of the useful reflective exercises I learned in time spent with the late anthropologist and author Angeles Arrien was to make and share a list of our traditional gatherings, and for each, to name the qualities these added to our lives and that of those who joined us. Time and again, we said to one another, here is where we find connection, gratitude, wonder, a reunion with nature and our role as stewards.  

Only when we acknowledge the changes life brings can we find new ways to celebrate,  and continue to be engaged in the long-standing gatherings we value, despite our limitations.

(Names have been changed to respect the privacy of these persons.)