Tag Archives: Soul Care

Settling In?

04 Thursday Jun 2009

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Life is settling into a new everyday normal.  Don has been home from Beijing a week now, so life is good on the home-front. Meanwhile, when I saw Dad on Tuesday at his new home away from home — a rehab center in Seminole — he seemed to be settling a little more into his old self, in spirit if not in body. 

I know from experience that Dad’s condition is a day-by-day thing.  One day he seems to be on the rebound.  Two days later he’s in the ER, surrounded by his daughters and a sister-in-law.  Daddy’s condition teaches me that a good Tuesday is not a sign of a good Thursday or even a string of good days, but only ‘what is’ — that he is having a good day on Tuesday.

Even now, my Father teaches me.  And I am thankful for ‘what is’, rather than thankful for what I hope will be–a string of better days ahead for Daddy.   Being anchored in the present with a grateful heart keeps me from fearing what I cannot control, what one day will be, what one day will come unexpectedly too soon, which keeps at bay the worry and fear of what may be hiding around the next corner — or Thursday.

Today is Thursday.  And the last four Thursdays in Daddy’s life have been anything but settling.  Two ER visits, one almost ER visit that lessened into an unscheduled Friday doctor’s appointment and then, last week, making arrangements for Daddy’s rehab stay.   By any rights, I should fear seeing the face of  another Thursday, as they’ve brought nothing but bad news of late.  But instead, I choose hope rather than fear.  And instead of anxiety, it is peace that settles in all around me, like some warm soft blanket, fresh from the dryer on a cool Thursday night in June.

Living in the present moment creates an open spirit, a heightened awareness to see and receive unexpected gifts that would be easy to miss were I preoccupied with worry.  Last Sunday for instance, my family gathered in Norman for May’s movable feast, for some of Kyle’s favorite fast-food chicken, which is served up by Raising Cain’s.    The strength of numbers from the after-church crowd caused us not to settle into our choice large table for too long, but rather than adjourning to go our separate ways, we vacated to spend time in a nearby park and then decided to go see the new Pixar movie “UP”.  

I knew nothing about the movie when I signed ‘up’ to go.  And as I settled into my chair and into the latest installment of Disney — that offers something to children of all ages — I saw that the hero of the film looked a little like my Daddy: A lonely widower, who was something of a dreamy introvert, who was misunderstood and under-appreciated by the world, who was being forced, against his will, to give up his treasured home for a new life in a nursing home.   To see how all these elements that sound so down can become the source of moving ‘Up’ is better seen than explained.  And it is worth seeing.  I left the movie feeling up.   And with the feeling that it’s best not to become too settled, but to be open to whichever way the wind blows us.  And to hold everything and everyone in this world lightly, whether a treasured house packed full of memories or a treasured best-in-the-world Daddy.  Because, as Robert Browning wrote, all those years ago, the best is yet to be.

“Grow old along with me!
The best is yet to be,
The last of life, for which the first was made:
Our times are in His hand
Who saith “A whole I planned,
Youth shows but half; trust God: see all, nor be afraid!”
Robert Browing, from Rabbi Ben Ezra 

 

Unplugged

19 Tuesday May 2009

Posted by in Good Reads, Life at Home, Prayer, Soul Care

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No hubby.  No Iggy.  But I still have Daddy. 

Just last week, Daddy looked like he was ready to quit this world.   His right leg was dragging behind him and his head was at half-mast, resting on his shoulder.  Christi, again suspecting a stroke, called for sibling backup, because it takes three of us to get Daddy’s incredibily shrnking body and spirit to the doctor.    A few days later, and one steriod shot and two maintenance drugs subtracted, Dad is more like Dad’s old self, albiet five pounds lighter.   And while still disconnected with dementia, Daddy is at least plugged in to life, again his normal anxious self, and again trying to communicate with the world, but for that tied up tongue of his.

Meanwhile, I’ve come unplugged.  I’ve had no interest in writing.  So I haven’t.  I went to a party on Sunday and moved about the room not really connecting with anyone.  I was just a bystander, watching the parade of a party go by,  as I cut cake and served it.  Then I came home incredibly sad. 

