On Wednesday, 7/10/24, I was 92. On Thursday, 7/11/24, I became 93. I felt and acted as I did the day before, but on Friday, 7/12/24, I was suddenly drenched in reality as if in an unexpected pounding carwash without a car.
Friday, 7/12/24, began as all my Fridays. The unwelcomed shrilling intrusion of my alarm clock shocked me awake, as it has for most of the last 5 decade for our Bible Class, now on Zoom. Today, we begin a thoughtful review of the Book of John, “the disciple Jesus loved,” written 60 or 80 years after the birth of Christ. The study is led by our inspiring and well-prepared teacher, Stuart Revercomb.
The first 5 verses in the Book of John are among the most meaningful in the Bible:
“In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. 2 He was in the beginning with God. 3 All things were made through Him, and without Him nothing was made that was made. 4 In Him was life, and the life was the light of men. 5 And the light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not comprehend it.” – John1:1-5, New King James Version.
It is customary at the end of the study to pray for people requiring prayer. After prayer, the “John Stacey Hour,” a less formal, more group therapy-oriented session, begins. At that point, I donned a new birthday gift from my son, Clinton. It is a bright red Trump cap crowned with life-like orange hair, made in China.
Some members of the class could not believe a psychiatrist would behave so abnormally; others were unsurprised. (Causing others to smile or laugh is what I enjoy.) I apologized for leaving early to renew my driver’s license, confessing it had expired the day before. Son Clinton drove me to the DMV on Abbey Road, Charlottesville. Maybe being 93 is not so bad, I innocently thought.
A welcomed rain pelted against our windshield as we sped along the Interstate to the Charlottesville DMV. At least 100 people patiently waited to hear their number on a loudspeaker, confirmed on a large screen. I was favorably impressed by the efficiency of the DMV and wondered why it did not enjoy a fine reputation.
Despite years of unsuccessfully trying, I’m not a person who waits patiently. After about an hour, the loudspeaker ordered me to service desk #14. Clinton assisted me along – with my walker – to the counter where a pleasant woman asked for my driver’s license. “That’s your military ID Card, Dad,” Clinton said. “Let me help remove your operator’s permit from your wallet.” It was the first of a series of blunders to follow shortly.
“Did you complete an application online, Mr. Brown?” She clearly had miles to go before she sleeps.) I could sense impatience in her voice. “Since you did not complete an application, fill in this form everywhere I have marked in color.” Not only was the application printed in tiny font, but the light green-yellow color faded long ago. Clinton read the questions aloud to me. I hastily scribbled the answers.
“Stick your head in that box and read line one!” I did my best. “Now read line two.” Clinton later told me the clerk was shaking her head side to side with each letter I read. “Mr. Brown, here is your driver’s license. Take this form to your eye doctor; have him fill it out and drop it off back here. Have a nice day.”
Ugh! So, this is my new 93 . . . Failure! (A terrible thing for a failure-phobic person.)
Being told I appear younger than my age no longer works. I felt ineffectual, weak, and very old. Clinton’s efforts to make me feel better were evidence of his love, a good feeling nevertheless, but the whole thing is proof of the power of the unconscious, the significance of denial.
Then came a suggestion, “Why don’t you write about it, Dad?”
Clinton writes music, knowing that his creative spirit is personally rewarding. I called Dr. Bruce Carter, a retired ophthalmologist and dear friend. He called Dr. “O,” a cataract surgeon at UVA. I will see her for an evaluation, possibly surgery.
Soon, I should be back to drag-racing or route 250.
But I’m already back to counting my blessings, a King who will never leave or forsake me, a family of loving, lovable people, and friends hand-picked by God.
My plight reminds me of The Denial of Death, by Ernest Becker, (1973.) He reviewed the writings of leading students of the human mind from which he formulated his own view that “mankind’s greatest dread or anxiety is his awareness of his own death and decay.”
Becker determined that we deny death by lying to ourselves. He identified several common lies or distraction from the dread of death: (1). The tranquility of trivia; (2) Getting bogged down in the expectations of others; and (3). The limitlessness of possibilities.
He remarked that once you acknowledge you are ultimately destined for death, “creaturely anxiety” floods over you and you realize you are nothing more than fancy food for worms. He acknowledged that attaching oneself to something greater than oneself is a way to manage the dread of death. He added this conclusion for careful consideration: “Thus the plight of modern man: a sinner with no word for it (or, worse) who looks for the word for it in a dictionary of psychology and thus only aggravates the problem of his separateness and his hyper-consciousness.”
Becker was unaware he was dying while writing The Denial of Death. Had he lived we would invite him to our Friday Bible Study. He would have learned that Jesus not only knew him by name, but loved him without limit. He would have been assured of eternal life and his dread and anxiety would have been calmed. For Jesus did not come into the world to judge it, but to save it.
Robert S. Brown, MD, PHD a retired Psychiatrist, Col (Ret) U.S. Army Medical Corps devoted the last decade of his career to treating soldiers at Fort Lee redeploying from combat. He was a Clinical Professor of Psychiatry and Professor of Education at UVA. His renowned Mental Health course taught the value of exercise for a sound mind.
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