Winter brought me a funk in stagnation. I swam in molasses and then decided to just rest rather than struggle futilely. I gave myself permission to let go of all the “have-to’s." In the midst of my funk, I read Jeff Foster’s quotation about fear. He says, “Our deepest fear is not the fear of death; it is the fear of life.”
Watching my father age
Privileged
In February, my father turned 95 years old. I realize I am privileged to see this event as most people do not get to see their parents live that long. I know most people mean well when they say that I should treasure every moment, even the most difficult ones. I do appreciate that I get to watch him age. I do appreciate that we still play pinochle, euchre and cribbage with him. I do appreciate that he still teases me about many of my foibles.
Yet, I always want to push back on people who tell me that I should appreciate what I have while he is still here. They tell me they’d give anything to have more time with their parent(s). I want to say ...
Pushing back
Self-absorbed
I’m not you. You have no idea what I feel now, much less what I will feel at some nebulous point in the future. I don’t know what I’ll feel, so you can’t possibly know either. Your loss and your feelings won’t be mine. Plus, I have experienced one parent’s death, so you don’t have a clue about me or my thoughts and feelings ... because you haven’t even bothered to ask. What you know is your experiences – stop projecting them on me, please. Let me have my own journey, because, quite frankly, no one else is going to have it. Others might understand pieces of it, but they are not going to understand all of it completely.
After I acknowledge to myself that I cannot say any of that and that their “thing” does not need to be accepted by me, I turn to thinking about them. I put aside my ego and ask, “What CAN I say to them that is beneficial?” They might be living with their own regrets. They might be needing someone to see their grief and listen to their stories. Their talking at me seems like it is about me, but it’s really about them.
Seeing and listening
Acknowledged
So, I need to listen to them and see them. Maybe, instead of pushing back, I should say:
~ Tell me about your mom (dad).
~ What are some of your favorite memories of your mom?
~ What do you miss the most about your dad?
But, then, I say to myself, “What about me? What about my experiences? I’m the one grieving my mother’s loss; why do I have to reach out to them in a compassionate way? Why do I have to be the one?”
And then, I remember paradoxically that is all about me and not all about me at the same time. I live in community and community suffers when I suffer and experiences joy when I find wonder.
So, when I am hurting, I need to see the hurt in others. When I feel unheard, I need to listen. When I feel unseen, I need to see someone else. When I feel easily dismissed, I need to acknowledge others in a loving and meaningful way.
When I am not seen, heard or acknowledged, I am being told to see, hear and acknowledge others because we are, all of us, connected to one another and what we need flows like a river.
Seeking
Unstuck
If I’ve created a dam by not really seeing others, then others cannot see me. The dam prevents the flow. Thus, when I see others, others can start seeing me. The flow is an exchange – not necessarily with the same person, but with the next person down river. So, if you see me, I see them. They then see you. When I recognize that I am stuck, I unstick by giving someone else that which I am seeking.
It was surprising to me when I realized it works this way. Why wasn’t I taught this when I was younger? My guess is I wouldn’t have necessarily understood it then. I needed to be further into my journey.
Dancing with joy
Embraced
I obviously don’t know if I’ll live as long as my dad – 95 seems like an awfully long time to me. However, in whatever time I do have left, I plan on seeing you and listening to you. I plan on playing more, living with curiosity, and dancing with effervescent joy.
As I re-read The Book Thief by Markus Zusak, Death’s comments strike me differently from the previous time I read it. I am much more aware – but don’t always live like I am – that my perspective in life decides whether I sit on the sidelines or dance like no one is watching. Dancing brings me joy.
So, when Zusak’s character Death says, “You are going to die ... I urge you – don’t be afraid,” I now take that as a reminder to embrace all the opportunities life brings my way rather than just wait for Death to find me sitting in a chair watching others dance.
In effervescent dancing joy,
Angela Jane