At sixty-seven a woman cries because she was neglected and abandoned by her mother at birth. She tells me the story of her mother (Sadie) who left Ireland at a young age and immigrated to Canada. While working as a maid, she caught the eye of a rich suitor (John). John was much older than Sadie, but falling in love, he disregarded the age difference and married. The two settled on a large farm north of Toronto.

After many years of marriage, Sadie developed symptoms of depression. John took her to a doctor who suggested, "This woman needs a baby." At the time, it was a common old world remedy.

Sadie liked the idea and not long after she became pregnant. The color returned to her cheeks, her smile returned, and her step became light with joy. In the later trimester the weight of the pregnancy forced her to bed.

When the baby was born, Sadie said, "I don't want the baby." She separated herself from the child, mentally, emotionally, and physically. At fifty-two John didn't feel he could look after the child on his own and didn't want to give her up for adoption so he enlisted the help of a young neighbor.

When he asked for help the neighbour girl said, "What, she doesn't want the baby? I'm going to be a friend to that baby." And that's what happened; throughout the woman's sixty-seven years of living she has known the friendship of the wonderful neighbour. But even at sixty-seven, she still cries over the loss of not having known her mother's love.

Our past is always with us, and if we are not careful, our past can possess us. For some, wounds heal fast and clean. For others, the wounds fester for many years even on into our older years.

I met a woman, 82 who cried after watching a program on adoption. She cried because it reminded her of her youth. After her parents died her aunt and uncle refused to adopt her. She was eight at the time. They cared for her but failed to give her the emotional closeness she needed. She wanted so much to be adopted by them so she could "belong."

Sometimes, I think the assumption is the older we get the more spiritual healing we know. Surely, all the years that have passed give the opportunity to heal. The assumption is that those in their forties, fifties, sixties, even seventies, are free from the hurts of the past. For many, this is true. The old axiom comes into play, time does heal. But for others the wounds of life are still open.

Those of us, who heal well, ought to help those who are still suffering. We can give life releasing joy to the wounded. Never assume, because a person is older, that they have been healed, that all is well, that everything is okay. Perhaps they could benefit from a kind word, a listening ear, a helping hand, and the friendship of a good person like you.