Right now I am working through topics surrounding death and life transitions. Growing up I had a neighbor, named Marie, who I had viewed as the matriarch of the neighborhood. She had an especially close tie to my family - a family friend for sure. I never really got to know her, despite commands from my mother for my sister and I to take over a plate of Christmas cookies and talk with her every year.
Three weeks ago I learned that she was in a rehab center with terminal, end stage lung cancer. This shook my to my core. Marie does not really have family in the area - she has a cousin, but no immediate family or children. Most of the people from the old neighborhood who really knew her have died or moved on. I had this image in my mind of her dying alone, and could just not bear the thought.
That evening in group I just lost it - the idea of dying alone _terrified_ me beyond description. Much more than I ever realized.
After group I went to visit Marie for real. I sat with her for two hours that night, and the following two nights, just getting to know her and her story. I'm sorry I didn't get to know her earlier in life - she was quite a character. The next week IH and I went out of town on vacation for seven days. Marie passed away the morning that we returned home. She was a strong woman, and will be missed.
While I was in New Hampshire on vacation I learned that my grandmother (on my mother's side) has been diagnosed with lung cancer with mets to her bones - specifically her pelvis, ribs, shoulder, and back of the head. I had a chance to visit briefly with her in the hopital, and hopefully will be able to get back up there in early October - hopefully before she passes. When I think of grandmothers, I mostly think of her, as she was the predominent grandmother figure in my life. While I knew that she was getting older, she seemed to always keep on trucking without any major health issues. Or that was always my perception.
I've never really, as an adult, had the ability to know someone close to me that was dying in the near future. It is an odd thing - death always seemed like a sudden entering into conciousness, not something that was introduced and lives with you until it's time to go. This has certainly been a reflective time.
I have been hoping that by getting all of that out there that I'd remove some of the mental block that is in my head, keeping me from being present. But that is not the case.
There is something still in this struggle to be present that is missing. I haven't really seen my friends for entirely too long. I have lost them, and that makes me more sad than I realize. I have fallen out of communication through this writing, and that makes me more sad than I realize. Somehow I keep forgetting the things that I need to keep me present, to stay emotionally true.
I'm just a guy who is really having a time of it. I'm really no good at remembering the things that are really important, and really good at doing the things that aren't so important.
I'm struggling. And you know what? I keep forgetting that I'm struggling.
So there it is. My post - the core of it. I miss you guys. I'm really sorry that i'm no good at staying in touch. Even when I stay in touch a lot of the time I don't know how to really be there. But you mean the world to me, and I'm really afraid of losing what little connection I'm able to get.
2 comments:
I'm sure you know this, but sometimes people need hear it - Kurt and I are always here for you. And we both love you and want you to be happy.
When my best friend's husband was killed that really did a number on me. And it still does. I try to remind myself that this is the only life I get and I better make the best of it. I lose sight of this at times and am frequently unsure of what is the best choice of action for my life and my partner's.
The things that we "have to do" get in the way of the things we "want to do". Even when the "want to do" things are necessary for staying happy and present.
My great Uncle Milton passed away this weekend at the grand age of 92, which is symbolic of the passing of an era. He was the youngest of ten brothers and sisters, most of whom either never left coastal Carolina, or moved back after serving in the military. But, living in the small, rural family town my mother grew up in with that many brothers and sisters, there were a lot of relatives around.
However, most of the children and grandchildren of Milton and his brother, my mother's father, moved away from the small town. And if they stayed, they certainly didn't have 11 children to repopulate the region with family. So as a result, his nieces and nephews, like my mother, could only get around to see him every couple of years or so. For me, it was 10 years ago that I last saw him. Still, when he passed away, he had a number of children and family around him.
For my folks, it'll probably be a lot different. Now in their 70's, their parents, uncles, aunts, etc have almost all but passed away, they live far away from the "ancestral" home towns, and have done so for 50 years. So, when they get much older, it'll pretty much just be me and my brother who look after them. There won't be a gaggle of family around, because the days of massively sized families being commonplace in America are pretty much gone, and their nieces/nephews/cousins/etc have long since lost contact.
But then you look further down the road when I get old and gray. My brother and I are not close and haven't seen one another in 5 years. My bride and I don't have children, so weren't not creating an extended family. In all likelihood, when I kick the bucket it will probably just be me, because I have never kept in contact with any cousins or other family members my own age.
So, what is to do? I have to look back at my first 5 years out of college to grope for an answer.
After VT, I spent quite a few years living in the middle of nowhere around the USA. Small towns less than 2000 people, hours from large urban areas. No one really to socialize with. Certainly no one to date. In small poor mining towns, you're pretty much a meal ticket for women looking to entrap a husband... which means you can't date because you can't read the few single womens' intentions (last thing you want is an anchor baby). Pretty much 5-years straight without a social life, friends, or evening activities. In the middle of wilderness America (insert yipping coyotes and winters 20-below zero in northern Michigan).
I don't know exactly why, but I figured out pretty quick that you either get comfortable with yourself, the reflection in the mirror, and the endless quiet rhythms of the isolated world, or you go batty. I knew of several other mining engineers around my company at other operations across the US who quit after a year because of the high stress and the isolation.
My solution to the stress and isolation was to measure the short summers and long, dark winter seasons by activity and experiences, solitary though they may have been. My motorcycle was an excellent friend. So was the mahogany kayak I built for cruising the Great Lakes. Traditional Japanese swordsmanship provided focus, though it took 2.5 hours one-way each weekend to drive to training class. The biggest boon for me was wilderness hiking by myself.
The thing is, after a couple of years of this, I really grew to enjoy my solitary lifestyle. After the stress of being in the mines, the quiet between my ears (well, except for the perpetual ringing I now have due to some hearing damage) became very comforting. I was able to see and hear a lot of things that I never would have enjoyed had I never embarked on that kind of lifestyle. It's hard to describe the peace of hiking 13 miles to find an isolated portion of the Lake Superior Coast and listen to waves 200-feet below down the shear sandstone cliffs. It was really hard to leave that lifestyle, because I developed a comfort zone and an ability to explore the world without other people. According to those few folks I did know at the time, I matured and became really content with who I am (however you want to define that kind of thing, I suppose).
Interestingly enough, when I moved back to civilization, I met by accident a girl as independent and solitary minded as myself. For whatever reason, we clicked and have been married for 4 years now. We both still very much enjoy each other's companionship and tend to shy away from being as social as most of the people we observe. I can definitely say that had I not gone through a forced solitary stage in my life and really gotten to know who I am, I wouldn't have been mature enough to marry this woman, much less any other girl. Not even possible.
Boy, what's the point here? Ah yes. The point I think I'm muddling to is that when we die, minus any offspring we have or a still living spouse or friend, we're probably going to have a better chance of being alone than previous generations. But I think that can be alright. I believe that the measure of a life lived and engrossing yourself in the art of living alone when the time comes can still be fulfilling. Of course, dealing with disease and infirmary and their effects on your spirit and soul are not to be discounted or made trivial, but if we all live to a ripe old age, they become more and more of a possibility. Likely all we can do is prepare ourselves by living well now and examining the impact of such circumstances frankly, bravely, and perhaps with a little pluck. That way at least we have a fighting chance to endure being alone when we cross that threshold into the unknown.
Or, you ignore the possibility altogether and live your life as you decide. Or, you fear the inevitable for a lifetime.
I'm not suggesting you go build a cabin above the 50th parallel, by the way, or drop off the face of the earth. Just thinking out loud.
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