Today I spent some time watching a combination of fog and mist in the yard. I think it may have been more of a mist from the warm temperatures melting the snow faster than it could seep into the earth. It was beautiful but I didn’t have the energy to go out and photograph so I thought I would share this image I made about 12 years ago or so out at Liberty Lake.
Fog is probably a good description for how I am feeling today. It’s been a long week and I spent most of the day sitting still by a fire.
For some reason the lyric of Dylan’s classic song I’ll give you shelter from the storm… has been going through my mind over and over today. In my version of it the shelter from the storm is the kindness shared by friends who invite me over with an understanding that all they need to do is provide me a space to be without having to explain the circumstances I am working through with my parents health and living arrangements.
Earlier in the week Sarah told me of an invitation for dinner on Saturday. She put it on my calendar where it sat there like a small island that I was heading towards in the fog of Monday through Friday.
Getting to that Saturday evening dinner with friends was like having an anchor buoy to tie into. I have spent many hours this week in a complete state of flux. Managing the ongoing construction saga that has helped me lose weight due to the absence of a kitchen and counter space to make snacks for four months and counting, making visits to the nursing home and doctor appointments, and spending time with my mom who finds herself alone in the house for the first time in over 50 years.
I find myself experiencing life like a series of rolling waves. I don’t really fixate on anything but instead just roll with it. Life is always in flux. We just aren’t always aware of it. Bodies decay, paint chips, and miles of driving wear out parts. Along the way we get to see some beautiful things and share some beautiful experiences. I feel profound gratitude that.
Last week my classes got taught and I think the students learned. I think fatigue makes the teaching flow more smoothly. I’m finding it to be similar to the experience I have riding my motorcycle on long trips. It is only after I get tired enough to stop trying to manage the bike that I become one with it instead and we enter into a flow state and lean into the curves smoothly.
My classes felt like that this week. I was too tired to be uptight. I entered into the quarter knowing that this was going to be a challenging time for me so I adapted a workshop approach to the classes. We gathered into a circle on the first day and just had a conversation. I shared things and the students shared things and asked questions, and we just got into a flow and leaned into learning.
Creating opportunities for failure in a low risk environment stimulates learning. Too bad life isn’t always just low risk opportunities to grow and learn. It seems that it has taken 25 years of teaching to realize that if I just let go of trying to manage the class so tightly that we could have accomplished so much more. It’s futile to think about it now. But it reminds me of why it’s important to keep old teachers around as mentors to the new ones. I will have to pass on some of this wisdom the next time I see a young and nervous teacher.
Anyway, I realize that I’ve joined a club of friends who have all gone through the same experiences with their parents. I’m grateful for that. It means you don’t have to talk if you don’t feel like it. Or if you do, they know not to try to fix it. They just listen and share with out judgement or advice. We are all too tired of trying to manage it and have achieved the state of grace that I am beginning to think only comes with exhaustion.
A dinner date on a Saturday night offered shelter from the storm of emotions that have been churning below the surface largely unnoticed. I have my sea legs and haven’t notice the waves consciously until step ashore and realize my body is still swaying. That usually happens at night when I try to lay still and sleep.
With a glass of wine I sat quietly in the corner until I felt like talking about it. For the next few hours I felt calm as if I had just tucked into a protected bay.
Earlier in the week a colleague passed away and then yesterday I got word of another friend’s father passing. It is the stage of life we are in. A dear friend came by to drop of Lasagna for Sarah and I to heat up for dinner since we still can’t cook anything inside. He stayed for awhile and we sat by the fire and drank tea.
Adult men don’t generally do well with maintaining friendships. We tend to be alpha males that migrate alone most of the time. I have to say that sitting with a friend while sipping on a cup of tea was really nice. He had messaged me a few weeks ago with the best advice I have received yet which is to recognize that you can no longer expect to have rational conversations when dementia sets in.
You just have to weather the storm that comes in at times as irrational fears trigger unexpected behaviors in your elderly parents.
I realize now that as a society we don’t really talk about death and dying enough so that we can build some intentionality about how to manage it with grace and dignity. I admire people with strong religious beliefs that seem to have certainty about the whole messy end of life chapter. I suspect they suffer all the same.
When I asked the social worker how my parents were expected to attend to all their needs without selling their house and losing everything the response was, that’s the system we have in this country. Seems kind of inhumane.
Thankfully we are not there yet but I will not be surprised as it may just be one of those large rolling waves that keep pushing you towards the horizon. Thankfully there are some stops along the way where you can pause and feel gratitude for the journey through the fog towards the beach you just landed on.
Peace,
Ira