Following a life-altering experience, how does one reintegrate back into one's former life? When one has been living in an altered state, with "normal" daily life in suspended animation, how does one comfortably fit back into that daily routine? Superimpose the grieving process on that reintegration, and all bets are off.
Many of us are aware of the five classic "stages" of the grieving process: denial, anger, depression, bargaining, acceptance. But nothing is ever so cut and dry, and our emotional lives are varied and complex. For me, in this moment, there are various layers of exhaustion coloring my experience, my body slowly coming into some semblance of equilibrium. Powers of concentration and focus remain relatively unreliable, but hints of the balanced self peek through the haze. Patience is a virtue at this stage, both with others and one's self.
Grief comes in many guises, and it manifests in so many ways throughout the day. Circumspect self-care and self-awareness seem to be the best tools at my disposal. But the first step in using those tools is at least opening the tool-box. As Sogyal Rinpoche has said, "Our present condition, if we use it skillfully and with wisdom, can be an inspiration to free ourselves from the bondage of suffering."
Showing posts with label change. Show all posts
Showing posts with label change. Show all posts
Wednesday, September 12, 2007
Saturday, September 01, 2007
The Constancy of Change
There are so many things to let go of in the course of one's lifetime. Friendships grow and fade, changing and evolving---or devolving---over time. Parents or other family members grow ill and die. Jobs are lost, careers dissolve and are reconstituted, money flows like water through one's hands. At times, tragedy strikes, and the letting go is sudden, ripping through the fabric of life like a knife, or bludgeoning one over the head with its intensity. But there is one constant, and that is change.
Loss often visits us at the most inconvenient times. We lose our job just as our child is starting college. Our car breaks down the day before we leave for vacation. A new diagnosis throws us into a medical tailspin. Depression rears its challenging head and we are derailed from our usual emotional composure. A sudden and unexpected expense drains our resources and we are financially drained almost overnight. Change---when unplanned---is certainly most inconvenient---with illness and death perhaps being the most unwanted changes of all.
How do we cope with change, especially that which is inherently unwanted and unsolicited? We read books which purport to assist the reader with such transitions in life. Bookstore shelves overflow with self-help books of all stripes, and Americans purchase scores of them, myself included. The Bible offers great comfort to many in times of change and challenge, and millions look towards its wisdom for both comfort and strength of spirit. Most recently, I have turned to several books, including When Things Fall Apart: Heart Advice for Difficult Times by Pema Chodron. While it is a Buddhist text, its message is universal and digestible by seekers of any faith.
How else do we cope with change? Psychotherapy, counseling, the church, the shoulder of a friend, alcohol and drugs, food, exercise, sleep, anger, television, denial, resistance---these are all places to which we turn, some obviously healthier than others. We encourage one another to turn to that which is nurturing and healthy, that which will add positively to our personal arsenal of coping mechanisms. Some become lost in addiction, others become lost in meaningless action---"filling time" without really living it. No one ever said it would be easy, and when we are in the thick of it, we realize that this alleged lack of ease is altogether true.
For myself, as I live through perhaps the most difficult time of my life so far---the impending death of a terminally ill parent---I strive to reach for that which is healthy and nurturing. When my best friend was murdered in 2001, post-traumatic stress took its toll, and recovery was slow and painful. An unexpected loss of that magnitude shook the foundations of my world in a way that was both shocking and painful. Now, I face this slow and incremental loss, and its impact---while no less enormous than the loss of my friend---is somewhat mitigated by the ability to begin preparing, to say goodbye, to come to terms, to accept that which is inevitable and unavoidable.
Heraclitus said "everything flows, nothing stands still. Nothing endures but change." This is a lesson which I strive to keep in mind as the winds of change, loss, and death buffet our family's ship. It is all we can do to hold onto the rails and ride the waves as they toss us about. Otherwise, we are thrown into the sea of uncertainty and groundless fear, where we are more likely to lose our way and be lost. And so, we cling to one another and to the ship of family and community, riding the swells until the sea is calm once more.
Loss often visits us at the most inconvenient times. We lose our job just as our child is starting college. Our car breaks down the day before we leave for vacation. A new diagnosis throws us into a medical tailspin. Depression rears its challenging head and we are derailed from our usual emotional composure. A sudden and unexpected expense drains our resources and we are financially drained almost overnight. Change---when unplanned---is certainly most inconvenient---with illness and death perhaps being the most unwanted changes of all.
