"Do you see that?" Dad points outside his nursing home window.
I get up from my chair and stand in front of the window, squinting. At 93 his eyes are still much better than mine.
"What do you see, Dad?"
"I don't know. There. On top of that house. That thing. What is it?"
I squint. Seriously. The house is across the field. I see a metal something on top of the roof.
"I see something metal, Dad."
"No. No metal. It's a mouse."
I turn around slowly. "Dad - have you seen mice anywhere else?"
"Sometimes. There's one right now, running on the ceiling. Do you see it?"
I walk over to where he's pointing and stop, pointing up at the ceiling. "Is it here?"
He directs me until I'm right by the bathroom door.
"There," he says. "There's the mouse, scurrying into the bathroom."
I reach up one more time and start petting the air.
"So you DO see it?"
"No, Dad. But if there are going to be mice in your room, I want to make sure they're friendly."
"Am I out of my mind?"
I will stop my story at this point to tell you something. My father was one of the most intelligent, sane, creative people I have ever had the privilege of knowing. His mind was everything to him. When the rest of his body had failed him, he would lie for 24 hours a day and think. And plan. And dream. A week before his death and he was still reciting Shakespeare sonnets and poetry about eagles and crags. Two weeks before his death I lay my cello on top of him after my "concert" and he started plucking out his beloved Swedish folksong.
So I carefully speak my next words. "Just because I don't see it doesn't mean you don't, Dad. It's all real to you in your inside world. I'm here in your outside world. There are all sorts of things that happen in our inside worlds that no one else sees. Our thoughts, our dreams, our daydreams, our fears."
He nods. Sometimes he thinks he's in a different room, or a different country. Sometimes he thinks people are trying to harm him. After Mom died I think Dad would've died, he was so lost without her. So he made the decision to live on, and create a new life with new memories. He married his wife's nurse. I think he thought that would turn out differently. As the smug philosophists say "it is what it is," and we've all walked on as mindfully as possible. At the end of his life he is lying in a nursing home, seeing mice on the ceiling, thinking about the book he and I are writing, about the end of the world and how we make it off the planet.
He loves me. I am confident of that. He trusts me. I've been there in the trenches with him from the beginning. So I know what my next words needs to be: "Dad - just know that when you are in your inside world, I am always here in your outside world, protecting you, watching out for you. I won't let anyone or anything ever hurt you."
I take a deep breath. I look at him, looking so frail and vulnerable there in the hospital bed. The tears start.
"And Dad - another thing. I've lived my entire life seeing and hearing things that others haven't seen or heard. So if anyone believes in the reality of an inside world, it's me. Okay?"
He smiles. And nods. And we sit and hold hands for a while until he closes his eyes and falls asleep.
Tuesday, September 6, 2016
Wednesday, August 17, 2016
My First Birthday
My First Birthday
Without any parents. I sit here in the soft sun and look into my chest to see how my heart is feeling. Dad. Dad. No Dad. It's different - this death of my last parent. I think Mom's death prepared me somehow. That totally kicked my butt for a year or so. But Dad? I don't know - it's different. He and I were more than best friends - he was another part of me - another half. The same. So when he died he wasn't separate from me. I don't know if I'm making any sense at all, but I had another dream about him last night.
He and I and another person were standing around. I said something like "it's a beautiful day," and this other person said something really mean, like "it would be, if you weren't here." Then I said something like "I love salads," and this person said something like "salads are stupid." I was just getting tired of this person being so mean (who is actually exactly like this in real life), when Dad reached out and slapped their face. Then smiled a little bit. Then he turned toward me and slapped me really gently on the face and smiled a great big smile, like "do you understand?"
Here's what I want to say about all of this: I DO get it, Dad. Some things that happened while you were alive were difficult to handle. You seemed to have a hard time standing up to certain people, speaking up for yourself. As a result, sometimes other's feelings could get hurt. So sometimes your actions were like "slaps in the face" to some of us. I think what you're saying is that it's all an illusion, and everybody who's feeling hurt or resentful or angry about anything that happened during your life should just lighten up and see the symbolism, maybe see behind the scenes.
I'm not crushed when I see you in dreams, like I was after Mom died. In fact, it's super fun and cool and awesome every time you come for a visit. I'm like "Hey Dad! How in the heck are you?" And you're just right there, slapping our faces and stuff. Haha. You're human. Well, not anymore, but you know what I mean. And I'm human. And that other person is human. And we're all thrown into this huge mess of a life, complete with our issues and problems and insecurities, and we're trying to keep our heads above water and not get pulled under. Sometimes we're golden and beautiful and perfect, and sometimes our actions suck.
But I want to tell you that I not only forgive you for anything you may have unintentionally done that ever hurt me, but I want to tell you that there's actually nothing to forgive. I'm in a different place than after Mom died. I get it. I get you. And more importantly, I SEE YOU.
So, yes, it's my birthday tomorrow. I'll be 56, thanks for asking. And how do I feel? Magnificent. I feel magnificent. I'm happy, peaceful, calm, and always feel Dad with me. I won't sad cry, I won't be depressed or mopey or quiet. I will smile, and have coffee with friends, and dress up and go to a concert with my goddesses, and eat gluten-free red velvet cake. And I will sing loudly for myself because I'm just so darned happy to be here, and to have loved my father so well.
