Sometimes, its just plain good to get away.
Exploring Cape Cod in October is lovely. The ocean and bay views a tonic. Dogs keeping company.
Away from day to day chores. Just time together to talk. Really talk. And walk. Often in silence. Time to BE together.
With time ticking away at that 1.7 year prognosis, it makes time away all the more precious.
I welcome the change of season, wondering what gifts will present themselves? And also dread the move into the next phase of the year: is THIS the time period that will rock my world?
Sometimes the sadness of living with the knowing that l will lose Gary is overwhelming. All consuming. Heart breaking. And then, and then, I drink in my Present moment. Take a breath Martha. Notice what is here. Right now.
It's both right?
Being present. So appreciative. So grateful for the sweet gifts of the day. The love.
And wondering, holding the unknown- just out of reach. Waves of tears. The fear.
This is all new.. Holding/allowing the waves of emotion.
Holding both.
I think I worried that if I REALLY surrender to the tears that they would never stop. They DO stop. AND somehow, that small Voice within, is grateful afterwards. Relieved.
"It's just part of it Martha".
Loss. Grief. And death.
They all are so deeply HUMAN. Universal. Messy. Uncontrollable. Unknown. REAL.
Our culture, our entire medical system is set up to avoid death at all cost (literally! The medical charges for extending life are truly unreal).
To go against this challenges our norms.
Gary's Dad declined antibiotics when admitted with pneumonia at age 76. The young resident was astounded and upset. He turned to Gary and said "don't you know your father will die if he doesn't treat this?!?" Gary responded: "he knows that. He's been miserable the past years with Parkinson's, cancer, the loss of his wife, the loss of his mind, the loss of his mobility. He is ready to die. He has lived a good life. It's what he wants".
It was a peaceful, respectful, gentle death. On his own terms. Did the resident see?
To see death as part of life. Why is this so strange?
Can we see loss, grief, death as part of the journey of life, of love, not a "brave battle" lost?
My grandmother died just shy of 97. She told everyone she knew of her desire to die at home. "I was born at home and I don't want people poking and prodding me. I want to die at home with my cat on the bed".
And she did. It was an honor to be her midwife as she died. It was peaceful. Simple. Beautiful music playing.
How do we prepare for this?
I see Gary saying good bye. In tender ways, he tells our children how proud he is of them. He tells his siblings how much he appreciates them. Not a dry eye.
On a ride around the lake at Pocono (family summer place), we'd pass familiar spots: "bye Wolf Springs, bye Sand pit point, bye stream, bye library, " etc. Its so open. Honest. Weirdly normal.
Funny. Not funny.
My brother aptly called it like a take from Good Night Moon.
I send my daughter childrens books on loss and death so there is language and stories for the grandchildren.
While we can, we live life as best we can.
I wonder what will unfold these next months? As more and more surrender is required, how will that be?
Can I be OPEN to it, rather than fear it?
Can I see the Mystery of life and love in the midst of the loss and messy emotions?
One of the gifts of coaching through this time, is that the common threads of being human are shared.
So much of change is about being soft with ourselves isn't it?
Its about knowing we aren't alone, and finding those who help us hold ourselves JUST as we are. In process. Imperfect.
Its about sorting through all the expected/other directed ways of being and landing on our own selves. True to our values. Returning to the wise inner voice that creates clarity.
And sometimes a good getaway is just the thing to remind ourselves of that.
Thanks for being on this ride with me.
xo
Martha
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