How do we cope with change, especially that which is inherently unwanted and unsolicited? We read books which purport to assist the reader with such transitions in life. Bookstore shelves overflow with self-help books of all stripes, and Americans purchase scores of them, myself included. The Bible offers great comfort to many in times of change and challenge, and millions look towards its wisdom for both comfort and strength of spirit. Most recently, I have turned to several books, including When Things Fall Apart: Heart Advice for Difficult Times by Pema Chodron. While it is a Buddhist text, its message is universal and digestible by seekers of any faith.
How else do we cope with change? Psychotherapy, counseling, the church, the shoulder of a friend, alcohol and drugs, food, exercise, sleep, anger, television, denial, resistance---these are all places to which we turn, some obviously healthier than others. We encourage one another to turn to that which is nurturing and healthy, that which will add positively to our personal arsenal of coping mechanisms. Some become lost in addiction, others become lost in meaningless action---"filling time" without really living it. No one ever said it would be easy, and when we are in the thick of it, we realize that this alleged lack of ease is altogether true.
For myself, as I live through perhaps the most difficult time of my life so far---the impending death of a terminally ill parent---I strive to reach for that which is healthy and nurturing. When my best friend was murdered in 2001, post-traumatic stress took its toll, and recovery was slow and painful. An unexpected loss of that magnitude shook the foundations of my world in a way that was both shocking and painful. Now, I face this slow and incremental loss, and its impact---while no less enormous than the loss of my friend---is somewhat mitigated by the ability to begin preparing, to say goodbye, to come to terms, to accept that which is inevitable and unavoidable.
Heraclitus said "everything flows, nothing stands still. Nothing endures but change." This is a lesson which I strive to keep in mind as the winds of change, loss, and death buffet our family's ship. It is all we can do to hold onto the rails and ride the waves as they toss us about. Otherwise, we are thrown into the sea of uncertainty and groundless fear, where we are more likely to lose our way and be lost. And so, we cling to one another and to the ship of family and community, riding the swells until the sea is calm once more.
Monday, January 15, 2007
A Hero's Day
Today is the day to commemorate a hero, a true lion of hope and equality. So many, like him, have fallen at the hands of known and unknown purveyors of fear: Malcolm X, JFK, RFK, Gandhi, John Lennon, the students of Tiananmen Square and Ohio State, Rachel Corrie, and the Greensboro Five. Some theorists feel that Paul Wellstone could be added to that list. Still others are driven from their homelands around the world, their lives spared but their hopes for freedom dashed.
Famous or completely unknown and unsung, so many have dedicated their lives to the freedom of others, and to equality and justice. Actions small and large accumulate and exponentially multiply the effect.
At times I wonder if I'm not doing enough, if my candle should be burning more brightly. If we all cared enough, wouldn't all the problems already be solved? We can't all be Martin, John, Mother Teresa, or Rigoberta Menchu, but we can all be who we are, enacting change by embodying love and compassion in the world. Some do their part simply by living quiet lives of meditation. Others march in the streets and speak truth to power. Still others send money, write letters, or speak up for those without a voice.
And the others, you ask? Yes, there are still others who do nothing but fend for themselves and take all that there is to take. But even for these there must be compassion somewhere in one's heart, even if for now that place is closed and inaccessible. As for those who are purveyors of fear and sowers of division, must we not also feel compassion for them as well? Some of us are capable of such compassion, some even attain the bliss of true forgiveness. Still others even more enlightened might realize that those brokers of fear are no different than ourselves and fully deserve our compassion.
As for me, I continue to struggle to forgive some in the world who have wronged me, like those who murdered my closest friend in the prime of his life and the rest who did their best to obfuscate the truth. My hatred and anger are still not dissipated, and I know that these emotions will only cause me harm in the end, no matter how human they may be. I also have strong vitriolic feelings for those who I feel are responsible for the raping and pillaging of our country, our culture, our economy, our ecology, our very soul as a nation. Will I some day feel compassion and forgiveness for them? It is a tall order, I must say.
But in the spirit of Martin, today is a day to hold forth a vision, even if the more difficult emotions serve to cloud that vista from time to time, like an emotional cataract. Without that vision, all is lost, and only the clouds and darkness hold sway. I'm sure Martin forgives his transgressors and sees the bigger picture from the vantage point of enlightenment. We can all catch a glimpse of that picture from time to time, and when we do, it's a breath of fresh air. It may be a mad, mad world out there, but to paraphrase and twist the words of W.C Fields for my own purposes, "there's a hero born every minute". Let's prepare the way for the the heroes of the New World, the world that's just around the bend, the one which Arundhati Roy says that she can hear breathing.
Famous or completely unknown and unsung, so many have dedicated their lives to the freedom of others, and to equality and justice. Actions small and large accumulate and exponentially multiply the effect.