I wrote about it during Examen.  But I never got underneath the feeling to discover its source.  I was curious, but not so curious that I wanted to work for the answer.  Ignatius calls it desolation.  But whatever it’s label, I think I know a little more about how Daddy feels trapped in his body that leaves him disconnected from his world.  And I think Daddy is sad about this, just as I was sad.  And being sad is so exhausting.

The party day happened to fall on my twenty-third wedding anniversary.  Both my husband and I forgot it.  I think being disconnected from each other, separated by twenty-four days of time and thirteen time zones fosters forgetfulness.  My daughter Kara reminded me, so I dashed off a sad little email wishing Don a happy anniversary — it still was here, though thirteen hours in the future, it was no longer our anniversary when Don opened it a few minutes later.  When we fnally connected twelve hours later, Don wished me a happy anniversary, still thinking it was, not realizing he was a day late, his first in twenty-three years.  It was sort of comforting to know that I wasn’t the only one disconnected.

I also miss my morning Ignatius exercises, though I’m now reading bits and pieces of  ‘spiritual writings’ in the same time slot.   A little bit of this, and a  little bit of that, like a bee buzzing around way too many flowers.  I’ve sipped a little Evelyn Underhill, more of  of Thomas Merton, less of St. Augustine, and have finally landed on Jean-Pierre de Caussade’s The Sacrament of the Present Moment.  

It seems good medicine for a person unplugged.

The Garden Club

06 Wednesday May 2009

Posted by in In the Garden, Life at Home, Soul Care

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In the gentle rain of yesterday, I was in my sister’s cottage garden.  Laughing at ourselves for still playing in the mud at our age, we were digging up Fever Few, Larkspur and French Hollyhocks.  And in this morning’s soft mist, still dressed in my jammies and robe, I was out puttering in my own cottage garden, planting flowers — those from my sister’s as well as some delphinium bedding plants I grew from seed — and preparing other plants to give away to my sister and others.  Give and take is a way of life in the gardening world.

Before my sister called Sunday morning, I had planned to go set up the Master Gardener’s plant sale and take advantage of early bird shopping.  It’s the club’s biggest fundraiser of the year and the plants sold by gardeners are always different from what can be bought at local garden centers.   But when I heard from Christi that Daddy was not having a good week, I decided plant sales could wait.  This too was a form of give and take.

Of course, life is the biggest give and take of them all.  The Bible compares  mortals to the flowers of the field that flourish until the wind passes over them and then they are gone.  And the place knows them no more.  This last part always breaks my heart, as I know just how true it is.  Until a few months ago, I didn’t even know my Granny’s mother’s name.  And there are only a few left in the world who still do.  As Job said himself, ” The Lord gave and the Lord hath taken away.”   

In many respects, dementia has already taken much of Daddy away.  But I am thankful Daddy still knows us when we walk through the door even though he can’t keep track of our comings and goings.  Real sweetly yesterday, in what’s left of his whispery voice, he struggled to ask me “Where did Christi go?”  With a gardener’s patience, I told him that Christi was at work, and reminded him of her work schedule.  Rather than shaking his head in acknowledgement, my response left Daddy a little confused.  Only a month ago, daddy knew this.  So is this too give and take? 

Today I was able to shop the dregs of the plant sale, picking up a few plants for my sister’s garden and mine.  I was also able to find a home for my remaining tomato seedlings that have grown strong and tall with the help of the Oklahoma wind.  I’m tickled my friend Wanda took the tomato plants and I know Christi will be happy to take in a few new plants as well.  Gardeners are happy no matter whether its give or take. 

Not so with the taking of human beings.  But perhaps I’ll take comfort else where.  I now recall one Gospel’s reurrection account where Mary Magdalene confused the risen Jesus with a gardener.  I like to think Mary wasn’t confused at all, just as I like to think that Jesus is the true master gardener, as he transplants people from one garden to the next.  After all, give and take is a way of life in the gardening world.