Hope's Smile

Such a bad idea to blog when I am feeling vulnerable, but that's when I want to blog the most. Writing has been my therapy forever, and I recognize I am not the only person feeling vulnerable.

What's my problem? I'm pushing myself to make some changes, and it's pushing me into those uncomfortable zones. I'm reading a book about death awareness called Final Gifts.
Death is scary, and I'm afraid of it. I am, however, getting closer to feeling okay with it, as the same kind of experience as birth, a natural passage for a soul in a body. There isn't any way to make it not happen, no matter how careful I am or how much I slow down the aging process. And there isn't any way to keep all of the people I know alive.

But it seems that there are lots of ways to experience it with much less fear, so that is where I am working. Acknowledging the emotions and the mix of sensations that come with change, loss of control, loss in general, and vulnerability is right where I can make the changes that will ease the rest of my life.

The people who wrote the book see themselves as midwives for the end-of-life process, finding ways to be helpful to all of those involved, and that is a way to feel stronger. I remember just about a year ago when Michael Caffrey died, and I happened to visit him the afternoon of that day. He wasn't really conscious, though he was vocalizing and moving around, and we felt that he was trying to respond to us. The moment of beauty I had that day was when I stood next to him at the head of his bed, facing the same direction, feeling the late afternoon breeze coming through his living room/studio/dying room. I commented on the breeze and thought about the many days he had sat in that room feeling it, being grateful as the heat of the day dissipated and the apartment cooled off for the night. It gave me a connection with him that I hadn't had.

It gave me a sense of peace, that I could think about him, and not my loss, and not my fear, and not my regrets and not my inability to control the situation. I could feel the breeze.

Death, such a big thing, and not the only thing. Winter is hard for me, and here it comes again. It's August, blistering hot, and I'm already dreading winter and the coming hardships. Selling outside in bad weather is so hard, and we had such a troublesome spring and early summer. We missed out on the big sales that we count on for Graduation weekend, Mother's and Father's Day, even Fourth of July. People just weren't buying that much.

Thanks to the wackos attacking our government and the big looting of the Treasury, just about everyone is at least fearful, at worst, suffering. Our kids can't find jobs, and they are losing self-regard when they need it most. Our parents are afraid, our partners and our friends are scared too. Positive thinking only goes so far before it becomes delusional and counter-productive. Things are hard!

But what do we do, then? We don't panic, and I for one know I don't depend more on others, since they have their own needs to worry about. We try even harder to keep it together, because distress tends to trigger distress in others, and things start to spiral. At this last BOD meeting, people started a sort of roundtable of things they were worried about, things that had gone wrong, things that other people had done that had bothered them. In one sense it was good to air these complaints and get them out of our heads, but in another it kind of built upon itself. Fortunately it was the end of the meeting and we didn't have to take any action on most of those complaints, and our manager is wise and a good listener.

Everybody has stuff, I know that. Canes, braces, bruises and wounds are noticed, and many other infirmities are invisible but show in people's faces. We tend to look around for reassurance, someone to blame, someone to feel better than, someone to fix things.

Mostly we need to stop worrying and just be. It's summer, such a luscious, delightfully sensual time with flowers, so much food, people lightly dressed and staying out in the evenings, stretching and feeling supple. It's the best time of year for me.

I certainly don't want to get to winter and realize that I forgot to enjoy summer. Winter is the future, (and another summer usually follows...) and I want to be right here, right now.

And that is what I am getting from the reading I am doing about death, addiction, and change. Just feel the stuff. Feel the early morning anxiety over work, too much of it or too little. Let it wash over me and pass, let it dissipate. Get to work and do something. Be addicted to something benign, like gardening or exercise. Look at one flower at a time. Watch a hummingbird defend it's territory and see how fear doesn't work so well for it. Get into my fears a little bit, and get back out. Recognize what's driving them, feel them, but don't go over the edge.

And we are lucky, so lucky, those of us who can create things. Creating beauty is such a wonderful counterpoint to fear. Who cares if someone buys it? That's not the important thing.

The important thing is how, when we're making it, when we get it finished and look at it with satisfaction, we are right there, not feeling fear, but feeling joy. Joy and hope.

And anyway, my guru/hairdresser Jan says we don't die. Our bodies wear out, but that isn't us. We transition, and there may be many forms of that, but we will still be in the world in many ways.

Those of us who can create, will be here. I look at Michael's paintings and feel inspired, I think about my mother-in-law Hope and am grateful and awed by how creative she was and how I am in a small way continuing her life with my art. Maybe they know, maybe they are really gone, but I like to think that when I feel that summer breeze, a little bit of Michael is in there, a little bit of all those I have lost and miss. Maybe that crow is really trying to tell me something, as I imagine, even if it is just that humans are so amusing in their struggles.

Laugh, I guess. Why not?