Where was the rage? And now... creating my healing.
Green smiley Monday. The hurricane just knocked out our power but Drew has a personal hot spot (ho ho) on his iPhone so I can be online! Neat, huh? And our generator is roaring away. We're lucky... I hope others are safe tonight too.
I have been living into the life, I guess. NOt as much talking about it. Just doing it. And at the same time, I miss the reflections that help to connect the inside of me with the life that I'm living... the whole outside of me. Recently the reflections have been getting brighter, and reflecting on each other! It seems like time to share.
Mentioned a book recently: The Unlikely Pilgrimage of Harold Fry. Oh oh oh... such a story. It picked up steam as it went along and really took my breath away. I won't give away the Big Thing but wow, it really resonated for me. I'll just share this piece from the book... Harold's wife is talking with her neighbor about his wife who died of brain cancer. Here's how it goes:
==========================
He said, "Do you know what I most regret about losing her?" She shook her head.
"That I didn't fight it."
"But Elizabeth had a brain tumor, Rex. How could you have fought that?"
"When the doctors told us she was dying, I held her hand and gave up. We both did. I know it wouldn't have made any difference in the end, but I wish I had let her see how much I wanted to keep her. I should have raged, Maureen." He sat bent over his cup of tea, as if in prayer. He didn't look up. He repeated the words with a quiet intensity she had not seen in him before, so that his cup trembled on its saucer. His knuckles were pure bone. "I should have raged."
The conversation stayed with Maureen.
==============================
So..... after I read this, the conversation stayed with me too. I told a few people about it, and whenever I did, whenever I read or recounted the conversation, I would get this huge lump of rage in my own throat. I had to ask myself why I did NOT rage when Andy was diagnosed with brain cancer, or when his surgery left him with awful pain, or when the disabilities of his vision and language were apparent, or when the tumors progressed, or when he couldn't walk anymore, or when he couldn't breathe and slipped into the Greatest Mystery. Why did I not rage?
Here are the easy answers: I was being brave. Strong. The rock. Holding on for everyone else to be able to hold onto me. And the next layer of understanding: I was as I have been all my life somehow able to see the whole thing from a mile up. What difference would it make whether I was silent or howling with rage?
And then I read this, and when he said, "I wish I had let her see how much I wanted to keep her..." I felt all this pain and sorrow flood me, like waves over a rocky coast. Can I say for sure, and know for sure in my heart that Andy knew I wanted to keep him? Was I too f-ing calm and controlled? Other people give me answers that they think are comforting but this is the kind of question that no one else can answer.
In terms of the answer, I just have to live with it and know that Andy knew who I was. If I had raged about anything, I would have raged about losing him. Yes, I was calm. It was insane how calm I was. But I had made a promise to be there with him to the end, and it felt at the time like the right thing for me... (not saying that whatever anyone else did wasn't also the right thing), to be 100% available for him and not checking out from life's terrible duties.
==================================
Andy has been on my mind a lot. Just as in June, when we had Byron and Caitlin's beautiful DIY wedding here in Maine, now her family wanted to host a big celebration down in Dallas. So Drew and I flew down there for the weekend. It was truly lovely. I love her family. On Friday we went through the Dallas Arboretum together, (Drew and Sarah, my wasband Larry and his Rose, Byron and Caitlin, and C's mother and sister) and on Saturday explored downtown Dallas. Both nights had lovely big parties of family and friends. On Saturday we said goodbye to everyone, many many hugs and kisses, as we'd be leaving early Sunday to get home before Hurricane Sandy. On Sunday morning I woke up with a sad dream: that Andy had found me after all those goodbyes and said, "But wait Mum you didn't say goodbye to me!" Boom, instant lump in throat. Of course I hadn't said goodbye to him... he wasn't there. Yes, I know, he is with me always everywhere, but the truth is also that he was MISSING from the evening, a place he would have been, with bells on. So sad.
==================================
And we swirl through the many feelings. Cave woman, robot, what comes next? I forget. The Grief hits the Fan... balls of grief, out of control. I know that Creating your Healing is out there somewhere ... then the New Normal ("New normal doesn’t mean that grief is completely done and over. It just means you’ve incorporated it into the story of your life. I’ve heard it said, you live with the hole in your heart but it no longer is sucking energy and joy out of your life and therefore is no longer your focus. I’m starting to feel like I am there") and on good days I feel energy and inner light for that prospect. So here's the issue: I have been struggling with my job (I'm a landscape architect) for a number of years. I'm coming up on having done it for almost 40 years. Good grief! Grateful for the flexibility and convenience and decent pay, not to mention 1/2 mile commute -- like what kind of idiot would walk away from all of that?
