Smeared Type

By Nancy Werking Poling

author of Out of the Pumpkin Shell

Taking a break from sitting at my computer (I hesitate to suggest I was writing, as I spent most of the time staring at the screen), I wandered around the wooded lot of our new home. The builder conscientiously worked at destroying as few trees as possible. Our lot slopes, so in spite of the crew’s efforts, roots were disturbed, trunks scarred, branches broken.

As I walked around I noticed two trees that did not come back to life this spring. Their branches are leafless, yet in a few places along the trunks clusters of green sprigs erupt. Though these trees are practically dead, they cling to life.

In South Korea I frequently saw old decrepit trees being supported by wires. I recall that in a busy sector of Seoul the sidewalk made a detour around one. A plaque identified it as a National Treasure. In the U.S., I know, the tree would have been cut down long ago, partly because it stood in the way of progress, partly because its condition demanded time and money more effectively spent elsewhere. Whether trees or people are involved, Koreans have a quite different attitude about age than we do.

As I consider the trees on our lot and ones in Korea, I am reminded of how my mother-in-law is tenaciously holding on to life. At ninety-eight, she is blind and deaf and has been hospitalized twice in the past six months, both times with infections that would kill many younger people. While we were moving, the clothes for her funeral were in a garment bag, ready for us to grab should she die while our circumstances felt so disorganized. Yet she holds on to life, telling my brother-in-law not long ago that she still has “things to do.”

We often hear of costs incurred in the later years. Old people are expensive, requiring extra care and medical procedures. Without being direct, we imply that there comes a time when it’s better to quit offering medical treatment.

Yes, I’m sure my mother-in-law’s care has cost insurers and hospitals dearly. But who is to say that her life isn’t worth living anymore? Perhaps she does have more to do, more thoughts and memories to sort out before she dies.

Like the two trees in my yard, she sends out sprigs of green, holding on to life as tightly as she can.