Thank you, Daddy. You will ALWAYS be the best. Love - your #5
Without any parents. I sit here in the soft sun and look into my chest to see how my heart is feeling. Dad. Dad. No Dad. It's different - this death of my last parent. I think Mom's death prepared me somehow. That totally kicked my butt for a year or so. But Dad? I don't know - it's different. He and I were more than best friends - he was another part of me - another half. The same. So when he died he wasn't separate from me. I don't know if I'm making any sense at all, but I had another dream about him last night.
He and I and another person were standing around. I said something like "it's a beautiful day," and this other person said something really mean, like "it would be, if you weren't here." Then I said something like "I love salads," and this person said something like "salads are stupid." I was just getting tired of this person being so mean (who is actually exactly like this in real life), when Dad reached out and slapped their face. Then smiled a little bit. Then he turned toward me and slapped me really gently on the face and smiled a great big smile, like "do you understand?"
Here's what I want to say about all of this: I DO get it, Dad. Some things that happened while you were alive were difficult to handle. You seemed to have a hard time standing up to certain people, speaking up for yourself. As a result, sometimes other's feelings could get hurt. So sometimes your actions were like "slaps in the face" to some of us. I think what you're saying is that it's all an illusion, and everybody who's feeling hurt or resentful or angry about anything that happened during your life should just lighten up and see the symbolism, maybe see behind the scenes.
I'm not crushed when I see you in dreams, like I was after Mom died. In fact, it's super fun and cool and awesome every time you come for a visit. I'm like "Hey Dad! How in the heck are you?" And you're just right there, slapping our faces and stuff. Haha. You're human. Well, not anymore, but you know what I mean. And I'm human. And that other person is human. And we're all thrown into this huge mess of a life, complete with our issues and problems and insecurities, and we're trying to keep our heads above water and not get pulled under. Sometimes we're golden and beautiful and perfect, and sometimes our actions suck.
But I want to tell you that I not only forgive you for anything you may have unintentionally done that ever hurt me, but I want to tell you that there's actually nothing to forgive. I'm in a different place than after Mom died. I get it. I get you. And more importantly, I SEE YOU.
So, yes, it's my birthday tomorrow. I'll be 56, thanks for asking. And how do I feel? Magnificent. I feel magnificent. I'm happy, peaceful, calm, and always feel Dad with me. I won't sad cry, I won't be depressed or mopey or quiet. I will smile, and have coffee with friends, and dress up and go to a concert with my goddesses, and eat gluten-free red velvet cake. And I will sing loudly for myself because I'm just so darned happy to be here, and to have loved my father so well.
Thank you, Daddy. You will ALWAYS be the best. Love - your #5
Friday, August 5, 2016
Back in the Saddle Again
I wake up smiling, happy to start my day. Then I remember - my father's dead. I feel the dreaded dark energy start to flow slowly from the top of my head into my heart, stomach, and down my legs. Crap. What do I do now? Some days it's just too impossible to take a shower, put on makeup AND get dressed. And to have to do the same thing EVERY DAY? C'mon - that's asking way too much. I just can't do it anymore. I can't do much of anything anymore. I should work on my two book projects. I should write in here. I should get a website up and running. I should return some phone calls. I should should should. And yet. And yet I can't do anything. So I mostly do nothing.
In 1994 I bought my beloved horse Vinny. He was a 20 year old thoroughbred, my guardian angel in a horse. But he was also very clumsy. I took him to the Badlands for a trail ride and we were heading up a slippery hill. The young girl in front of me stopped in the middle of the hill and asked if anyone could grab her sunglasses that had fallen off. Vinny lost his footing, and started sliding back down the hill. I frantically grabbed onto his mane, but that also pulled his head back, and he reared up on his hind legs and started falling backwards. Through some miracle I was able to rise up out of my saddle and jump off sideways, hitting my tailbone on a big rock but otherwise surviving.
Grabbing onto Vinny's tail I was able to walk up the hill with him helping him, but as soon as we got to the top of the hill the trail master said, "Get back up in the saddle." Hell no, I said. It's dangerous. I could feel the tingles of anxiety starting in my heart, spreading out to my stomach.
"If you don't get right back up now, you'll never get back up again," he said simply. I got back up, and started for camp. "Keep walking," he said. "Otherwise you'll stiffen up. Even if your back hurts, you have to keep going or you'll stop all together." Again I said hell no. But again he was right. If you stop moving you get more paralyzed, more stiff, and stay hurt.
So I sit here in my comfy CAbi double v neck and stretch white jeans and white Converse tennies. I've effectively dressed, but there will most certainly be no shower or makeup today. I'm still down in the dust, rubbing my bum because it's hit a rock. I don't want to do anything much but think about what just happened - it was difficult. It was scary. It shredded me. And now what?