Well, here's who: a person who has seen that Life Can Suddenly End. A person who wants to live whatever life there is left with more oomph, more purpose, more interaction. Less resentment, less disconnect. More engagement, more giving, more healing, more sincere joy. There is some creativity in my job, but mostly it's stress and pressure and compromise. But so convenient! We've heard of golden handcuffs? The job you cannot afford to leave? I wear the fleece-lined handcuffs. The job that's too comfortable and yet feels (on bad days) just suffocating. Isn't it WRONG to live wishing that the next 8 years would zoom by so I can retire? If I have 8+ years of good energy to give the world, shouldn't they be offered in not such a mailed-in way?
What can I give? (mmm, reminds me of the Hafiz lines:
"Dear one, how can I be more loving to you? How can I be more kind?")
I feel that I have compassion and healing to offer, but not enough time to go to medical school or social worker programs. And yes, I have heard from all my friends in those careers of the burn-out they feel too! So I'm thinking.... just preliminarily ... about becoming trained to BE a Personal Fitness Coach. A trainer. I'd like to work with seniors, and with people who need to start the process of turning around obesity. I know something about this... in fact a lot. I have always been very interested in medicine and sports and fitness. And disease, and addiction, and recovery. I have been obese, and made deep sustainable changes, and now have a mostly healthy life.
I have a been-there-got-the-T-shirt perspective that a young perky kid with six-pack abs cannot. I know how hard it is to make changes. To keep it up. I know how it all works, and how our metabolisms are rigged against some of us. How unfair it is. Oh yeah, I know about unfair, in general! WTF is less fair than losing your kid to cancer? Maybe I could be trained in helping people who have sustained these losses, too. I may take some pastoral ministry courses too... there's a great program here in Portland and lots of friends have done it. I don't see being a chaplain (like you Joanie, rock on!) but bringing those sensitivities into work for fitness and self-respect and hope for our bodies to be in service to our goals as people.
So just between you and me and the proverbial lamp-post, I am beginning to explore the possibilities for the training. I need to talk with LOTS of people and look into all the courses and programs that are available within range of us here. Hah it's funny -- when I first started looking I was like, "Shoot, these things take a while! Isn't there something faster?" And then I realized that I can BEGIN. And that the journey of a thousand miles begins with that step. That's it. When I read the thing I shared last week about the stages, it clicked with me because I am beginning to look ahead, and starting to find resolve that these years should be worth something.
Andy was and is an inspiration to me in living a life that is passionate and uncompromising. He will be with me as I find my way. No goodbyes.
I have been living into the life, I guess. NOt as much talking about it. Just doing it. And at the same time, I miss the reflections that help to connect the inside of me with the life that I'm living... the whole outside of me. Recently the reflections have been getting brighter, and reflecting on each other! It seems like time to share.
Mentioned a book recently: The Unlikely Pilgrimage of Harold Fry. Oh oh oh... such a story. It picked up steam as it went along and really took my breath away. I won't give away the Big Thing but wow, it really resonated for me. I'll just share this piece from the book... Harold's wife is talking with her neighbor about his wife who died of brain cancer. Here's how it goes:
==========================
He said, "Do you know what I most regret about losing her?" She shook her head.
"That I didn't fight it."
"But Elizabeth had a brain tumor, Rex. How could you have fought that?"
"When the doctors told us she was dying, I held her hand and gave up. We both did. I know it wouldn't have made any difference in the end, but I wish I had let her see how much I wanted to keep her. I should have raged, Maureen." He sat bent over his cup of tea, as if in prayer. He didn't look up. He repeated the words with a quiet intensity she had not seen in him before, so that his cup trembled on its saucer. His knuckles were pure bone. "I should have raged."
The conversation stayed with Maureen.
==============================
So..... after I read this, the conversation stayed with me too. I told a few people about it, and whenever I did, whenever I read or recounted the conversation, I would get this huge lump of rage in my own throat. I had to ask myself why I did NOT rage when Andy was diagnosed with brain cancer, or when his surgery left him with awful pain, or when the disabilities of his vision and language were apparent, or when the tumors progressed, or when he couldn't walk anymore, or when he couldn't breathe and slipped into the Greatest Mystery. Why did I not rage?
Here are the easy answers: I was being brave. Strong. The rock. Holding on for everyone else to be able to hold onto me. And the next layer of understanding: I was as I have been all my life somehow able to see the whole thing from a mile up. What difference would it make whether I was silent or howling with rage?
And then I read this, and when he said, "I wish I had let her see how much I wanted to keep her..." I felt all this pain and sorrow flood me, like waves over a rocky coast. Can I say for sure, and know for sure in my heart that Andy knew I wanted to keep him? Was I too f-ing calm and controlled? Other people give me answers that they think are comforting but this is the kind of question that no one else can answer.
