Aging: Building a lasting legacy of love

"Love is the language spoken in this house," was the constant refrain while she was growing up. 

Childish fights, teen spats, and the raised voices of adults were all met the same deep voiced refrain. A friend relayed the story of how her Dad, a Catholic Deacon, often spoke these words in the cadence and with the volume of an evangelical preacher's sermon, repeating "LOVE is the language spoken in this house" during every conflict. Each of this woman's siblings, their children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren have heard, lived, and passed on this refrain for decades.  It, along with a life of lived love and faithful service, is the legacy this great and good man left for his descendants.    

What legacy are we leaving for ours? Once we are gone, what remains of us, here on earth?  

Our families, surely, and possibly some work we have done.  Friends remember us, until they, too, pass on. But is that enough?  Is that what we would like to be remembered for?  Or is there more?  

As we age, we are wired to review and reflect on our lives. 

For psychologist Eric Erikson, our primary developmental task as we age is "generativity vs despair" and the "development of wisdom." Retrospectively, we sift memories, sort events and choices, discerning what was good and what was not about our lives, what we wished we had done differently, and what we would not change.  

Eventually and sometimes reluctantly, we come to the conclusion that we cannot change the past, though we often wish we could.  We cannot rewind, replay, then erase from the tapes from past wrongs, angry words spoken, or hurts unremedied.  No matter how many times we revisit those occasions in memory, we cannot change them.  

We can only live and learn. Leaning towards the future, we can choose to live this day and the next, with honor and love, integrity and verve. And, from the past, we can recover the lessons we've learned, and the experience we've gleaned, and pass those on.  Remembering and recovering wisdom is our task now. 

From whom did I learn? And what?  What lessons have I learned and lived in my own life? How can the lessons I've learned and lived continue when I, too, am gone? 

Consider each of the above, reflect on your own life, then think about writing an essay or bullet pointed list of the answers. From that, record or write a story of your life experiences, the people you love and have learned from. Don't forget personal messages of love and of pride in your children or those close to you.

Ira Byock, a hospice physician, suggests in his book The Five Best Things, that each of us speak the following words, in person or in writing, to those we love: "I'm sorry, Please forgive me, I forgive you Thank you, and Goodbye. I add: "I love you." (To my own family, I speak those words from all my heart, in this moment, and for always.)  Include your life reflections and words of love with your Will, Living Will, and Durable Power of Attorney for Health Care. Be sure your loved ones know where to find this important information. 

My father-in-law Jack, an extraordinary person and an amazingly kind and good man, wrote and recorded his own life history for his family. He told the story of his mother dying when he was very young, of living with his brother in an orphanage during the Great Depression, of his Dad working as an auto mechanic for a Chicago gangster, and of training as fighter pilot during WWII.  Meeting his wife at the Pentagon was a highlight for him, as was his demonstrable pride in each of his three children. Sadly, after Jack died, we could never find either the written record of his life or the recording. We wish we had it. Fortunately, we had him. His legacy of love, kindness, listening with his whole self, and of living the good beyond himself, is with us now, and will be passed forward to his childrens' children, and to their children.

From a faith perspective, any faith, at any time, there exists a legacy of hope and love.  Hinduism, Buddhism, Judaism, Islam, and other faith traditions offer a plethora of heroes to follow, examples who mentor virtue and inspire courage. Secular traditions, too, offer heroes and mentors, legacies of hope and love. 

From within my own faith tradition, Catholic Christianity, I draw comfort and inspiration from those who have gone before me in what we call "the sign of faith." I aspire to emulate their example, to learn and live a legacy of love to pass on to my children and their children, to those who know me and those who do not.  I hope "love is the language" spoken in my house, yesterday, today, and forever.

Some years ago, I was awarded the Alumnae of the Year at my High School alma mater, Forest Ridge School, in Bellevue, Washington.  I was surprised when the alumnae President called me to inform me of the honor, sharing that I'd been recommended for the honor by "my friend Julie."  