What does it mean to get back into life's saddle again? Sometimes it seems like experiencing the death of a loved one is a great chance to reset, to look at your life and make any necessary changes. But I have to be gentle with myself. I look down at what I'm calling my Death Roll, that extra 10 pounds of fat that I've gained around my middle since Dad died. I could also call it my Special K roll, as that's mostly what I've eaten since Dad died. Whatever. I need to be gentle with myself - I may be in shock. I'm not sure.
I only know that I feel like I'm floating, not quite landed, not quite clear about my direction, and I'm longing to be up in that saddle, feeling my beloved Vinny beneath me, feeling us moving together down the trail, looking at the beautiful sky. I don't want to be dusty in the tumble weeds anymore, crying about what's just happened. So I ponder my next move - back into the saddle again. I may go listen to the song - I think it's a good one. Maybe not.
In 1994 I bought my beloved horse Vinny. He was a 20 year old thoroughbred, my guardian angel in a horse. But he was also very clumsy. I took him to the Badlands for a trail ride and we were heading up a slippery hill. The young girl in front of me stopped in the middle of the hill and asked if anyone could grab her sunglasses that had fallen off. Vinny lost his footing, and started sliding back down the hill. I frantically grabbed onto his mane, but that also pulled his head back, and he reared up on his hind legs and started falling backwards. Through some miracle I was able to rise up out of my saddle and jump off sideways, hitting my tailbone on a big rock but otherwise surviving.
Grabbing onto Vinny's tail I was able to walk up the hill with him helping him, but as soon as we got to the top of the hill the trail master said, "Get back up in the saddle." Hell no, I said. It's dangerous. I could feel the tingles of anxiety starting in my heart, spreading out to my stomach.
"If you don't get right back up now, you'll never get back up again," he said simply. I got back up, and started for camp. "Keep walking," he said. "Otherwise you'll stiffen up. Even if your back hurts, you have to keep going or you'll stop all together." Again I said hell no. But again he was right. If you stop moving you get more paralyzed, more stiff, and stay hurt.
So I sit here in my comfy CAbi double v neck and stretch white jeans and white Converse tennies. I've effectively dressed, but there will most certainly be no shower or makeup today. I'm still down in the dust, rubbing my bum because it's hit a rock. I don't want to do anything much but think about what just happened - it was difficult. It was scary. It shredded me. And now what?
What does it mean to get back into life's saddle again? Sometimes it seems like experiencing the death of a loved one is a great chance to reset, to look at your life and make any necessary changes. But I have to be gentle with myself. I look down at what I'm calling my Death Roll, that extra 10 pounds of fat that I've gained around my middle since Dad died. I could also call it my Special K roll, as that's mostly what I've eaten since Dad died. Whatever. I need to be gentle with myself - I may be in shock. I'm not sure.
I only know that I feel like I'm floating, not quite landed, not quite clear about my direction, and I'm longing to be up in that saddle, feeling my beloved Vinny beneath me, feeling us moving together down the trail, looking at the beautiful sky. I don't want to be dusty in the tumble weeds anymore, crying about what's just happened. So I ponder my next move - back into the saddle again. I may go listen to the song - I think it's a good one. Maybe not.
Monday, March 14, 2016
The Evolution of Essentialism
I've watched it unfolding over the past few years. It starts with organizing. You wake up one morning and say "wow - I've got so much stuff, and it's lying everywhere. It's messy here!" So you grab the garbage bags and clear plastic bins and a label maker and get to work. In the end you may not have given much away, but you sure are organized! Your 200 pairs of shoes are now color coordinated by season. And you feel good about your life. For a while.
But then a few months (or years) later you wake up and say "I still have too much stuff, even if it's organized." So you start the decluttering process. you look at your stuff with fresh eyes. You begin to ask an important question: "Do I WANT this?" With your garbage bags in hand you sweep through your home again, your eye now on what may be clutter.
Being a writer, I love words, and seeing how definitions can really help us understand concepts more completely, I looked up the meaning of "clutter." One definition is that clutter is all of the things that are on a radar screen that are not the target. Perfect! Let's get rid of that "flock of seagulls" so we can focus on the missile silo.
By the end of this process you may have gotten rid of half of your possessions. These are the half empty paint cans, broken lamps, books you'll never read, extra photos (or negatives), clothes you wore when you were 15. You know - clutter.
By this time you should be starting to feel REALLY good about yourself, and you do! For a while. Then it starts to feel like you've vacuumed the floor but now see everything needs a good dusting. You've only scratched the surface. What could possibly be left?
Simplifying. You've organized your stuff, gotten rid of some of the clutter, but now you want to simplify. I noticed this step in the Essentializing Process about two years ago, with the rise of Marie Kondo. I think she's a genius. Beyond everything else, her work focuses on what brings you joy. Only keep Happy.
Simplifying is a whole new game. It focuses less on the "what" and more on the "why." This is essential because we now start to get to the energy of consuming, the psychology of why you do what you do. Simple is not only organized, it's clean, it helps us know where our keys are because we can now SEE our keys on the table, no longer buried under pounds of paperwork.
One more sweep of the house with simplifying in mind. Recipes can be found online - I don't need 200 cookbooks. I can scan all of my extra pictures and store them on my laptop. I can find all of the user's manuals for my electronics online. I only use these 20 spices. I now plan meals up to two weeks in advance, and love freezer crockpot meals.