At times I wonder if I'm not doing enough, if my candle should be burning more brightly. If we all cared enough, wouldn't all the problems already be solved? We can't all be Martin, John, Mother Teresa, or Rigoberta Menchu, but we can all be who we are, enacting change by embodying love and compassion in the world. Some do their part simply by living quiet lives of meditation. Others march in the streets and speak truth to power. Still others send money, write letters, or speak up for those without a voice.
And the others, you ask? Yes, there are still others who do nothing but fend for themselves and take all that there is to take. But even for these there must be compassion somewhere in one's heart, even if for now that place is closed and inaccessible. As for those who are purveyors of fear and sowers of division, must we not also feel compassion for them as well? Some of us are capable of such compassion, some even attain the bliss of true forgiveness. Still others even more enlightened might realize that those brokers of fear are no different than ourselves and fully deserve our compassion.
As for me, I continue to struggle to forgive some in the world who have wronged me, like those who murdered my closest friend in the prime of his life and the rest who did their best to obfuscate the truth. My hatred and anger are still not dissipated, and I know that these emotions will only cause me harm in the end, no matter how human they may be. I also have strong vitriolic feelings for those who I feel are responsible for the raping and pillaging of our country, our culture, our economy, our ecology, our very soul as a nation. Will I some day feel compassion and forgiveness for them? It is a tall order, I must say.
But in the spirit of Martin, today is a day to hold forth a vision, even if the more difficult emotions serve to cloud that vista from time to time, like an emotional cataract. Without that vision, all is lost, and only the clouds and darkness hold sway. I'm sure Martin forgives his transgressors and sees the bigger picture from the vantage point of enlightenment. We can all catch a glimpse of that picture from time to time, and when we do, it's a breath of fresh air. It may be a mad, mad world out there, but to paraphrase and twist the words of W.C Fields for my own purposes, "there's a hero born every minute". Let's prepare the way for the the heroes of the New World, the world that's just around the bend, the one which Arundhati Roy says that she can hear breathing.
Tuesday, October 10, 2006
Illness, Change, and the Spectre of Loss
My step-father begins radiation this morning at 8:30, perhaps at this very moment. He will also take oral chemotherapy for the first six weeks and then perhaps change to intravenous therapy thereafter. The only cure for pancreatic cancer is surgery, and this is not a possibility for him, at least for now, and perhaps never. These are the times when living five hours away from one's aging parents is a painful and isolating experience.
Life-altering illness offers many lessons and will push one to the edge and beyond. Change is the only constant here, and there are so many with which one must cope. It is not only change which holds one in its grip, but the spectre of loss visits in guises both small and large. One might lose one's hair from chemotherapy. The ability to drive, to eat whatever and whenever one wants, the ability to control one's bodily functions may all be lost at any time in this complicated game. For every step forward, there can often be several steps back, a new aspect of loss appearing at any moment.
I would assume that the most devastating losses come in the form of the loss of independence and of dignity. Retaining independence becomes a major challenge as the body gives way, as symptoms preclude even the most basic of daily activities. And with the loss of independence, one may begin to feel a loss of dignity, of the self, of one's place in the world. When the individual becomes weak, incontinent, unable to toilet him- or herself, unable to bathe independently, these are the losses in which the person begins to lose quality of life and a true sense of self, or at least a sense of the self as one has known it.
Anticipatory loss is another aspect of illness. As a form of grieving, this manifests as one faces losses which are only around the corner. Depending on the form of disease, one can anticipate further deprivation and change. In progressive neurological disease, even the most simple function may be on the docket. The powers of speech, swallowing, hearing, touch, sexual function---these too can be taken away and remain but a memory.
The most devastating of all losses may be the knowledge that one will eventually leave one's loved ones behind. The worries and concerns may mount: Will s/he be OK? Will they be financially solvent? Did I do enough to prepare? Are my affairs in order? How much will my illness cost them, both emotionally and economically? Will my loved one be able to continue on without me? Who will care for them when they are sick or needy? Did I accomplish all that I wanted to accomplish?
Finally, beyond loss, one begins to look toward the future, one's future beyond this world. One examines the spiritual questions on the table, reflects on one's life, hopefully makes peace with the choices that have been made, and considers what will happen when the curtain closes on this earthly existence. The beliefs that have grown in the psyche and mind over the decades now come to bear. One's faith---or lack thereof---makes itself known. They say there are no atheists in foxholes, and the existential begins to take on more and more importance as the material world recedes. This is the time when the outer losses lose the crucial impact which they once carried, and the mind turns inwards towards matters of spirit, of faith, of making peace with both life and death.
I have watched a number of individuals enter, travel through, and complete this process. For those who lost function of outward communication and became demented or aphasic, their inner peacemaking was just that---inward---and I have not been privy to their process. For those who retained their mental capacities and ability to communicate until the end, the observer and loved one can glean much more from the experience and in some ways share more in that journey.
