As a troubled adolescent I was, like many, at war with the world and its processes. I rejected everything and everyone and found them unappreciative of my existence. As arrogant and confused as I was, which is pretty typical for a teen IMO, I fortunately always remained respectful towards the elderly which was to my benefit in terms of personal growth as I discovered later.

My grandmother died from leukaemia which escalated in a turn of events where my grandfather who was 90 at the time had to move from his farm and live with his daughter. His daughter is my mother and our family found it difficult to adjust at first, but later he became an integral part of our family. In contrast to my condition, he wasn’t your typical 90-year old. At that age he was still healthy, as sharp as a razor, walked kilometres a day and socialized with many people he met (some of them in their native tongue [Zulu, German and Italian]). He was indeed a remarkable man and had a burning fire in his eyes symbolising his passion until his last breath.

Some of the best gifts he gave me where the stories he told me of his life. His first wife suffered from depression that resulted in her committing suicide and later, as you have read, he lost his second to cancer. He lost both his sons one in a car accident and the second to also to cancer. The family in-law (with exception to a few) of his first wife purposefully neglected his existence akin towards ostracism. Born in 1902 he was affected by both wars (South Africa was a British Colony in that era). In the second of the great wars he was captured by the Italians and subsequently became a prisoner of war in their concentration camps. As dire as his situation seemed, he managed to smuggle an English-Italian one-way dictionary the size of matchbox into the camp which he used to learn the language and practice on the guards.

Personal loss played a huge role in his life, but his strength was indelible. He would always give his loss due respect, evaluate the new problems presented by the situation and rise from the ashes stronger and brighter than ever. My grandfather passed on the age of 93. His impact on me was so great that I consider him my personal role model and I hope that I live my life in such a way that I could be the same for my children and grandchildren. Saying it is a tall order would be a gross understatement.

No matter how much of an exception my story about my grandfather or even Nelson Mandela’s story might be, our elders’ life experience and the potential wisdom they could posses should be revered in all societies. I believe that we are losing out on so much, not to mention the indignity we cause, by sending them to old age homes and merely forgetting about them. Reaching the golden years is an achievement and a blessing to those around you. One shouldn’t pity the elderly since they are in the next cycle of their lives that requires great courage to face and instead they should be respected for undertaking this endeavour.

Perhaps getting them online onto personal weblogs (like this one), community forums, chat sites or any place where they can share their stories, experience and opinions would be a start in honouring what their lives represent. Even if they are not interested in the Internet but in sharing their thoughts they could chronicle it the old fashioned way where the community could place it online while they retain the rights to their intellectual property. For some it could give them a renewed sense of purpose which many of them miss dearly. In an age of abundant information, whether useful or useless, we must not easily allow the most valuable information to be lost.

This entry was posted on Friday, June 3rd, 2005 at 11:27 am and is filed under General, Philosophy, Stories. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.