Now you sit in your simplified life and feel content for a while, but (there's always a "but" isn't there?) then that niggling starts again. Something's not quite right. Enter the tiny house movement, exit the extravagant lifestyles, huge homes, and living beyond your means. Enter Essentializing.
Have you ever been traveling and noticed how little you actually need to move through your days? I traveled through Italy for two weeks a few years ago, with only a carry on. Everyone said how fashionable I looked, even wearing the same clothes. Why? Because I strategized - two fabulous scarves, two spectacular necklaces, and clothes that all mixed and matched in interesting and beautiful ways (cabi clothes ARE the best for this! Check them out at www.susanrisher.cabionline.com). Why not do this at home?
Essential. What is basic, necessary, crucial. If I were to ask you "What's your favorite necklace? Bag? Earrings? Book? Knick knack?" Could you tell me? Have you ever thought about it? This is the start of thinking in Essential terms. We're just entering that time, so you're not behind. Unless you're still thinking you should start organizing all of your stuff. Then you may want to get started. Don't worry - you'll catch up. One you start, it's exhilarating, fun, even. I promise.
A few months ago I devised a method for helping me determine what was essential to me. I picked up my possessions one at a time, and told their story. When I heard what I was saying, it quickly became apparent if something was essential or not. Some things were someone else's, some were gifts from people (I forgot who), some were bought when I was going through my divorce in the early 90's. None of those were essential.
Essential is someone looking at your books and seeing your soul. Essential is looking at that one vase sitting on your mantel and feeling its singular beauty. Essential is wearing your mom's diamond solitaire necklace every day because she was your best friend. Essential is owning 100 pieces of clothing that fit comfortably into one small closet. Essential is not buying a bigger place to get more room but feeling the expansiveness in your current dwelling because you now have more room (inside your head and outside).
Essential is probably not the last stop, but it's currently where I am and what I'm seeing as the current evolution. Essential is saving my life, my pocketbook, my sanity. What is essential, remains.
Susie's Evolution of Essentialism
Organizing - let's organize everything so it's neat!
Decluttering - let's get rid of the clutter, those things that distract us from our target!
Simplifying - let's get rid of the extras - keep only the things that bring us joy
Essentializing - let's focus on what is crucial, necessary, and basic to us. What represents Who We Are? The stories that we tell about every single object we own should be powerful stories of love, inspiration, creativity, and beauty. And we should BE able to tell the story of our possessions.
P.S. If you're having difficulty understanding what I mean when I say "what is essential to your Soul" (I don't know what my Soul feels like!), I'll be blogging about that process next time! Until then, please ask any questions in the comments below, and I'll be sure to answer them as soon as I can!
But then a few months (or years) later you wake up and say "I still have too much stuff, even if it's organized." So you start the decluttering process. you look at your stuff with fresh eyes. You begin to ask an important question: "Do I WANT this?" With your garbage bags in hand you sweep through your home again, your eye now on what may be clutter.
Being a writer, I love words, and seeing how definitions can really help us understand concepts more completely, I looked up the meaning of "clutter." One definition is that clutter is all of the things that are on a radar screen that are not the target. Perfect! Let's get rid of that "flock of seagulls" so we can focus on the missile silo.
By the end of this process you may have gotten rid of half of your possessions. These are the half empty paint cans, broken lamps, books you'll never read, extra photos (or negatives), clothes you wore when you were 15. You know - clutter.
By this time you should be starting to feel REALLY good about yourself, and you do! For a while. Then it starts to feel like you've vacuumed the floor but now see everything needs a good dusting. You've only scratched the surface. What could possibly be left?
Simplifying. You've organized your stuff, gotten rid of some of the clutter, but now you want to simplify. I noticed this step in the Essentializing Process about two years ago, with the rise of Marie Kondo. I think she's a genius. Beyond everything else, her work focuses on what brings you joy. Only keep Happy.
Simplifying is a whole new game. It focuses less on the "what" and more on the "why." This is essential because we now start to get to the energy of consuming, the psychology of why you do what you do. Simple is not only organized, it's clean, it helps us know where our keys are because we can now SEE our keys on the table, no longer buried under pounds of paperwork.
One more sweep of the house with simplifying in mind. Recipes can be found online - I don't need 200 cookbooks. I can scan all of my extra pictures and store them on my laptop. I can find all of the user's manuals for my electronics online. I only use these 20 spices. I now plan meals up to two weeks in advance, and love freezer crockpot meals.
Now you sit in your simplified life and feel content for a while, but (there's always a "but" isn't there?) then that niggling starts again. Something's not quite right. Enter the tiny house movement, exit the extravagant lifestyles, huge homes, and living beyond your means. Enter Essentializing.
Have you ever been traveling and noticed how little you actually need to move through your days? I traveled through Italy for two weeks a few years ago, with only a carry on. Everyone said how fashionable I looked, even wearing the same clothes. Why? Because I strategized - two fabulous scarves, two spectacular necklaces, and clothes that all mixed and matched in interesting and beautiful ways (cabi clothes ARE the best for this! Check them out at www.susanrisher.cabionline.com). Why not do this at home?