Furrowing my brow, I thought.  "Who is my friend Julie?  How nice of her to recommend me, but why?"  Out loud, eventually, I queried: "Um, which friend Julie might that be?"  The answer?  "Why, Julie Brown. She's also an alumni of the Sacred Heart."  I gasped, then guffawed.  She was perplexed.  What I knew, and she did not, was that Julie Brown was my Mom.  My own mother recommended me for the honor. And why not?  She's my mother.  Of COURSE she thinks I should be the alumni of the year!  

Later, when the time came to give the speech, my Mom was there. (She's pictured alongside this article.)  I thanked "my friend Julie" for recommending me for the honor, then asked "my mom Julie" to stand, so I could acknowledge and thank her for her own example, and for the vibrant curiosity, sweet enthusiasm, indominable love, and inextinguishable faith with which she raised her children and lived her life. Love was the language she spoke in her home: none of her seven children ever needed a translation. Her life was witness. Love was her legacy. 

This is the speech I gave honoring mothers and mentors and passing forward a living legacy of love:

For Christians, mentorship is rooted not only in nostalgia, but also in the gospel. Holy men and women, whom we call Saints, have rehearsed this central drama with us for centuries. Indeed, the greatest victory imaginable for us is the Triumph of the Cross. We are commanded, not requested, to love one another. And to see and care for Jesus in the person of the suffering. 

In the book, “In His Image” Christian authors Phillip Yancy and Paul Brand detail the extraordinary way in which our bodies are wonderfully made. On the cover of the book is a replication of the scene in Sistine Chapel where the hand of God is seen stretching towards Adam’s hand—and the distance separating them is not very far at all.

Before he died in Seattle some years ago, Dr. Brant spent most of his medical career caring for leprosy patients and teaching Indian medical students and residents to do likewise. In ‘In His Image,’ Brant tells the story of the day he realized an important truth about teaching, about learning, and about great mentorship.

One day, when he was rounding in a medical ward in one of India’s larger hospitals, he and several resident doctors were examining a Hindu woman. They had the curtains drawn around her for privacy when the senior resident began to examine the woman. As Dr. Brand and the others watched, this new physician gently, with great respect, began to question the woman about her medical condition. He leaned in to speak to her. His tone, gestures, intonation, and questions were filled with a respect for her dignity and with professional tenderness. 

As he looked at the scene, Brand was struck by the peculiar sensation of déjà vu. 

He watched, astonished, remembering the long ago day when as a young resident he had witnessed the very same gestures, the exact combination of respect and professional tenderness. But that had been in England, more than fifty years before! And the physician then was not a young Indian doctor but his favorite professor—a British physician who had in time become his own mentor. 

But how could this be? How could a twenty year old from across the world replicate exactly the masterful technique of a man long dead—a man Brand knew had never left England? How? 

As soon as they were finished examining the woman, Dr. Brandt confronted the surprised resident doctor. He asked him: ‘Where did you learn that? That tone, that gesture, the way you touched the woman with such respect?’ 

The student looked at him, perplexed. Then another student spoke up.

“Dr. Brand,” he said, “We have all seen that interaction before today. We have witnessed it many times. Each time you examine a patient that is the tone you speak in, the gestures you use, and the touch. He learned it from you. We all have.” 

It was then that Dr. Brand realized—with great humility and no small degree of awe—that he had indeed brought his old professor with him to India. And that the wonderful soul of an old English gentleman was evidencing itself in the tenderness of students across a world of time, of distance, of culture.

Great mentors in life, be they mothers or teachers, neighbors or pastors, give us particular images of kindness, of faith, of love. Like the hand Michelangelo painted reaching across the ceiling of the Sistine chapel toward God, we are called to reach across the universe towards God and one another. 

What people of faith have learned is that this distance is not very far at all. 

That distance, where we become the living love of God for one another, is as close as the example of those who have formed us to be who we are. It is as close as our closest neighbor and as close as the heart of love.

In each of our lives, there are many examples of living love. Each one of us has been blessed with great souls crossing the paths of our lives—humble souls who enlivened us with the wisdom, confidence, and hope necessary to live in this world. 

And make a difference.

