Months ago, I decided to retire. Tough because I like what I do, but easy to make for several reasons. I’ve kept my promise to stay 8 years, or almost. May 5th will be 8 years, almost there. I’ll retire in June, Lord willing and I look forward to that day for the most part. I get bored easily and that part has me stumped, but I think I have so many interests, that I cobble together a busy retirement.
The stroke I had on December 6th of last year threw a sour note into the retirement plans. For the most part it has affected me in a qualitative way. Am I doing my best work? It affected my memory a bit, especially names of people I should more easily recall. That bothers me some. It’s made me question how useful am I in a work that is filled with hundreds of names in a week. I deal with it, but it still bothers me. That has been a question on my mind and it has contributed to my questions about retirement.
I’ve had so many rewarding experiences as a hospice chaplain, so many smiles have come forth from tired cheeks, so many tears from frightened eyes, so many grateful moments from weary caregivers that I know the worth of these last 8 years and I look back with a confident and pleased sense of accomplishment. But I’m ready to do different things than collect rewards or thank you cards. Don’t take that wrong, I’ll always appreciate a hearty thank you, but there is more for me in retirement. What that is I can’t say for sure, a work in progress and contemplation.
The stroke and the pandemic were a pair of wakeup calls, more like earthquakes really. The stroke said, you only have a small number of years left on this earth and you only have a short time to get your health back in order. I’m guilty of letting my health suffer while I poured my heart into my work. I never did figure out how to do both well. Lord knows, I tried, but I missed the mark. In the last few months, this has begun to change. My wife had been working on me for years in her sweet way to bring changes to my eating and exercise but they hadn’t taken hold like they should have. Until the last few months that is. A stroke and watching people die every week will change you about as well as anything can. The pandemic changed my work in ways I don’t want to explain. I’d rather forget, but I can’t. No need to trouble you with my feelings about it all. It just made a mess of so many things and so many of the good things we can bring to a family in hospice were cut short or severely interfered with during this pandemic. I’m pretty sad about some of it. But it seems to be tapering off and we have learned a lot about how to care for people in the middle of a severe health crisis.
So I think about retirement almost every day these days. It’s coming up fast. I’m looking forward to it. I want to finish well in the meantime. Nothing splashy, just constant and dependable. With 99 days left, I want to be fully present each day and with each person. It’s kind of a chance to maximize what I do each day, knowing I’ll only be doing it for 99 more days.
In the army, you got an unofficial title when you went from 100 days to 99. You were called a Two Didget Midget. I only had that once before. It’s back again. Today I became a Two Didget Midget. I’m celebrating tonight with a glass of Iced Tea. And I’m planning my day for tomorrow at work.
There’s an old saying among pastor types, Pastors never retire, they just go out to pasture. The pastures are looking green right now.