One of the things I find soothing, especially when I’m struggling with either an overabundance of energy or no energy at all, is tending to my plants. It’s lovely this time of year because I can have lots of them on my deck. Herbs and flowers growing all over each other; their colors make me smile. On a nice day like this one, I can leave the door to my deck open, sit in the rocking chair in my art room, as I am now, and enjoy the breeze, afternoon light, and birdsong. I feel grateful for all this.
So why is it that I’ve just spent a day and a half of this beautiful weekend in bed?
It’s one of the strange things about being human. When I was younger I thought I was supposed to feel one emotion, all on its own. Simple, uncomplicated feeling without any entanglement with another emotion. Joy and gratitude laced with sadness and grief was not something I ever fully understood. (“Understood” is not quite the right word for it but I can’t seem to find another one). Self-awareness is a skill that can be cultivated but it takes time. I know better now. Which is to say, I’ve learned through experience. So I can look at my life objectively, see how blessed I am, while also feeling sunk dark and low with grief along with a dash of depression. It’s confusing as hell. But who ever said life was going to be easy to understand?
This last Friday I was very run down. There was good reason for it. A confluence of several events left me feeling exhausted, overwhelmed, and a bit hopeless. Friday is typically when my grandfather and I visit; it’s been our day for years. Barring any illness, physical or mental, on my part I drive up to see him. Because of this little infection I’ve had going on I’d only seen him once in the past month he’s been in the hospital and rehab. So I’d planned the visit all week. But as Friday approached, seeing him seemed like it might be too much for me. It is, after all, a 90-minute car ride altogether. But I was determined to go. I’d already told dad I’d be coming and. one of the things I dread most in this world is disappointing my grandfather.
By the time I arrived, I knew I’d have just about an hour before I had to leave. When I walked in the door my grandfather winked at me and then put a finger to his lips. There was important business being conducted at the kitchen table. A nurse and my uncle were going through my grandfather’s medication. They sorted through all the bottles and packets, distributing colorful little pills, of varying shapes and sizes, into a weekly organizer. Each day was divided into morning, afternoon, and evening. Even though this was about my grandfather he didn’t take part in it. So there he sat watching them, his long, thin arms crossed over his chest, one leg crossed over the other. To me, his body looked withered. But he himself looked content. He was home, and this is all he’s wanted.
When everybody left I had about ten minutes left with him. This was just enough time to show him the CD of Mary Oliver reading some of her poetry. We decided to save the treat of listening to her for our next visit. What little time we had together, I was still grateful to see my grandfather.
It’s not worth rehashing the various parts of that day. Though I started writing this post on Sunday, it’s now Monday and there are other things on my mind. Suffice it to say by the end of the day Friday I was DONE. Done with everything. So I crawled into bed.
This summer has been full of life not going as planned. To be clear, I mean not going as I planned. I do believe there is a larger plan than the one I have. There’s an underlying design to things. Just look at nature’s intricacies. So yes, I believe I am not the ultimate power and that there’s a force “out there” larger than myself. (And thank goodness for that). Call it Life, Spirit, God, Goddess, the Divine, Grace or Higher Power… call it whatever you want, really. To me it’s all part of the same loving source. One of the hardest parts of living (for me) is not accepting when my plans change. In fact, the more I resist the redirection of unfolding events the more I suffer. I’ll also say it’s taken me years of pain, physical and emotional, and recovery to get to this belief. Finally I’ll say that this belief has saved, and continues to save, my life.
This I do know: sometimes I just need to pretend that what’s happening around me is not actually happening. Yes, I know this is called denial. And if’s a place I stay in, while compulsively eating, taking pills, and watching endless hours of TV when I’m not sleeping (and don’t forget letting my voicemail fill up) then, of course, this is a big problem. But as the years have passed and I’ve gotten older, I’ve worked though a lot of shit. So when I decide to crawl into that warm comfy nest of denial it only lasts a day- or maybe a week, as when my grandmother died in this past July. (And I don’t indulge in any more self-destructive habits during my cocoon-time. This is a big plus). I went to sleep Saturday night repeating to myself, some may call it praying, not to spend another whole beautiful day in bed. Come Sunday around 11am, I got up out of that bed and went about the daily rituals of living.
It’s Monday, 4:52 to be exact. And I am absolutely okay with where I’m at this afternoon. In my head, in my body, and in my heart. I understand that this is just for the moment, of course. Life may change within the hour. Things around me and inside me may shift a bit. But I’ll cross that bridge once I get to it.
my body speaks 