Working as a hospice nurse, I learned to bathe the face of every dying person with the same compassion and tenderness with which my own mother bathed my face as a small child. The faith and tenderness shown to me at a young age by Catholic Religious Sisters such as Mother McMonagle, Sister Kramer, Sister Ebey, Sister Flaherty, and so many more have enabled me as an adult to bring comfort to thousands of dying people and their families. 

Working as the director of several organizations on behalf of disability rights, I needed every bit of the richness in logic, thought, and faith shown to me by Mrs. Mosher, Sister O’Dea, Mr. Shoemaker, Mr. Leonard and so many more from the  school I attended from first grade through high school.

As I cared for retired Catholic Religious Sisters, I was reminded again about the power—and preciousness of mentorship of the Spirit. Because these women of grace are indeed heroes of soul; giants of heart who helped to build our communities with the strong heart of love. And who still, perhaps even more than when they were more active, fuel our lives with high octane prayers mingled with sweetly offered suffering. 

Of course I cannot forget the sentinel teacher of my youth-- the inimitable Madame Mayenzet. This extraordinary woman had two PHDs from the Sorbonne and spoke at least five languages. But instead of teaching the best of the brightest at Yale or Princeton, Madame Mayenzet chose to labor in at an obscure girl’s school. 

Rather than amassing the recognition and prestige (not to mention the salary) a university position would have afforded her, she chose to make a profound difference in the loves of the young women she taught, enlivening them with her spirit, challenging them with her intellect. Madame Mayenzet taught young women because she wanted ‘to give girls their voices’, to mentor growing young women in confidence, to prepare them to be leaders.

And mentor, she did. 

Madame Mayenzet believed, or she let me believe she believed, that I was truly an extraordinarily student of French. Actually, at the time I was average, perhaps even below average. But Madame Mayenzet believed me to be much more than average—it was clear to me: she thought I was something special. 

And because she believed it, I became it. 

Before long, I found myself studying and working harder than I would have—just so I wouldn’t disappoint her. And soon, this newfound confidence found its way into our Senior Seminar class where in true Madame Mayenzet style, she had us reading, along with Aristotle and Aquinas, Plato’s Allegory of the Cave—in French! 

I am convinced that Madame saw God’s intent for my life—and imbued me with that intent, even before I had the Holy Spirit Tools to recognize it in myself. For her, for myself, and for God, I became that woman she saw many years before—the humble masterpiece’ she saw nascent within the gangly awkwardness of a shy, pimpled teenager.

Many years later, across the world, in Cameroon West Africa, I found myself teaching nursing students in an obscure mountain village, following Madame Mayenzet’s example in using the Socratic method, without even recognizing it was she who set it before me. I found myself believing in these young men and women; seeing in them the imprimatur of God’s loving providence, encouraging them to go past where they believed they could go. 

Then came the day at the end of the school year when a little contingent of my African students came to tell me: 

‘You believed us to be great students and so we have become them.  Because of you, we will go to the villages of Cameroon and teach others as you have taught us.’

So you see the distance between God and his children is not far. Not far at all. 

Across the world in a country very different from our own, today a teacher is teaching with the face of Madame Mayenzet and a nurse is bathing the face of a dying person with the loving expression of my mother.

And it did not start there. 

Because my mother is an alumna of schools where Sacred Heart Religious Sisters taught. 

When she was young, she was taught by Mother Bourret and Mother Mary Brown. And my Mom was bathed in love by her mother, my Grandma Dennehy. And Mother Bourret was bathed by her mother and taught by sisters whose names we do not know. And so it goes back to the founder of the Sacred Heart order of nuns, St. Madeleine Sophie, whose feast is May 25th incidentally, the birth day of my two youngest children, twins. 

Indeed, the tapestry of meaning, fostered by the mentorship of lovingkindfness, goes back even further than Madame Mayenzet or Saint Madeline Sophie—it extends to those who taught both—to their own mothers and to the women who taught young girls many years ago in France and Belgium. This thread of particular grace—the thread of grace that so influenced my students in Africa, stretches even further into the past—beyond Sr. Madeleine Sophie, all the way back to her Mentor, a Jewish carpenter. And to His disciples.

