My friend has announced surprising news. In the near future, Bill, as I will call him, intends to get a hearing aid. Family members have been telling him that he often does not hear what they are saying to him and he has noticed himself missing what others tell him.

You would expect me, as a more or less rational person, to welcome Bill’s decision to invest in hearing assistance. After all, I’m the guy who years ago in another column approved of Bill Clinton acquiring hearing aids for each ear. When still in the White House, Clinton announced the change, explaining that long exposure to loud music and blaring political meetings had damaged his hearing.

Similarly, I have applauded other friends when they have outfitted themselves with artificial hearing devices. I have also condoled with them in their complaints when the aids do not work as well as advertising promised.

In Bill’s instance, however, I confess to feeling resistance to the idea. Perhaps it’s that he is the friend I have known the longest. Ever since we were schoolboys together, decades ago, we have remained close. Ours is the pleasure of frequent association that includes sharing the major events, both joyful and sorrowful, that have marked our lives.

What bothers me about Bill’s prospective new move is that, to my inner feelings, it seems like diminishment. Bill is becoming deaf, as he freely admits to me and others, and that grieves me. Of course, I admire his courage in making this admission; not everyone can summon up the gumption to recognize this disability, and many stubbornly resist the efforts of others to make them get help.

Given the rational choice, I would certainly want Bill to hear what is said to him, rather than to hold his ground and refuse to get a hearing aid. Knowing from such long experience what a marvelous friend he is, I want him to be fully involved in my life, in that of his family, and with his other friends.

So why should I be saddened? For a long time, I have been an enthusiastic admirer of the technological advances that improve the livers of other people. And I have advocated the kind of openness that allows us to change. Bill is, to me, a model of such openness.

Still, there is my emotional response that refuses to welcome instances of decline among those that I care about. Perhaps the strength of my emotion comes from a series of diminishments that I have recently experienced thanks to emergency surgery. I now find myself feeling closer to disability and diminishment than I have ever felt in my adult life.

On the deepest level, experiences of this sort are sobering because they remind us of the ultimate decline that leads to death. I shrink from facing my own diminishments because they are a prelude to the final taking away of my human functions.

Perhaps I can here invoke a man who speaks and writes with wisdom about these matters. Dr. Andrew Weil recently gave an interview to the online service Beliefnet on the subject of aging and its spiritual values.

He finds the denial of aging, so pervasive in American society, to be based in the fear of death. “Aging is a constant reminder that we’re moving in that direction,” he says, “so I think that’s the root fear.” He adds that we fear other things as well such as the loss of independence and of familiar pleasures in life.

Weil’s formula for dealing with these fears is “facing them squarely and being honest about them.” But his main response is to pursue a vigorous spiritual life, a recommendation that I second heartily. Spirituality, in my book, remains a strong support for people struggling with some of the difficult issues of later life.

As part of that approach Weil believes in meditation. About this practice he says: “I think meditation has, first of all, really helped stabilize my moods. I think it has also increased my concentration and made it easier for me to be more mindful .  .  . and I think it’s made me more aware of my non-physical self.”

My own appreciation of meditation goes in a somewhat different direction but I also value Weil’s approach to it. I rely on this spiritual exercise to help me deal with the mixed feelings I experience at many stages of my later life. Meditation, especially with friends, buoys me up when I face unexpected challenges.

In meditations over the coming weeks, I hope specifically to sort out my feelings about my friend Bill’s decision and what they reveal about my attitudes toward my own life. Perhaps a tension will remain between my rational and elemental self on this issue but I will look toward a better integration between the two.

Richard Griffin