In terms of the answer, I just have to live with it and know that Andy knew who I was. If I had raged about anything, I would have raged about losing him. Yes, I was calm. It was insane how calm I was. But I had made a promise to be there with him to the end, and it felt at the time like the right thing for me... (not saying that whatever anyone else did wasn't also the right thing), to be 100% available for him and not checking out from life's terrible duties.
==================================
Andy has been on my mind a lot. Just as in June, when we had Byron and Caitlin's beautiful DIY wedding here in Maine, now her family wanted to host a big celebration down in Dallas. So Drew and I flew down there for the weekend. It was truly lovely. I love her family. On Friday we went through the Dallas Arboretum together, (Drew and Sarah, my wasband Larry and his Rose, Byron and Caitlin, and C's mother and sister) and on Saturday explored downtown Dallas. Both nights had lovely big parties of family and friends. On Saturday we said goodbye to everyone, many many hugs and kisses, as we'd be leaving early Sunday to get home before Hurricane Sandy. On Sunday morning I woke up with a sad dream: that Andy had found me after all those goodbyes and said, "But wait Mum you didn't say goodbye to me!" Boom, instant lump in throat. Of course I hadn't said goodbye to him... he wasn't there. Yes, I know, he is with me always everywhere, but the truth is also that he was MISSING from the evening, a place he would have been, with bells on. So sad.
==================================
And we swirl through the many feelings. Cave woman, robot, what comes next? I forget. The Grief hits the Fan... balls of grief, out of control. I know that Creating your Healing is out there somewhere ... then the New Normal ("New normal doesn’t mean that grief is completely done and over. It just means you’ve incorporated it into the story of your life. I’ve heard it said, you live with the hole in your heart but it no longer is sucking energy and joy out of your life and therefore is no longer your focus. I’m starting to feel like I am there") and on good days I feel energy and inner light for that prospect. So here's the issue: I have been struggling with my job (I'm a landscape architect) for a number of years. I'm coming up on having done it for almost 40 years. Good grief! Grateful for the flexibility and convenience and decent pay, not to mention 1/2 mile commute -- like what kind of idiot would walk away from all of that?
Well, here's who: a person who has seen that Life Can Suddenly End. A person who wants to live whatever life there is left with more oomph, more purpose, more interaction. Less resentment, less disconnect. More engagement, more giving, more healing, more sincere joy. There is some creativity in my job, but mostly it's stress and pressure and compromise. But so convenient! We've heard of golden handcuffs? The job you cannot afford to leave? I wear the fleece-lined handcuffs. The job that's too comfortable and yet feels (on bad days) just suffocating. Isn't it WRONG to live wishing that the next 8 years would zoom by so I can retire? If I have 8+ years of good energy to give the world, shouldn't they be offered in not such a mailed-in way?
What can I give? (mmm, reminds me of the Hafiz lines:
"Dear one, how can I be more loving to you? How can I be more kind?")
I feel that I have compassion and healing to offer, but not enough time to go to medical school or social worker programs. And yes, I have heard from all my friends in those careers of the burn-out they feel too! So I'm thinking.... just preliminarily ... about becoming trained to BE a Personal Fitness Coach. A trainer. I'd like to work with seniors, and with people who need to start the process of turning around obesity. I know something about this... in fact a lot. I have always been very interested in medicine and sports and fitness. And disease, and addiction, and recovery. I have been obese, and made deep sustainable changes, and now have a mostly healthy life.
I have a been-there-got-the-T-shirt perspective that a young perky kid with six-pack abs cannot. I know how hard it is to make changes. To keep it up. I know how it all works, and how our metabolisms are rigged against some of us. How unfair it is. Oh yeah, I know about unfair, in general! WTF is less fair than losing your kid to cancer? Maybe I could be trained in helping people who have sustained these losses, too. I may take some pastoral ministry courses too... there's a great program here in Portland and lots of friends have done it. I don't see being a chaplain (like you Joanie, rock on!) but bringing those sensitivities into work for fitness and self-respect and hope for our bodies to be in service to our goals as people.
So just between you and me and the proverbial lamp-post, I am beginning to explore the possibilities for the training. I need to talk with LOTS of people and look into all the courses and programs that are available within range of us here. Hah it's funny -- when I first started looking I was like, "Shoot, these things take a while! Isn't there something faster?" And then I realized that I can BEGIN. And that the journey of a thousand miles begins with that step. That's it. When I read the thing I shared last week about the stages, it clicked with me because I am beginning to look ahead, and starting to find resolve that these years should be worth something.
Andy was and is an inspiration to me in living a life that is passionate and uncompromising. He will be with me as I find my way. No goodbyes.
Replies
What a wonderful journal!! I am so happy for you, to have such a great outlook on life. I am nowhere near there, but just maybe, one day I will...
((((HUGS))))....Julia