I had many posts I was planning on writing for this blog – none
were this.
My father died out of the blue, of something like a heart attack, watching the Republican presidential debates at home with my Mom, three weeks ago.
At 77, he was still active and mentally engaged. He’d picked up a virus traveling to visit us for Christmas, but he’d caught and kicked those plenty of times before. He’d even golfed twice in the three days before he died, and had crowed to my mom about how well his second 18-hole round had gone.
Needless to say, it was a stunning, horrifying shock. My mom, my sister, and I (and all his friends and other family) are starting the long work of coming to terms to this new, post-Dad reality.
The idea of listening for joy in the midst of such a deep loss at first seemed not just impossible but almost sacrilegious. I know, though, that I need to pursue what makes me happy more now than I ever did before.
I am working out how I want to inhabit my new role as a card-carrying member of the sandwich generation, a person now caring for a parent long-distance and children still in the house.
My kin-keeping duties have suddenly intensified, and old ways of being -- of over-committing to others, of trying to fix situations and people, of worrying about things completely out of my control -- have risen up. Each time I start down an old path, though, a symptom flares, anxiety rises, and I know to stop and examine what I am thinking, what I am telling myself that I or others should do.
As physically and emotionally painful as this time in my life is, I am growing, learning more about myself and my conditioning, and understanding how to be a better person -- better to myself and others.
I find it hard to think clearly in these early days of grieving, so I’m not sure how much I’ll be writing in the near term.
But I will be reminding myself to do things that make me happy every day, to find the balance between caring for others and myself, and to refuse to entertain the thoughts that constantly seek to intensify my grief – the what-ifs, the never-agains, the too-soons.
I am finding there is a sweetness to remembering how someone was, if I can simply stay with the memory of a hug, a story or an adventure shared. It’s only when the nastier voices of "never again” chime in that the grief becomes unbearable.
I’m not letting those thoughts eat from my plate anymore – they’re not a part of true grieving, they’re an attempt by ego to inflate its own story with drama.
I am fascinated by how this grieving process is unfolding outside of my conscious control, and am finding much comfort in furthering my explorations of non-duality, but that is a subject quite difficult to write about in the best of times, and definitely outside my capacity to express clearly at this point.
For now, I am relying on my deeper mind to make me uncomfortable when I am slipping into old habit patterns, and to help me work out new ways of being in this unfamiliar territory I now inhabit.
I woke this morning with one of the insights that often visit me as I surface to consciousness, a message from deep mind -- that I needed to make a conscious choice about how much I am willing and happy to do in support of my mom, and then to know that that is enough, and I can be off-duty and not worry about her outside of that commitment.
I will call her morning and evening to check in with her, and I will come to visit when she asks me to, and that is enough. Any other thought about my mom that is in any way tinged with worry or guilt is not welcome and will be shown the door before it can even finish.
Similarly, I am stopping the stories of “too soon” and “never again” before they get their foot in the door. Stories of a full and well-lived life and a quick, painless death, of frailty outfoxed, are much kinder, less painful, and just as true.
Listening for joy in the process of grieving right now seems to be about listening to how the thoughts make me feel, and choosing to entertain only the sweetest ones.
I miss you Dad, but you know that already. I love you, and you know that too.
My father died out of the blue, of something like a heart attack, watching the Republican presidential debates at home with my Mom, three weeks ago.
At 77, he was still active and mentally engaged. He’d picked up a virus traveling to visit us for Christmas, but he’d caught and kicked those plenty of times before. He’d even golfed twice in the three days before he died, and had crowed to my mom about how well his second 18-hole round had gone.
Needless to say, it was a stunning, horrifying shock. My mom, my sister, and I (and all his friends and other family) are starting the long work of coming to terms to this new, post-Dad reality.
The idea of listening for joy in the midst of such a deep loss at first seemed not just impossible but almost sacrilegious. I know, though, that I need to pursue what makes me happy more now than I ever did before.
I am working out how I want to inhabit my new role as a card-carrying member of the sandwich generation, a person now caring for a parent long-distance and children still in the house.
My kin-keeping duties have suddenly intensified, and old ways of being -- of over-committing to others, of trying to fix situations and people, of worrying about things completely out of my control -- have risen up. Each time I start down an old path, though, a symptom flares, anxiety rises, and I know to stop and examine what I am thinking, what I am telling myself that I or others should do.
As physically and emotionally painful as this time in my life is, I am growing, learning more about myself and my conditioning, and understanding how to be a better person -- better to myself and others.
I find it hard to think clearly in these early days of grieving, so I’m not sure how much I’ll be writing in the near term.
But I will be reminding myself to do things that make me happy every day, to find the balance between caring for others and myself, and to refuse to entertain the thoughts that constantly seek to intensify my grief – the what-ifs, the never-agains, the too-soons.
I am finding there is a sweetness to remembering how someone was, if I can simply stay with the memory of a hug, a story or an adventure shared. It’s only when the nastier voices of "never again” chime in that the grief becomes unbearable.
I’m not letting those thoughts eat from my plate anymore – they’re not a part of true grieving, they’re an attempt by ego to inflate its own story with drama.
I am fascinated by how this grieving process is unfolding outside of my conscious control, and am finding much comfort in furthering my explorations of non-duality, but that is a subject quite difficult to write about in the best of times, and definitely outside my capacity to express clearly at this point.
For now, I am relying on my deeper mind to make me uncomfortable when I am slipping into old habit patterns, and to help me work out new ways of being in this unfamiliar territory I now inhabit.
I woke this morning with one of the insights that often visit me as I surface to consciousness, a message from deep mind -- that I needed to make a conscious choice about how much I am willing and happy to do in support of my mom, and then to know that that is enough, and I can be off-duty and not worry about her outside of that commitment.
I will call her morning and evening to check in with her, and I will come to visit when she asks me to, and that is enough. Any other thought about my mom that is in any way tinged with worry or guilt is not welcome and will be shown the door before it can even finish.
Similarly, I am stopping the stories of “too soon” and “never again” before they get their foot in the door. Stories of a full and well-lived life and a quick, painless death, of frailty outfoxed, are much kinder, less painful, and just as true.
Listening for joy in the process of grieving right now seems to be about listening to how the thoughts make me feel, and choosing to entertain only the sweetest ones.
I miss you Dad, but you know that already. I love you, and you know that too.
