Remembering To Dance

 

 

“And now I’m glad I didn’t know the way it all would end,

 the way it all would go.

Our lives are better left to chance.

I could have missed the pain but I’d have had to miss the dance.”

The Dance

Garth Brooks.

 

Life has been difficult recently.  For a short time I couldn’t sleep, I didn’t have any appetite, and I couldn’t focus.   It felt as though I was sleepwalking through life; but I didn’t want to stay there. I wanted to get to a place where I could move forward but it felt as though I was navigating through a thick fog. Then, just a few days ago, some tortured soul jumped off of the building where I work to make a permanent exit. I have tragedy in my life too so I had to wonder why someone would do such a thing.  As sad as I have been, taking my own life has never crossed my mind. Actually, running away to a tropical paradise and imbibing in many of those fruity drinks laced with alcohol as I read a good book and watch the waves roll to shore is more my style.    If a kayak were involved, I could focus on my paddle stroke and clear my mind. This would make the whole experience perfect.    

 

“Life is simple but we insist on making it complicated.”

Confucius

It is usually some small event that will help me adjust my perspective on life. The catalyst that helped me take that first step out of my foggy state was a conversation with a good friend who carries the drama of others on her shoulders as though it were her own.   Over coffee I listened as my friend lamented about the decisions one of her other friends was making.  When she stopped to take a breath I said, “I understand why you see a problem but how is this impacting you?”  She told me that it wasn’t impacting her but it was frustrating to see her friend do things that do not make sense.  I told her that if it isn’t hurting anyone, and it isn’t impacting her personally, then why is she personalizing it?   My friend is small in stature but has the tenacity of a Bulldog so just letting anything go really isn’t in her nature.  Therefore, I wasn’t surprised when she began to elaborate on her friend’s issues and defend her frustration.  Once again I simply asked, “How does this affect you again?”  She said, “Well, it doesn’t.”  I asked again, “Is it hurting anyone?” She said “Well, no.”  I then surprised both of us as I stood up and began to sing the song “Let it Go” from the movie Frozen accompanied by the eloquent arm gestures.  Within minutes we were both laughing so hard that it hurt and, once we caught our breath, she admitted that I had a point.

 

After the song fest, I realized that this was the first time in weeks I have felt completely happy so I decided that perhaps the way to move forward is to look at things from a different perspective. I decided that I needed to embrace my sadness instead of fighting it. A lot of the media hype would have us believe that we should be living in a constant state of euphoric bliss, which is an unrealistic expectation. The reality is that life is a messy combination of pleasant and painful moments.   There are times when life is simply going to be uncomfortable, or even painful, and it is in these times that the feelings of sadness and grief are normal.  The problem isn't about feeling sad. The problem surfaces if I allow myself to become so immersed in grief that I become too comfortable there and stop moving forward.   

“The art of living lies in the finite mingling of letting go and holding on.”

H. Lewis.

Two years ago I had to relocate my mother to an assisted living facility, sell my childhood home, and I watch helplessly as Alzheimer disease claims her. I treasure the good days and the bad days are heartbreaking but I refuse to live in that sad place all of the time.  This year my older sister was diagnosed with ovarian cancer.  A month ago, less than five months after her diagnosis, I was sitting at her bedside as the cancer took her.  My sister’s death hit me hard, even harder than I expected it to, but I know that staying in a place of pain benefits no one. Grief is warranted but there is absolutely nothing I can do to change what has happened.

“God whispers to us in our pleasures, speaks in our consciences, but shouts in our pains. It is his megaphone to rouse a deaf world.”

C.S. Lewis

 

Someone told me once that life is a symphony and our quality of life depends on how we dance to the music.  After the conversation with my friend, and once the laughter had subsided, I realized that I had almost stopped dancing.   It had been weeks since I genuinely enjoyed a good laugh. I became acutely aware of how much I have to be grateful for and began to think that perhaps the difficult part of life is like the white background on the page of a book.  The white space defines the black ink to make the words identifiable just as the pain in life is necessary to define the happy moments.  Over the last week I have been laughing again and I am counting all of my blessings.  There are still moments when I have to hold back tears,   like when  my mother forgets that my sister is gone and asks how she is doing, so I just remind myself that the sadness is normal.  For first time in weeks I am beginning to hear the music. Now I am beginning to enjoy the dance again.  I  wish that the poor soul who jumped would have kept trying to listen for the music too. 