Essential. What is basic, necessary, crucial. If I were to ask you "What's your favorite necklace? Bag? Earrings? Book? Knick knack?" Could you tell me? Have you ever thought about it? This is the start of thinking in Essential terms. We're just entering that time, so you're not behind. Unless you're still thinking you should start organizing all of your stuff. Then you may want to get started. Don't worry - you'll catch up. One you start, it's exhilarating, fun, even. I promise.
A few months ago I devised a method for helping me determine what was essential to me. I picked up my possessions one at a time, and told their story. When I heard what I was saying, it quickly became apparent if something was essential or not. Some things were someone else's, some were gifts from people (I forgot who), some were bought when I was going through my divorce in the early 90's. None of those were essential.
Essential is someone looking at your books and seeing your soul. Essential is looking at that one vase sitting on your mantel and feeling its singular beauty. Essential is wearing your mom's diamond solitaire necklace every day because she was your best friend. Essential is owning 100 pieces of clothing that fit comfortably into one small closet. Essential is not buying a bigger place to get more room but feeling the expansiveness in your current dwelling because you now have more room (inside your head and outside).
Essential is probably not the last stop, but it's currently where I am and what I'm seeing as the current evolution. Essential is saving my life, my pocketbook, my sanity. What is essential, remains.
Susie's Evolution of Essentialism
Organizing - let's organize everything so it's neat!
Decluttering - let's get rid of the clutter, those things that distract us from our target!
Simplifying - let's get rid of the extras - keep only the things that bring us joy
Essentializing - let's focus on what is crucial, necessary, and basic to us. What represents Who We Are? The stories that we tell about every single object we own should be powerful stories of love, inspiration, creativity, and beauty. And we should BE able to tell the story of our possessions.
P.S. If you're having difficulty understanding what I mean when I say "what is essential to your Soul" (I don't know what my Soul feels like!), I'll be blogging about that process next time! Until then, please ask any questions in the comments below, and I'll be sure to answer them as soon as I can!
Monday, March 7, 2016
Being Present
I'm sitting with my dad at the restaurant. He lifts his wine glass, leans it slightly toward me, raises his eyebrows, and I raise my glass, and we clink. I keep looking at him, then I get the giggles. They start deep in my belly and start to rise up. I really shouldn't... There's nothing to BE laughing at.... And yet... And yet... I start laughing.
"What's so funny?" Dad asks.
"Nothing at all, Dad," I say, now wiping the tears away. "It just feels so darned good to be here with you."
He starts laughing. Now we're both laughing, louder now. I see the waiters behind us by the kitchen, looking at us.
A new feeling starts in my belly and spreads out through my whole body until the tears in my eyes aren't from the laughing. They're from the gratitude. I feel normal. Dad feels normal. "This" is normal.
Dad has difficulty standing now, and more difficulty walking. He is tired a lot. I make the 193 mile drive west every chance I get, in between home, and cabi, readings, my Essential Closet work, and my family. But it never seems like enough. I feel like I should, could, just STAY there with Dad. I don't think he'd like that very much, though. He doesn't really like us 'hovering' over him too much. I understand.
But I know he loves me being there. He trash talks me while we're playing cards that night after dinner.
"I suppose it makes you feel really great to be kicking my butt, Dad," I say.
"Yeah - it DOES feel pretty good. But it's really not that hard to beat you," he replies, smiling.
I get quiet, then say what I have been thinking for the last few months.
"You know, Dad - just because we can laugh and joke and be light-hearted doesn't mean that I don't understand what's going on for you. You know that, right? I just love spending time with you. You're always YOU, no matter what you can or can't do."
He nods.
I don't know if he likes talking about this, but sometimes I feel like he is in a bubble, looking out at the rest of the world, laughing and smiling and being his usual upbeat self, but inside that bubble, he may feel isolated, separate, like nobody really knows what it's like to be in there. And I may be making all of this up, but what I want to say is that I want to just be present with my father, every step of the way. I want to always say what I want to say, and I want him to say what he wants to say. And I always want him to know how wholly I love him. I think he knows.
I have to leave. I lean over his bed and resting my hand next to him I can fully reach him. I kiss right above his left cheek and feel his soft beard against my chin. Kiss kiss.
"I love you so much, Dad," I say. "Always."
"You're my precious bunny," he says.
"And you're MY precious bunny," I answer.
It's hard to see as I walk out of the home, heading for my car and back to MY home.
"What's so funny?" Dad asks.
"Nothing at all, Dad," I say, now wiping the tears away. "It just feels so darned good to be here with you."
He starts laughing. Now we're both laughing, louder now. I see the waiters behind us by the kitchen, looking at us.
A new feeling starts in my belly and spreads out through my whole body until the tears in my eyes aren't from the laughing. They're from the gratitude. I feel normal. Dad feels normal. "This" is normal.
Dad has difficulty standing now, and more difficulty walking. He is tired a lot. I make the 193 mile drive west every chance I get, in between home, and cabi, readings, my Essential Closet work, and my family. But it never seems like enough. I feel like I should, could, just STAY there with Dad. I don't think he'd like that very much, though. He doesn't really like us 'hovering' over him too much. I understand.