When the individual entering this phase of life and letting go is an intimate loved one (like a parent) rather than a patient, that is where the poignancy of this process takes wing, and also where the pain can become more visceral. This is the place where my mind and heart now dwell, and it's now my turn to walk this road as I have watched so many others travel with me as advocate and guide. The loss may be swift, it may be slow, but it is real, it is intimate, and its reality cannot be denied. I feel for my mother as she faces this gradual deneoument of her life as she has known it, and while I fear for her security and stability, I also must care for my own. This is no place for codependence and loss of one's center. This is a time for groundedness, thoughtfulness, spiritual insight, sensitivity, and compassion for myself as well as others.
As a family, we have crossed that threshold of loss and letting go, and the path which we will follow together has been trod for millenia. May we do it well, with grace and humility, and come through the other side stronger and more healed, and may my step-dad's losses and eventual passing be peaceful and as painless as possible, with suffering kept to a minimum. This is my wish for us and for all families who are on any portion of this universal journey of life, love, and death.
So be it.
Life-altering illness offers many lessons and will push one to the edge and beyond. Change is the only constant here, and there are so many with which one must cope. It is not only change which holds one in its grip, but the spectre of loss visits in guises both small and large. One might lose one's hair from chemotherapy. The ability to drive, to eat whatever and whenever one wants, the ability to control one's bodily functions may all be lost at any time in this complicated game. For every step forward, there can often be several steps back, a new aspect of loss appearing at any moment.
I would assume that the most devastating losses come in the form of the loss of independence and of dignity. Retaining independence becomes a major challenge as the body gives way, as symptoms preclude even the most basic of daily activities. And with the loss of independence, one may begin to feel a loss of dignity, of the self, of one's place in the world. When the individual becomes weak, incontinent, unable to toilet him- or herself, unable to bathe independently, these are the losses in which the person begins to lose quality of life and a true sense of self, or at least a sense of the self as one has known it.
Anticipatory loss is another aspect of illness. As a form of grieving, this manifests as one faces losses which are only around the corner. Depending on the form of disease, one can anticipate further deprivation and change. In progressive neurological disease, even the most simple function may be on the docket. The powers of speech, swallowing, hearing, touch, sexual function---these too can be taken away and remain but a memory.
The most devastating of all losses may be the knowledge that one will eventually leave one's loved ones behind. The worries and concerns may mount: Will s/he be OK? Will they be financially solvent? Did I do enough to prepare? Are my affairs in order? How much will my illness cost them, both emotionally and economically? Will my loved one be able to continue on without me? Who will care for them when they are sick or needy? Did I accomplish all that I wanted to accomplish?
Finally, beyond loss, one begins to look toward the future, one's future beyond this world. One examines the spiritual questions on the table, reflects on one's life, hopefully makes peace with the choices that have been made, and considers what will happen when the curtain closes on this earthly existence. The beliefs that have grown in the psyche and mind over the decades now come to bear. One's faith---or lack thereof---makes itself known. They say there are no atheists in foxholes, and the existential begins to take on more and more importance as the material world recedes. This is the time when the outer losses lose the crucial impact which they once carried, and the mind turns inwards towards matters of spirit, of faith, of making peace with both life and death.
I have watched a number of individuals enter, travel through, and complete this process. For those who lost function of outward communication and became demented or aphasic, their inner peacemaking was just that---inward---and I have not been privy to their process. For those who retained their mental capacities and ability to communicate until the end, the observer and loved one can glean much more from the experience and in some ways share more in that journey.
When the individual entering this phase of life and letting go is an intimate loved one (like a parent) rather than a patient, that is where the poignancy of this process takes wing, and also where the pain can become more visceral. This is the place where my mind and heart now dwell, and it's now my turn to walk this road as I have watched so many others travel with me as advocate and guide. The loss may be swift, it may be slow, but it is real, it is intimate, and its reality cannot be denied. I feel for my mother as she faces this gradual deneoument of her life as she has known it, and while I fear for her security and stability, I also must care for my own. This is no place for codependence and loss of one's center. This is a time for groundedness, thoughtfulness, spiritual insight, sensitivity, and compassion for myself as well as others.
As a family, we have crossed that threshold of loss and letting go, and the path which we will follow together has been trod for millenia. May we do it well, with grace and humility, and come through the other side stronger and more healed, and may my step-dad's losses and eventual passing be peaceful and as painless as possible, with suffering kept to a minimum. This is my wish for us and for all families who are on any portion of this universal journey of life, love, and death.
So be it.
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