 

 

Looking At Life Through The Wrong End Of The Telescope

I was sad to hear of the death of Robin Williams. He had the ability to speak of routine events in a way that caused people to view things from a humorous perspective while some of his movies, like Patch Adams and Jakob the Liar, showed a more compassionate side.  I think that he was able to look at the world through the wrong end of a telescope and then share his perspective in ways that made us smile.

“I like nonsense.  It takes up the brain cells.  Fantasy is a necessary ingredient in living; it’s a way of looking at life through the wrong end of the telescope, which is what I do, and that enables me to laugh at life’s realities.”  Dr. Seuss

There are others who have defined their careers by looking at life through the wrong end of the telescope too, but not all of them are comediennes.  I have always admired anyone who has the courage to refuse conformity and instead choose the road less travelled rather than let their life stagnate is a pool of sameness. Robin Williams and Joan Rivers are two recent examples of people who were not afraid to follow a less common path but our founding fathers, Dr. Seuss, The Beetles, Gloria Steinham, Beethoven, and many others come to mind when I think of those who were not afraid to define themselves on their own terms rather than the terms that society dictates to be the acceptable norm.  These people have been called innovators, odd, nerds, and rebels  but these are also people who were less afraid of forging ahead on the unknown path than they were of losing touch with their dreams by taking the safe route and doing what made everyone else comfortable

“Think left and think right and think low and think high.

Oh the thinks you can think up if you only try.”

Dr. Seuss.

 

I just lost a sister who taught me to take risks. She taught me to think beyond what everyone else is doing so I could find my own path. On the morning of her funeral I had to stop by my father’s grave.  I am familiar with the cemetery but this cemetery is terraced into the side of a mountain and has several sections that I have labelled as old, older, oldest and ancient.  My heart was full of grief and my mind was on other things so I inadvertently took the wrong road. I found myself on a narrow muddy road  that wound its way through the brush and up the hill. There were times when I could feel my heart contract as I navigated around part of the road that had been washed away. At times I was forced to drive so close to the edge so I could avoid trees that were uprooted but, since backing down the hill scared me more than moving forward, I forged ahead.  The road eventually led me into an older part of the cemetery where the road was still narrow but not as frightening.  As I emerged from the underbrush, I found myself almost at the top of the hill in a part of the cemetery that was unfamiliar to me.  The intense green of shrubs, trees, and grass made the cement headstones stand out against a blue sky.  It had rained the night before and rays from the sun were shining through the remaining clouds.  I stopped and looked around in delight because the scene was absolutely spectacular.  My little detour reminded me of years past when my sister and I travelled similar unknown roads in search of adventure and on several occasions we were rewarded with a spectacular view. It felt as though she was with me, encouraging me to just keep going forward, reminding me that the road less travelled often turns an ordinary journey into an extraordinary adventure.

 

Each one of us must make his own path through life. There are no self-help manuals, no formulas, and no easy answers.  The right road for one is the wrong road for another….The journey of life is not paved in blacktop; it is not brightly lit, and it has no road signs.  It is a rocky path through the wilderness.

Scott Peck

The Road Less Travelled

 

That narrow road at the cemetery reminded me that if I blindly follow what everyone else does, or travel only the roads that everyone else travels, the result will be more predictable but I will also limit myself to what everyone else saw and did.  If I want to experience something new, then I need to look at life in a different way (perhaps through the wrong end of the telescope) and take the risk of being different.

Why would you try to fit in when you are born to stand out?”
Dr. Seuss

 

 

Those people who are not afraid of looking through the wrong end of the telescope and then share their perspective while projecting humor and compassion are an inspiration to me.  They prove, without a doubt, that we cannot be unique and blend in at the same time, nor should we try to do so.  A beloved comedienne passing and a wrong turn at the cemetery made me realize that it takes courage to stand out but I think it is worth the risk because that space just beyond the boundary line, the line that separates what the world has defined as normal from everything else, is where the adventure begins.       

