Tuesday, January 3, 2017

Love

I thought a lot about love today. ALOT.

I work at an assisted living facility for my grown up job now. I started last week.

After some years of working with children, I went to the opposite end of the spectrum. Which, honestly, there are a lot of similarities between the two age groups, so the transition doesn't feel quite so startling. But there are definite adjustments.

My supervisor and I were walking down a hallway this afternoon, and saw through an open doorway, an elderly woman, one of the tiniest women I have ever seen in my life, sitting on her bed, with no top on. A little startling, always.
"Jean," my supervisor said, going into the room, "Where is your shirt sweetie?"
"Well, I'm trying to put my pajamas on for bed." Jean replied, though the clock on the wall said 3pm.
"Oh Jean, its not bedtime yet. We still need to have dinner." My supervisor brightly informed her.
Confusion. "Oh. Well alright. Let me get my blouse on."
Then, as we tried to clothe her, she clouded again. "Why are we getting dressed? Its bedtime?"
The conversation went around a few times, until we gently dressed her in a pink top and fur vest, and guided her to her walker.
She grabbed my supervisor's arm, and with a clear, pained expression said, "I'm alone. I am SO VERY alone. I don't have any friends here, I don't know where my family is. No one talks to me. Please don't go. I'm alone. I don't have anyone."
My supervisor hugged her and looked straight into her eyes. "You have me. I will ALWAYS be your friend."
Jean then turned to me. "Will you be my friend too? Please?"
I hugged her and told her I would be honored.
Then let them walk away so I could gain control over the tears, as I looked at the small, nearly empty room that she lived in every day. Because although she has dementia, it didn't make her feelings any less real, or the pain she felt any easier. 
And I was feeling it for her.
And I thought to myself, "I CANNOT do this job. I'm quitting tomorrow."

Of course I won't, but its definitely not what I thought it would be. I thought I would be more occupying them, entertaining them, etc. I didn't realize that for 8 hours a day, I would be living with them. Not detached, but rather doing everything together. The fear, the unknown, the oftentimes frightening-ness of dementia, we do it together. We drink coffee together, play bingo together, watch movies together and talk about life together.
And as one touched my arm at dinner and said, "I missed you so much over the weekend. I'm SO glad to see you here today, will you sing for me again?"
I felt an awful, awful feeling of panic.
Because I couldn't help but love all the 98 year old sweetness of her. She was genuinely glad to see me. She missed me and liked me.
And I knew right then and there. 

Shit. 

I'm going to love you, and my heart is going to get very involved. And you will most likely be gone in the not too distant future.

I'm going to love you deeply, and then grieve your loss. THIS is what I'm signing up for.

But maybe thats what love, real love is. Or at least a taste of it. 
Maybe real love is hurting with someone. Not from a distance, but right alongside it, feeling it, shouldering it, to whatever degree you can. And maybe, somehow, that feeling it along with them makes the hurt a little easier to bear. Knowing that how terrifying something is, they are not bearing it alone. 

And then honoring them and the life that they lived by tremendous sorrow when they leave this earth. And allowing the pain to be a testament that their life mattered. That they mattered.

And making the deliberate choice to do all of that for someone who likely may not remember you tomorrow. Or 3 months from now. Giving and loving for the sake of giving and loving. Expecting absolutely nothing in return.

Maybe every time we love like that, we expand our capacity as a person to feel and love and give and be. 

And understand the love of God a little more.


Sunday, January 1, 2017

2017, Day One

I’m pretty introspective. Pretty annoyingly introspective. I think and feel and think. And think. 

A lot. So people like me really get into New Year’s, and resolutions, and all that stuff. Its our Pinterest actually. 

I live in St. Louis, and though we have some rainy days in the winter, we have a lot of sunny days too. Today was one, where the sun was shining so bright, I went outside for a run, sans hoodie or gloves because from my window, it looked like a balmy 60 degrees instead of the actual 35 that it was. As I ran, I thought back on the past year, and the goals I set 365 days ago:

  • Lose 20 pounds. Well, I lost 18, which is pretty damn close.
  • Do 20 hikes. Checked the last one off a couple weeks ago.
  • Start a different career. That, surprisingly, actually happened, thank God.

But then I thought about the internal stuff. The things that comprise who we are, not necessarily what we do. And I wondered. Did I learn or grow or change for the better. At all?

Part of me says yes, maybe I healed from some stuff, maybe not. But part of me wanted to sit down on the dirty sidewalk and give up. Because it felt like I hadn’t learned a damn thing.

Maybe that’s how it is as adults. Traffic moves along, then we’re at a standstill, stuck in a jam. Then we move forward again. Maybe as adults we gradually get better over time, like a line on a graph that goes up and down, but the overall is a steady, slow up. Maybe we become more deliberate about choosing healthy and staying away from things that we know will do nothing but hurt us in the end. Experience makes us cautious, and we develop our own set of road signs and string our own caution tape and in all of that gain wisdom and understanding. But sometimes we find ourselves in situations that make us want to shake our heads and think that in all that experience, we’ve clearly learned nothing at all, because we’re in that place. Again.

But I’m convinced that we do learn. In all the ups and downs and falling and defeats and victories. We learn. In all the bull shit and pain and regret. Even when we do the same stupid things time and again, we learn. In the wounds we give and receive, we learn.

And here is what I learned this year:

  1. I learned that life is one giant f-ing unknown. The ground you’re standing on can shift in a second and you can find yourself on the ground wondering what the heck happened. And its what you do in THOSE moments that are the defining ones.
  2. Change and personal growth is painfully slow at time. Like weight loss, like changing habits, like getting over something or someone. But every step forward, every choice towards life, no matter how small, is progress and a GIFT.
  3. Its ok to not agree, not like, and to f-ing say NO.
  4. Its ok to be you. Just you. Not the you contrived to keep everyone happy. 
  5. At some point, sooner or later, you HAVE to get in the drivers seat of your own life. YOU are the one who will be 80 one day looking back. You are the one who has to work your job every day, and have/not have the friends that you do, have the health and stamina that you do or don’t have. You are the one who has to physically and mentally process the stress. Not someone else. No one is going to save you or do the hard, character building, life changing things for you. Don’t toss those keys to anyone.
  6. I’m going to be ok. Whether I’m completely alone or have 1000 people in my corner. Because I can get up. And do what I need to do. And I can give and love. Especially that. 

Maybe resolutions should be less about the number of workouts we’re going to do, or pounds we’re going to lose, but rather the start of the new year be about developing a vision of the kind of people we want to be. I want to be a person of kindness, therefore I will behave how a kind person does. I want to be healthy, therefore the choices - physically and relationally that I make, need to reflect that. 


You learned. I learned. And we will continue to. Let’s take the lessons into 2017 and live thoughtfully, purposefully, passionately. And with as much love as we can muster.