In the last five years a lot of changes have taken place: I turned 50, lost one of my two dogs, my husband lost his job, we lost our 30-year marriage, and I have bore witness to my adult children reorganizing their lives and holidays, in ways I would never have wished for them. In the last 6 months, I have downsized from a three-thousand square foot family home, to a two bedroom apartment in the city, and sifted through all of the memories of what was my life and family for 30 years. In between all of this were the births of five grandchildren and the adoption of one, celebrations of graduations, new jobs, many milestones for my family, new friends who are very dear to my heart and becoming a student myself. I can honestly say that I am damn proud of my family and of myself! It is truly a testament to resilience and the love and support of my community, for whom I am so grateful. One of the consequences however, of all these life changes is, my body has simply crashed. It feels like the weight of this decade has hit my body head on. My mind keeps telling me to “push through and get back to who you have always been, what is wrong with you?” In fact, I have been saying that to myself for at least six months, while my body is responding with, “No more pushing! I am done.” I have felt frustration, anger, fear, and have started the process of doctors appointments and tests. In the meantime, I am hearing my whole being yelling at me to stop, and finally I am listening. On Sunday my pastor gave a sermon about the vulnerability of life and that all of us will share in the same ending, death. She shared the true story about a young man who spent his life preparing to be a neurosurgeon. He was so driven, he felt that life would begin when he reached that goal. At the age of 35 his dream came true and he was also diagnosed with cancer and died two years later. This story was a “light bulb moment” for me. What if I do the opposite of what I normally do? What if I decide to embrace this moment, instead of hoping this too shall pass, panicking, or just pushing through. What would it be to taste the vulnerability of this moment or whatever time period is attached to it? What if I stay in this place for a year? Two years? What if it is not a quick fix? In a weird way I feel like this is the next place for me, the most likely place. A place of moments. Moments to breathe. Moments to sit. Moments to watch the birds. Moments to love. Moments to be and take care of myself. Moments to learn. Moments to write. Moments to create. Moments to sit with others and be. Moments of peace… now that feels right, the best place for me.
The Unmaking 