But I know he loves me being there. He trash talks me while we're playing cards that night after dinner.
"I suppose it makes you feel really great to be kicking my butt, Dad," I say.
"Yeah - it DOES feel pretty good. But it's really not that hard to beat you," he replies, smiling.
I get quiet, then say what I have been thinking for the last few months.
"You know, Dad - just because we can laugh and joke and be light-hearted doesn't mean that I don't understand what's going on for you. You know that, right? I just love spending time with you. You're always YOU, no matter what you can or can't do."
He nods.
I don't know if he likes talking about this, but sometimes I feel like he is in a bubble, looking out at the rest of the world, laughing and smiling and being his usual upbeat self, but inside that bubble, he may feel isolated, separate, like nobody really knows what it's like to be in there. And I may be making all of this up, but what I want to say is that I want to just be present with my father, every step of the way. I want to always say what I want to say, and I want him to say what he wants to say. And I always want him to know how wholly I love him. I think he knows.
I have to leave. I lean over his bed and resting my hand next to him I can fully reach him. I kiss right above his left cheek and feel his soft beard against my chin. Kiss kiss.
"I love you so much, Dad," I say. "Always."
"You're my precious bunny," he says.
"And you're MY precious bunny," I answer.
It's hard to see as I walk out of the home, heading for my car and back to MY home.
Monday, February 29, 2016
Sandwiched
Dad's in a nursing home in Bismarck, my daughter's in the Cities, my oldest son on the West Coast. We have a lake home. What does this mean? That at any given location at any given time, I want to be somewhere else. If I'm home, I'm missing my two oldest kids, my dad, and the lake. You get the picture.
I try not to feel guilty, but I admit it - it's difficult to feel peaceful when I'm feeling pulled. I know we're called the sandwich generation, but I don't feel like a nice piece of deli turkey nestled softly between two warm freshly-baked pieces of bread. I feel like a piece of roast beef that's been torn into little pieces then put onto 5 different plates, and I'm supposed to feed everyone.
Well then, THERE we get to it! So let's dive a little deeper, shall we? I have always said that I permanently give a piece of my heart to my children, but that's not even the end of it. I've also given my heart to my father. I call it the 6 people I love more than anything in the Universe (I told Dad he was one of my Five, and he said 'Mom.....' so I changed it to 6), but then that would mean that the absolutely only time I'll ever feel 100% happy is when all 5 of my (living) loved ones are in one place, and it just doesn't look like that's going to be happening any time soon. So then what am I supposed to do?
It appears I feel guilty. I'm a caretaker. A nurturer. I DO things for people I love. I bake double chocolate gourmet brownies and rush them off to the post office before they cool. I buy clothes, and pad Thai, and expensive scotch. I serve at school, give back rubs, write cards. Frankly I don't know how any of my Five survive without me. I worry about them, text them to make sure they're taking their vitamins, ask if they've fixed their brakes yet. I even brought Dad a pot roast to his room at the home because he was missing the smell of home-cooked food. And I love doing all of those things - it makes me happy. So what's the problem? "I'm supposed to feed everyone after I've been torn into little pieces and separated..."
Do I feel whole? Do I have worth if I'm not taking care of others? Do others expect me to take care of them, or do I put that on myself? Would I ever say no if one of my Five asked me for something I didn't think I could give? Probably not - I don't think so - maybe - probably - probably not.
Maybe the problem isn't that I feel like the deli meat in the middle of the sandwich, or even that I feel like I've torn myself into tiny little pieces. Maybe it's that I don't feel like I'm the WHOLE sandwich. My beloved family is the bread, the mayo, mustard, lettuce, onions, and tomato, and I'm just the teensy slice in the middle. Great. Now I'm hungry.
So I sit here, at 12:52 on a Monday morning, enjoying the darkness, the glow of my Himalayan salt lamp, wondering if I've ever felt like a whole sandwich, afraid that I haven't, and wondering if it's too late to start making my Sandwich Soul Snack, this time making sure I keep myself whole and in the middle of my whole life. I don't think it's too late, but I'd better get going. I'm probably going to enter middle age one of these years.
I try not to feel guilty, but I admit it - it's difficult to feel peaceful when I'm feeling pulled. I know we're called the sandwich generation, but I don't feel like a nice piece of deli turkey nestled softly between two warm freshly-baked pieces of bread. I feel like a piece of roast beef that's been torn into little pieces then put onto 5 different plates, and I'm supposed to feed everyone.
Well then, THERE we get to it! So let's dive a little deeper, shall we? I have always said that I permanently give a piece of my heart to my children, but that's not even the end of it. I've also given my heart to my father. I call it the 6 people I love more than anything in the Universe (I told Dad he was one of my Five, and he said 'Mom.....' so I changed it to 6), but then that would mean that the absolutely only time I'll ever feel 100% happy is when all 5 of my (living) loved ones are in one place, and it just doesn't look like that's going to be happening any time soon. So then what am I supposed to do?