 

 

Everything Happens For A Reason

I sat by my sister Terri's side for three days and watched her fade away.  Now that she is gone,  there is a void that I am struggling to fill because I have never known a time when she wasn't there in one way or another.

My sister and I had a strained relationship in recent years but I am not going to park my heart in a place of regret.  She was battling her demons and I wasn't always as forgiving as I could have been.   The short version is that neither of us are blameless. I was just grateful that I was able to be with her while she was still coherent because she wasn't always so broken and, for a short time, I saw a glimpse of the sister I used to know. I believe that everything happens for a reason yet I struggled to understand the reason for this. 

For everything there is a season, and a time to every purpose under heaven.

Ecclesiastes 3:1

Grief is a process but I refuse to park my life in a place of pain. Yet, in spite of my determination to move forward I have been struggling. Oddly enough, my first smile revealed itself as my sister Sandie and I sat at the mortuary waiting to finalize arrangements.  As we sat in the waiting room I heard a typewriter.  When I mentioned it to my sister she said "Oh!  Yes, and there is the carriage return."  We got up to peek and saw the office manager using an IBM Selectric. I wondered how they were able to get ribbons for it and my sister wondered why it wasn't in a museum.  It was then, without warning, that I felt a smile form on my face.

My home town hasn't changed much since I left thirty years ago.  This mortuary still uses cassette tapes for music and the newspaper still comes out only once a week. Finalizing the details meant coordinating the schedules of the newspaper obituary, the  judge, the doctor, and the mortician which was complicated by the fact that some key people were going out of town since we were coming up on a holiday weekend.  I was a little annoyed at the delays and inefficiencies but  in the end it is irrelevant. If the memorial is held this weekend or next weekend or even two months later it still would not bring her back. The important thing is that we honor her passing.

While Terri was still coherent, we had spoken with her about the funeral arrangements.   She wanted to be cremated and we suggested that her ashes be buried with family. She liked the idea and said that wanted she to be with my dad.   I was struggling with my own belief that everything happens for a reason until I realized that these delays had forced us to have her memorial on the anniversary of my father's death. The timing was perfect.

 It then  occurred to me that the timing of everything was perfect.  Hospice had called us just in time to be able to talk to my sister and say goodbye while she was still coherent. I was able to be with her when she passed on and I come away from this  with a new perspective on empathy and forgiveness.  I was reminded that being stubborn and unbending is never the best approach because life is short and our legacy lies in the memories we leave behind.

During this time I was reminded of how small gestures can have a huge impact. When I returned to work, I walked into my office and it was filled with flowers and cards.  I stood in shock for several minutes and then I cried off all of my mascara.  A display of large Hershey's Chocolate bars made my eyes moist as I remember the multiple trips to the store with my sister to pick up her favorite chocolate bar.  A simple email from a friend who lost his sister to cancer, sent on the day of my sister's passing, telling me his family is walking in the Light The Night walk.  I made a donation in Terri's name. My granddaughter helped me make pizza dough from scratch, salad, wings, and a salted caramel sundae with chocolate covered strawberries, chocolate covered pretzels and hot salted caramel sauce.  As we stood at the counter covered in pizza dough and melted chocolate, I looked at the mess in my kitchen and realized that the chocolate and flour can be removed with soap and water but, after I am gone, my legacy lies in the memories I create with those I love. 

I am grateful that my final memories of my sister were moments of love. I was reminded to appreciate the small things.  I was reminded  of the value of forgiveness.  I was reminded that life is short and my time is a valuable commodity.   I was reminded to be more discerning about who I make time for because adversity has a way of revealing who our true friends are, who truly cares about us, and who we should invest our time in. I was reminded that  life is not about how we enter this world, or how we leave it, but what counts are the memories we create in between.  As everything began to fall in place, I felt assured that everything does happen for a reason, even if I don't understand it.



Rest in peace dear sister.  You are loved.

Do not stand at my grave and weep

I am not there. I do not sleep.

I am a thousand winds that blow.

I am the diamond glints on snow.

I am the sunlight on ripened grain.

I am the gentle autumn rain.

When you awaken in the morning’s hush

I am the swift uplifting rush

Of quiet birds in circled flight.

I am the soft stars that shine at night.

Do not stand at my grave and cry;

I am not there. I did not die.

 

Mary Elizabeth Frye