“So shines a good deed in a weary world.”

— William Shakespeare

Yesterday was the 98th birthday of my Great-Aunt Alice.  I know we consider longevity a blessing; but when I try to imagine being 98 years old, my mind begins to question that notion.  How many of us will reach that age?  What does it feel like to be the sole survivor?

On Alice’s 90th birthday, we all went out to lunch and watched a Hibachi chef toss knives and spatulas in the air as he entertained us with his meal preparation.  Alice — lady that she is — declined to catch a flying shrimp in her mouth, but she sat regally at her celebration and was, as usual, the consummate hostess.  On her 95th birthday, we joined Alice at her daughter Linda’s home.  Eating out no longer was a pleasure, and Alice was beginning to feel disgruntled that after all the years of good treatment she had given her body, it was beginning to let her down.  Her brisk walks were no longer a part of her life, and it was easier to bring lunch to her.  We grilled and chatted and celebrated, and I heard that our hostess nearly fell into bed when we left to nap away the exhaustion of her birthday party.

Alice on her 95th birthday.

Aunt Alice would be mortified if she knew I had posted her picture here — she never was one for being photographed — but I think she made ninety-five look pretty darned good!

This year, for the first time, Alice celebrated her birthday in an Assisted Living center.  Her mobility has declined to the point where her daughter, who now is in her seventies, could no longer manage her safety at home.  Frequent falls and ambulance calls had become a way of life for them, and it became apparent that Aunt Alice needed around-the-clock care.  She moved in March, and she has begun to acclimate to her new surroundings; but it does not feel like home.

With her birthday approaching, and no chance for us to travel this year to share it, our family began to make plans to see that Alice would be remembered.  In a moment of spontaneity that turned out to be one of clarity, I asked some dear friends — some through email and some on Facebook — if they would take a moment to send Aunt Alice a card and wish her a happy birthday.  The response was heartwarming for me and almost overwhelming for Alice.  Her daughter reports that when she went to celebrate with her mother, there were cards everywhere!  Mail is delivered at the lunch table, and Alice had many greetings to show off to her new community at the center.  They now are lined up on her windowsill, and she just marvels that she has “so much family to remember me on my birthday.”

Imagine being 98 years old.  Imagine that your husband, the love of your life, has been gone for years.  Imagine that your close, life-long friends are all either deceased or out of touch.  Imagine that your health has declined to the point where you have had to leave your familiar home and move to an institutional setting.  I wonder, considering the circumstances, whether longevity is always a blessing.  I wonder how I would cope as the sole survivor.

Alice talks a lot these days about times when she was a little girl.  She remembers the happy times spent with her family and friends.  It is so sweet that she has these vivid memories to carry her through the unfamiliar days of her new life.  For one day this week, thanks to her extended family and a bunch of loving strangers, Alice felt surrounded by the love of a whole lot of people.  For one day, those people who chose to do a simple thing — to send a card — assured a very old woman that she is not alone.  When you are the sole survivor, I think this means a whole lot.

So shines a good deed in a weary world.

And I thank you from the bottom of my heart.