It appears I feel guilty. I'm a caretaker. A nurturer. I DO things for people I love. I bake double chocolate gourmet brownies and rush them off to the post office before they cool. I buy clothes, and pad Thai, and expensive scotch. I serve at school, give back rubs, write cards. Frankly I don't know how any of my Five survive without me. I worry about them, text them to make sure they're taking their vitamins, ask if they've fixed their brakes yet. I even brought Dad a pot roast to his room at the home because he was missing the smell of home-cooked food. And I love doing all of those things - it makes me happy. So what's the problem? "I'm supposed to feed everyone after I've been torn into little pieces and separated..."
Do I feel whole? Do I have worth if I'm not taking care of others? Do others expect me to take care of them, or do I put that on myself? Would I ever say no if one of my Five asked me for something I didn't think I could give? Probably not - I don't think so - maybe - probably - probably not.
Maybe the problem isn't that I feel like the deli meat in the middle of the sandwich, or even that I feel like I've torn myself into tiny little pieces. Maybe it's that I don't feel like I'm the WHOLE sandwich. My beloved family is the bread, the mayo, mustard, lettuce, onions, and tomato, and I'm just the teensy slice in the middle. Great. Now I'm hungry.
So I sit here, at 12:52 on a Monday morning, enjoying the darkness, the glow of my Himalayan salt lamp, wondering if I've ever felt like a whole sandwich, afraid that I haven't, and wondering if it's too late to start making my Sandwich Soul Snack, this time making sure I keep myself whole and in the middle of my whole life. I don't think it's too late, but I'd better get going. I'm probably going to enter middle age one of these years.
Thursday, February 25, 2016
The Essential Core Meditation:
So as we get acquainted with the notion of having a safe place within us, it can help to have some guidance, our own North Star, so to speak, to lead us to our own Core. I've been speaking, writing, teaching, and leading meditation groups for the past 25 years (not that that necessarily makes me any kind of expert), but it helps, I think. :)
It's always a good idea to start your centering process with a few conscious deep breaths. So often when we're stressed out and running like crazy we forget to breathe, or we start shallow breathing. This serves to fling us to those crazy outer areas of our lives, you know - the swirling areas where we become forgetful, foggy, crabby, overwhelmed. Breathing helps. You can always have that basic piece to return to when the going gets tough.
Do you trust that you have the capacity for peace within you? That's a really honest question, so think about it before you answer "of course!" You may actually believe that you are just hard-wired for stress and fatigue and overload. But you don't only have the capacity for peace, you ARE Peace! I fully believe we're hard-wired for joy, and love, and abundance. We just have forgotten along the way. I'll help you remember.
To do this meditation you'll need only a few things: complete silence (or one of my meditation CDs :) ), undisturbed time (hahahaha - that autocorrected to "undies turned" - I guess that could work, too!), and a comfortable place to sit. Eyes open or eyes closed - doesn't matter. Sitting cross-legged or feet on the floor - doesn't matter. Hands in your lap, or in your favorite mudra - doesn't matter. Are you sensing a pattern here? I don't get too caught up in the "must-do's" - that will stop you before you start. And part of this is you getting to know YOU. You're unique. So you're in charge of how your setup looks. And of course feel free to alter any of my suggestions for the meditation, as well.
When you're comfortable, and your phone's turned off (please), roll your shoulders, or your neck, if that feels good. Settle in. Just enjoy being in this quiet space with yourself. You're fabulous, after all - why wouldn't you want to just hang out with yourself for a while? Smile a little. Breathe. Feel your chair solid beneath your listen to the noises of your world. The cars on the highway, the birds in the tree, the neighbor's dog barking. Isn't that all sweet?
Now just start gently tuning in to your internal landscape. We hardly EVER do that, do we? How does your head feel? Your eyes? Your ears? Your neck? If you notice any sore or stiff parts, gently send love to those areas. You can even mentally say something like "Hey sweet neck - looks like you're kind of sore. Sorry about that. Here's some love - I'll try to take better care of you..." Keep going. Don't stress about order or what to say or think about - just pretend you're at a party and you're looking at everyone there. Notice them.
This could/should only take a few minutes, and is a GREAT basic meditation practice in itself. I try to do it every morning before I roll out of bed. I just sit up in my bed and do it because, yeah, I'm super lazy that way.
The next step is to bring your attention to your torso area. In my years of doing this work, I've found a majority of Essential Cores to be anywhere from right below the belly button to right below the throat. But hey - if yours is in your right big toe, that's super cool! Go for it. Just set your intention by saying something like "I'm here. Now please show me where you are..." (Yes - I DO talk to my body like that) and then sit in an open space and notice anything you may feel. It could be a warming in your heart area, or a pleasant tugging in your stomach. Remember - this is your own special journey to yourself, so nobody can tell you what HAS to happen or how.
When you think you've gotten a clue, check it out - call your attention to that area and take some more deep breaths, then imagine that you're sinking 100% into that space. For me, when I'm there it always feels like I'm in a wide open green field, surrounded by little brightly colored flowers. I'm usually sitting under a beautiful, ancient tree. Ahhhhh - I feel like signing off and going there now.
