Page 211 - The Legacy of Abraham Rothstein - text

Old age and the future

out in Victorville for ten days of desert climate before I returned to
work. In forty-seven I had a bad case of pneumonia and had to give
up that strenuous activity. After a month’s recuperation I felt I could
not exist without doing physical work, and took a job as a common
laborer, which was helpful to my body. Now this month’s hot
weather and the smog and dust from painting the house has
congested my lungs and I feel weak. That depresses my mind.
Everyone has to pass away when the time comes; even a stone
changes. There is no escape, but sometimes the exit is painful.

Today is Decoration Day, or as it is now called, Memorial Day. It
is natural for us to remember the date of the loss of a parent, a child,
a wife or husband—or even a good friend. We do not understand the
mental perception and reasoning of gregarious animals when they
lose their mates, but it is well known some do feel that parting for
months or years, and clearly show their grief. Among domestic fowl,
the goose, and some of the water birds, after losing their mates,
seldom find another one, and will, in time, waste away and die. It
must be memory which causes them to be lonely and lose interest in
their surroundings. To decorate a grave is to bring back loving
memories and feelings which arouse in us emotions not only for the
past but also for our own future. The graveyard is the greatest place
for awakening one’s consciousness to the reality of his existence, that
life is not all power and pleasure, that all the riches in the world
cannot save him from the same fate that befalls every human.
The flowers that we bring to the cemetery only satisfy our feelings,
not those of the one who sleeps the infinite slumber. I am going to
the grave of my late wife, bringing flowers—not that it will do her
dust any good; it is just a sentiment. It was her habit to pick those
sweet pea flowers that I used to plant every spring, and handling
those flowers was the joy of her life. She nursed those blooms like
they were living beings. In fact, we call one who cares for plants a
nursery man, because a plant goes through a period of germination, a
period of leaflets when young, then larger leaves when a little older,
blooming as if in puberty, then flowering in maturity, drying up
slowly, and finally back to the ground goes the old plant, broken up
by the wind: from dust to dust.
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