It's All About Me
There was a county music song made popular which ‘beat’ was most catching but the words have always hit me wrong. It was Toby Keith’s:
Wanna talk about number one, oh my, me my
What I think, what I like, what I know, what I want, what I see
I like talking about you, you, you, you usually
But occasionally, I wanna talk about me (me, me, me, me)
I wanna talk about me (me, me)
I suspect if you are in a relationship where there is the dominant partner, then you might find yourself listening to more about their things going on in their life and they have little time to listen about you. This is not my wife, and if you know Becky, she is not like that at all. But there have been people who I hesitated to ask how they were doing because in previous conversations it was one way one way lasted much logger than I expected.
I have never liked to talk about me. And yet, the focus in the last 10 months has been about “me.”
When we moved to RL we did so considering our future and future needs that most of us have as we get older. Though we were relatively healthy, and look to be some of the youngest residents here, we knew that health is precarious after 65. So, the decision was what about us. For example, who would care for us and where would that care be. We also thought of the burden we might be placing our son and daughter under, if we, just by default, expected them to take care of us when we could not take care of ourselves. We were thinking of them, first, and not ourselves. But we thought we had plenty of time, before we would need them to watch after us more closely. But two things happened;
First, my heart attack. You might be tired of reading about the attack but it was a line of demarcation for me. I was so close to death that it truly was for me a near death experience. But our planned scenario was to live here, enjoy the closeness of Adam and Ginny and their families. to travel and live in a place that could care for ever growing physical needs as they occurred. God lengthened may life, no doubt, but the attention of going through the remainder of our lives together, was now called into question. Yesterday, we attended a memorial service for 35 persons who have died since January 1 of this year. We did not know any of them, but it made me wonder again of our terminal nature, and how quickly and unexpectantly it can come. If we had remained in Danville, we would have deceived ourselves that not that many people die in such a short period of time because we see different generations. Here we are all one generation, though we may be the youngest in the group.
Becky loves me, but the focus which I had was mostly for her and not myself. She would say the same thing, vice versa, but now, it is all about me. She is focused on me living longer, so she manages my diet regimen, eating patterns she makes sure that I walk, exercise, every day, that I get my rest, and the list continues. She is always asking me how I am doing, and works on making my life more comfortable. And I don’t think this is going to get better. She oversees my drug (pill) intake, helps me find the best fitting shoes for my increasing arthritic bones, and has taken on some more driving on long trips such as back to Danville to see family and friends. And to be honest, I need her help. My arthritis is almost debilitating some days, and I have not returned to normal. There is one more subliminal thought. Fearing that my days are numbered, I want to be with Bec all the time simply because I just do. Her presence is my joy but my being dependent on her, I do believe, is limiting what she could and would want to do. She loves it at RL and everyone, I’m not kidding, everyone loves her. Yesterday, I preached for the first time since the end of September. I loved it, because it is my calling, but I found between the two morning services, that I was about wiped out. So, I’m not close to normal yet, but praying I will be one of these days.
The second event that happened was our move to RL. As I have said before, it was the correct decision to make. But I should have taken my queue when most everyone said this is such a good place, and they take care of every need. They do. My responsibility here is nil, except to take care of myself. And part of my slow physical demise is due to the fact that I didn’t not do that most of my life. I felt responsible not only for myself but for my mother, brother and sister. In fact, I don ’t remember being a teenager in the classic sense. I don’t want to be sanctimonious but when Dad left, I became the “man of the house”. My first job was in the 7th grade (.25 cents/hour) to be able to purchase a few things that I could not otherwise. My first baseball glove was purchased with TV Stamps. Well enough of that. But part of the motivation was not to be a burden on our mother. Here, I feel a burden to Bec, though she has never once complained. She does for me what I have difficulty doing myself. And, the fact is, we are paying RL to do for us what we can and can not do for ourselves.
I don’t want it to be this way, but it is. It is partly due to the fact that I’m not able to use my gifts and graces anywhere, here. But then, if we stayed on the farm, or lived outside this retirement community, I would not be able to do what I have deceived myself to believe I can do.
Quentin
Sharecropper’s Inheritance
Pentecost, 2025
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