Got it? Stay there. Let the energy of that calm, beautiful, Essential Place seep into your consciousness. Sometimes you can see images or hear noises (birds, the wind, music), but if you are feeling happy, that's your greatest clue that you've discovered your EC (Essential Core), and it IS Essential, because this is part that's connected to unconditional love, to Source, to everyone else, and nothing 'bad' or sad or scary of mean can touch. It's sacred. It's your own Sanity Haven in the midst of the storm. So the first step is to find it. The second step is to visit frequently, and the third step? Of course - it's to be able to reside there permanently. Make it your Command Center. Life is SO amazing when you can live from Love. You don't react anymore - you are clear-headed, able to say the 'right' things. You sleep peacefully, and go through your days with enthusiasm and joy.
Yeah - I want to go to there! So let me know if you have any questions, but otherwise? Happy Journeying. I'd love to hear of your experiences in the comments below.
So as we get acquainted with the notion of having a safe place within us, it can help to have some guidance, our own North Star, so to speak, to lead us to our own Core. I've been speaking, writing, teaching, and leading meditation groups for the past 25 years (not that that necessarily makes me any kind of expert), but it helps, I think. :)
It's always a good idea to start your centering process with a few conscious deep breaths. So often when we're stressed out and running like crazy we forget to breathe, or we start shallow breathing. This serves to fling us to those crazy outer areas of our lives, you know - the swirling areas where we become forgetful, foggy, crabby, overwhelmed. Breathing helps. You can always have that basic piece to return to when the going gets tough.
Do you trust that you have the capacity for peace within you? That's a really honest question, so think about it before you answer "of course!" You may actually believe that you are just hard-wired for stress and fatigue and overload. But you don't only have the capacity for peace, you ARE Peace! I fully believe we're hard-wired for joy, and love, and abundance. We just have forgotten along the way. I'll help you remember.
To do this meditation you'll need only a few things: complete silence (or one of my meditation CDs :) ), undisturbed time (hahahaha - that autocorrected to "undies turned" - I guess that could work, too!), and a comfortable place to sit. Eyes open or eyes closed - doesn't matter. Sitting cross-legged or feet on the floor - doesn't matter. Hands in your lap, or in your favorite mudra - doesn't matter. Are you sensing a pattern here? I don't get too caught up in the "must-do's" - that will stop you before you start. And part of this is you getting to know YOU. You're unique. So you're in charge of how your setup looks. And of course feel free to alter any of my suggestions for the meditation, as well.
When you're comfortable, and your phone's turned off (please), roll your shoulders, or your neck, if that feels good. Settle in. Just enjoy being in this quiet space with yourself. You're fabulous, after all - why wouldn't you want to just hang out with yourself for a while? Smile a little. Breathe. Feel your chair solid beneath your listen to the noises of your world. The cars on the highway, the birds in the tree, the neighbor's dog barking. Isn't that all sweet?
Now just start gently tuning in to your internal landscape. We hardly EVER do that, do we? How does your head feel? Your eyes? Your ears? Your neck? If you notice any sore or stiff parts, gently send love to those areas. You can even mentally say something like "Hey sweet neck - looks like you're kind of sore. Sorry about that. Here's some love - I'll try to take better care of you..." Keep going. Don't stress about order or what to say or think about - just pretend you're at a party and you're looking at everyone there. Notice them.
This could/should only take a few minutes, and is a GREAT basic meditation practice in itself. I try to do it every morning before I roll out of bed. I just sit up in my bed and do it because, yeah, I'm super lazy that way.
The next step is to bring your attention to your torso area. In my years of doing this work, I've found a majority of Essential Cores to be anywhere from right below the belly button to right below the throat. But hey - if yours is in your right big toe, that's super cool! Go for it. Just set your intention by saying something like "I'm here. Now please show me where you are..." (Yes - I DO talk to my body like that) and then sit in an open space and notice anything you may feel. It could be a warming in your heart area, or a pleasant tugging in your stomach. Remember - this is your own special journey to yourself, so nobody can tell you what HAS to happen or how.
When you think you've gotten a clue, check it out - call your attention to that area and take some more deep breaths, then imagine that you're sinking 100% into that space. For me, when I'm there it always feels like I'm in a wide open green field, surrounded by little brightly colored flowers. I'm usually sitting under a beautiful, ancient tree. Ahhhhh - I feel like signing off and going there now.
Got it? Stay there. Let the energy of that calm, beautiful, Essential Place seep into your consciousness. Sometimes you can see images or hear noises (birds, the wind, music), but if you are feeling happy, that's your greatest clue that you've discovered your EC (Essential Core), and it IS Essential, because this is part that's connected to unconditional love, to Source, to everyone else, and nothing 'bad' or sad or scary of mean can touch. It's sacred. It's your own Sanity Haven in the midst of the storm. So the first step is to find it. The second step is to visit frequently, and the third step? Of course - it's to be able to reside there permanently. Make it your Command Center. Life is SO amazing when you can live from Love. You don't react anymore - you are clear-headed, able to say the 'right' things. You sleep peacefully, and go through your days with enthusiasm and joy.
Yeah - I want to go to there! So let me know if you have any questions, but otherwise? Happy Journeying. I'd love to hear of your experiences in the comments below.
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