The Twilight Approaches

by Cynthia M. Brown

It is late summer. The earth is in a place of great abundance: fields are full of summer’s bounty and fall harvest is soon as well. Another year of the wheel will turn. For me this is a big year. It has been my first as a member of the tribe of the parentless. Both of my folks have left this earth and it is a very different place without their warmth and wisdom. Somehow, after my father died my mother, who was always the silent support in his loud, larger than life exuberance, filled the space and silence he left with a gentleness and grace that softened the blow of his loss. There has been no such solace with her death.

Fall is here soon. This was her favorite time of year. She loved all the seasons but the brilliant riot of color as the earth prepared to slumber was her great joy. She loved the odor of the chrysanthemum, the sharp smell of leaves and the sounds they made from their flight from tree canopy to the crunch under foot. She loved the foods of fall and the family celebrations that came as the earth settled into its winter sleep.

It was especially poignant to witness my mother in her final years. Her long battle with cancer, the drugs that saved her life, robbed her of her sight. Beanie, as I called her, was devastated at the prospect of being blind. In her youth, she had been her grandmother’s aide as she went blind. Beanie moved from a place of anger and disbelief to one of acceptance. As she relearned managing her world with diminished vision, she would say with great determination, “If grammy could do it, I can do it.” So she did; cooked and cared for herself and her family until the last three months of her life.

I am almost 60 now. My sister who is dangerously close behind at 57, often reminds me that these are our sunset years. I never used to feel my age, but in recent years, my body has begun to speak loudly that I am getting older. I have always had vision issues. I am terribly near sighted; have depth perception issues, and because I inherited my father’s extremely light blue eyes, I am prone to macular degeneration, an inherited disorder, which afflicted him in his final years. Recently I have noticed a blurring of one eye. I am awaiting my visit with the doctor. I am not a medical professional but since the blurring is worse with my glasses, I suspect it is retinal in nature. So, I sit here, thinking of summer as it turns to fall ; my own summer in life turning to fall, the shortening of days and the ebbing of light, into darkness, and I wonder how, if I am losing my sight, I will approach it. I would love to believe I can muster my mother’s grace and quiet courage. I remember once, when I was much younger and I had an eye infection, that I decided not to just wear a patch over one eye, but I wore blinders on both and tried to get through a day at home sightless. I talked to my eye doctor at the time and he said, If I did lose my sight as I aged, it would be gradual, like a shade that slowly blocked out the light, day drifting to evening to twilight and then… shadows or even darkness.

So, twilight approaches. It is a time to slow, reflect and grow still. I wonder how I will manage. As my Beanie once said, “ I have so much left to do…” When is it truly time to just stop doing and start being? Do we ever know? Does something inside click and then we just stop? I like to believe Beanie was pretty intuitive and she never quite stopped. She had periods when she would disconnect, not answer her phone or email. She would sit in her gardens and stroke and smell her flowers. She would slowly walk the long drive and the fenceline or slowly swim in her pool, not speaking or responding to anyone or anything. The pattern would continue sometimes days at a time and then, she was back in the kitchen, her red granny apron tightly tied at her waist, her thick glasses firmly planted on her nose, and a smile on her face as she helped bake cookies or fry chicken.

I hope, as I wait for my doctor’s visit and to find out if this is the beginning of a true twilight for me, that I can learn that rhythm now and, even should I escape the darkening of my sight, I hope I can find ways to learn to savor the slowing and stopping, as Beanie did. I think that act brought her great peace and even greater joy when she chose to return to her life of doing.