Everyone complains of having a bad memory. Maybe except for my 9-year-old grandson. He remembers he asked (coerced) me to bring him Pokemon cards on my next visit, even if it is going to happen months from now. He remembers where every card he turns over is when we play the game, ‘Concentration’.

Me, I had to think for several minutes to come up with the word ‘irrelevance’, even though I’d just been using it yesterday. Sometimes the words don’t come at all, even after going through the mental rolodex alphabetically several times. So then, I use an often silly replacement word that reflects a primary school vocabulary, even though I hold a university degree in English education.

But I digress. This is not a post about poor recall. It is about that very thing–irrelevance.

I spent the weekend with dear friends who are twenty years younger than I. Their company was so refreshing and lively. I realised that many of the conversations I have in the company of people my age are in the category that I described in my last post, that is, an organ recital. 

Now, these friends are a lovely, empathetic couple and would have listened to the many stories my husband and I can tell about our medical problems and injuries. But I realised that, for the most part, this line of sharing is fairly irrelevant to them at this time of their lives. They can imagine what it’s like to spend much of our retirement time at doctors, dentists, optometrists, podiatrists, acupuncturists, medical imaging, and on and on. But they are empty-nesters, doing house renovations and still enjoying the career phase of their lives. So why ponder future, possibly inevitable, ‘sturm and drang’, storm and stress? I was happy to change our usual line of conversation in favour of what was relevant to them. I left their company with a long list of the things they were engaged in, amused by, and passionate about.

There is another way that we oldies might be able to relate to the word ‘irrelevant’. So far, personally, I haven’t felt this way, but some feel that they don’t have a place in the world, after their work life has finished, when the mind and body are less honed, and families don’t ring and visit much. It’s a time of life, too, when many old friends have passed on.

I was privileged to do palliative care volunteering in the Manning Valley for nine years. I learned two important things from the patients and carers I visited. One was how vital it is to keep up one’s social circles. I don’t say this flippantly because it gets increasingly harder to do this as we age. Maybe one doesn’t drive anymore, and health concerns become increasingly prevalent. Nevertheless, it may be that health is partly a function of participation in life, as much as good diet, exercise and being in Nature. I think so.

The other thing that I saw with palliative care patients was that when they had some sort of ‘spiritual’ connection, whether it was by expressing themselves through art and music, being in Nature, or God, or some Universal Energy, this end stage of life went better.

I don’t do the palliative care volunteering any longer. And I’m teaching less as time goes on. Given I have more time now, relatively good health, and a fortunate life, I feel I can look out for others by phoning paying visits, texting. My old friends who feel less relevant in life still love to be asked for advice. We live in an area where art and music abound. And, it’s such a simple thing to invite a friend who might be feeling lonely or marginalised in their old age. Another gift is offering tech help so that old people can stay connected to community and world.

I love a song that the American singer/songwriter, John Prine, performed back in the early seventies called “Hello in There”. It epitomises the way old people increasingly become irrelevant. Here’s the chorus:

You know that old trees just grow stronger
And old rivers grow wilder every day
Old people just grow lonesome
Waiting for someone to say
“Hello in there, hello”

Click here to hear the man himself singing. 

It’s such a simple thing for us to do when we’re out walking and see an old person, to pause, make eye contact, smile and give a nod.

Ultimately, we are looking at our future. For some of us, it’s already here.