Hospice

I am not doing any of these things perfectly. I may not even be doing them well. But dwelling on my shortcomings feels too selfish of a preoccupation in this moment, and an intolerable preoccupation at that. There is no more time to prepare: what could even be done to remedy it? 

And so things are as they are, and the resources I have are what I have to work with. When everything I encounter takes the form of an unrelenting, unbearable headwind, how do I stand in it and not be knocked over?

The word "gracious" comes to mind. The wind rises, the slender reeds shiver and flex and rise again with its falling. To not be perfect amid difficulty but to choose grace, from moment to moment. 

And this is not a moment to react with defensiveness or anger or frustration or disappointment, though they're close to the surface as the pressure is applied. There is no time for these things, because in one universe, time is ending. A life that one person still desires with a fierce desire, that she is not resigned to giving up: but she does not desire pain. Moment to moment, seek grace.

Anchor

By the window, where the light pours in, we have joy. The myriad comforts of everyday life or even the extraordinary pleasures that come to us rarely and are delightful for their unusual unfamiliarity. I cherish the sensation of washed linen against my skin. I laugh at a cheeky text from my boyfriend. I celebrate the prospect of new friendships or the success of a new venture. I enjoy the satisfaction of re-experiencing what I have been able to accomplish with my hands and simple materials as I wrap myself in a beautiful shawl. I savor new tastes and textures at a pleasant dinner with friends. Both the present and the future feel bright.

On the opposite side of the room where the shadows find space to gather, we have sorrow. Rooted in what has happened, what is happening, what we know or fear will soon come. As parents grow older and their medical diagnoses multiply and become scarier, as other loved ones confront unexpected health challenges, as I grieve the loss of a beloved pet, as personal ambitions meet frustration at every turn and fears of financial insecurity loom like a dark cloud on the horizon, as isolation creeps up slowly and darkens the already dark nights. Were we to number them, they might overwhelm us. To repeat their litany, fingering each bead as it passes along the string and being confronted by its hard reality, would be a slow descent into anxiety and melancholy.

At every moment, these are with us. Some retreat into the background, while others take their place. Time lessens the sting of old wounds, time inflicts new ones. How do we choose for ourselves the path that we will walk in mind and in heart? To focus on only joy would be naive and even selfish in its ignorance. To focus only on grief would be a kind of claustrophobic shutting out of the light and reducing space to its smallest dimensions, a different kind of naivete - nihilism - that shuts its eyes to all that's good and beautiful. If I see my joy through my pain, if I see my pain through my joy, what will I find in this strange and wonderful life? I hope the strength to endure and the tenderness to love despite it all, and the wisdom to meet each day as it comes with patience rather than fear.