It stretches even farther back, to the Beginning, to his Father and our Father. His Abba, our Pappa. 

There we find the core for any education and center of all life. 

That core—that Coeur—is love. 

I would like to describe one last woman who is a mentor ‘par excellance.’ This woman was my childhood neighbor and so much more-- a woman whose faith, courage, grace, and beauty have helped me and so many others beyond her own 12 children to be and to do all that we ever have. How to describe the mentoring that began for me when I showed up knocking at her door each day to play for hours with her daughters Kathleen, Julie, Sheila and Trisha. 

My ‘neighbor lady,’ Katie McKay, taught me to live in love long before I happened through the doors of school and long after I left Capital Hill, where I grew up, to venture forth into the ‘other’ world. She is indeed a hero—my hero. Katie McKay, who lived with the cross of severe pain and the crippling effects of quadriplegia for the last eighteen years of her life, taught me the truth of living life as a human being—and not a human doing.

Her heart, her Coeur, was so lovely, so beautiful to behold, that it was present powerfully in her eyes—the only part of her unaffected by the cross of her daily existence. Those eyes—Irish eyes—expressed all the joy and sorrow, kindness and love of a lifetime of Being-in Love. From her heart, through her eyes, and into my life came the power of sacrificial love—the love of the Redeemer, made manifest through the powerless limbs, suffering body, and magnificent soul of one of the bravest women I have ever known. 

Far too many in our culture never see—because they will not allow themselves to perceive—the transparent glory of the Katie McKay’s who live in our midst. Instead we see human beings only as a sum of functional working parts. Unfortunately, many of us, including our elder population, identifies themselves with what they used to ‘do’ instead of who they ‘are,’ with functionality vs. wisdom, with existing as a human doing, vs. a human being.  

Katie McKay knew the difference—though she discovered it on the cross. She knew that we are human beings—beings of majesty and beauty, hope and glory, trapped within a hillside of marble, soon to be freed by the Artist-who-Loves. And in the meantime, all of us—no matter our so called ‘functional capacity,’—are vessels of grace, instruments of peace. 

Like Katie McKay, my hero. 

This is the core—the Coeur— of a life well lived: to show the face of love to the world and to one another. The loving kindness we learned from our mothers and from our mentors is the loving kindness of our dear Lord and Savior—whose own face was bathed when he was a child by his mother Mary and again by her after he was crucified. 

The heart of a life well-lived is summarized in a song that is the motto of every Sacred Heart school in the world. 

It is the very same song I have sung in my car alone as I drive from one dying patient’s house to another. The same song I sang to each of my children—girls and boys—when they were in my womb. (I always feel like being pregnant is like a nine month blue light prayer special—“Wherever two or three are gathered in my name, there I am in the midst of them.”) And the same song I sang them in French almost every night as a lullaby when they were young. 

You see, I want my children to know the heart of love is the heart of Jesus.

The song is Coeur de Jesus, which in French means Heart of Jesus. It is the theme song of the French order of nuns, the Sisters of the Sacred Heart. The first refrain gives word to the mentorship of the Holy Spirit, the mysterious way in which God has chosen to redeem us and to use us, his children, as instruments of his peace. 

Coeur de Jesus savez le monde…”

“Heart of Jesus, who saves the world…” 

This song shows that the distance between all of us in this village we call the world, is not very far, not very far at all. Despite differing countries, languages, and centuries, St. Madeleine Sophie, Madame Mayenzet, Katie McKay, the Catholic Religious Sisters, my mother—and the entire communion of saints, have given us the confidence and the courage to live in the very heart of love. 

The only distance separating us, is the distance between the heart of Jesus and the love we extend in his name—in His Image—to one another. 

A distance that is not far at all— the distance between one hand reaching out to another in love. 

May God bless each of us with kindness and the tenderness of his love. And may He help us see in one another His Image…

Adapted from a speech given by Eileen Geller at Forest Ridge School in Bellevue WA.