My brother called with a bit of celebratory news moments ago (now a few hours ago). This morning my sister-in-law gave birth to a baby girl that is soon to receive her name, which will be become a part of her and will be known by henceforth. Congratulations to them and blessings all around! While this is the first child from my brother and his wife, I am now an uncle four times over (my sister has three children with one on the way in roughly two months).
Thoughts echo within my head over what life will be for her as she grows into this world I am still learning about myself. How will she use the gifts she’s given? What are gifts in the first place? Are they awards and attributes of an area, such as the privilege of being raised in a state with some of the highest education standards in the nation, access to a theater scene second only per capita in seats to New York City, being present in one of the downright friendliest places, also the most gay friendly city across this country, free wheeling about the number one ranked city for biking, not surprisingly the fittest too, acceptance related to the highest rate of interracial dating, best place to be a hipster (seems to go along merrily with the biking and art scene) and living in a region that has the pinnacle of what an airport should be? No.
That my be all fine and dandy and while they may help shape my niece to a degree, they’re not the focal point rather part of the scenery. Really for me the love and support from family, friends, neighbors and a plethora of other people within the community both near and far contain the seeds of monumental impact; nurturing and encouragement from these same people to dream and experiment throughout the coming journey in life hold another important position for her development. Now, those are some of the umbrella hallmarks I live by, though, I imagine she will too.
I wonder… I wonder what her triumphs and celebrations will be. What of life in the future will she hold dear? As with the three children I am uncle to she will be hugged, tickled, told and read stories, shown around the beauty of plants and all the little creatures inhabiting gardens, laws and forests and exposed to a diverse variety of foods, cultures and peoples. I am certain she will live a blessed life. Makes me smile simply to think of seeing her tonight in the hospital. Budding in anticipation I type these words of hope and love.
On another note, I felt an enormous amount of gratitude in being able to attempt and participate in my friend’s service this past Sunday. A sermon was shared, rather observations in life as I would call it, about moving from victim-hood in our lives to surrendering into grace. Her “gratitude rant”, as she called it, was a way she’s decided to move from worrying about what task on the to-do list needs attention next, how she’s going to finish every errand and still have time to set aside for herself. The politics of the current news cycle, involvement of the USA, other nations and groups of people in armed conflicts and wars, the environmental calamities unfolding by the hands of us humans and natural disasters that each destroy lives, families and communities all take their toll on us. Dwelling on the past and future or what is beyond our control, as we all find ourselves doing from time to time, can be very detrimental in just being in our daily lives.
On any given rant, thanks might go out to having legs to walk on and take her from appointments to places for dancing and expressing her body, sharing a home cooked meal with family and friends, the presence of the here and now in the blazing sunshine and the sultry humidity of the morning that requires a fan, the recognizing of the dozens of swallowtails chirping, flitting and darting this way and that as she spoke and onto her lovely family showing support in the front of the audience. Until, as you’ve read by now, she came to a place that brought about her awareness to the present. And yet, the “gratitude rant” did that in and of itself.
What is the gift that we take away from each and every experience whether “good or bad”? We all have lives that keep us busy, and yes there are errands and to-lists that we’ll have until we leave this body, our loving communities and mother earth behind. Yet, are we not the ones who can set aside time to be quiet and listen, ask questions, pray and be present? How one prepares for and follows through on that is a personal choice only we ourselves can make a commitment to each week, day or even several times a day if that’s your fancy. I confess to not having the answers or knowing what I am doing and/ or how to live life. Yes, there is a ticket in my hand for this journey. We all have one. Where I decide to get that stamped is ultimately up to me. That is the real beauty of all this that is.
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Here’s more space I will set aside for another rambling thought and experience. A few months back I was going over some photos of my mother’s extended family. Photographs of great-great-grandparents, aunts and uncles filled in gaps in my visual memory of past ancestors I never knew. There were wedding celebrations, casual gathers with packed baskets of food along a lakeside, family reunions with everyone standing still as granite, my great-grandmother with her lifelong good friend in her thick rimmed glasses that were always perched upon her nose and blurry expressions and nary a smiling face throughout them all for the camera and film processes of the day dictated longer waits for a finished product that now takes but a millisecond to view on a digital camera.
Then came later photographs of my grandpa in his full-body wool swimwear as a wee lad, great-grandfather’s smile that my mom states never seemed to stray from his handsome face and faux tortoise shell rimmed glasses, grandmother parading around in her chic, and what I imagine are colorful if not in black and white celluloid, dresses and long, elegant coats back in the late 40′s and 50′s and finally a few snapshots here and there of my mother, aunts and uncles towards the end of the pile of photographs my uncle had compiled and sent off to all of his siblings. Yes, I come from a family of photographers. These little treats tantalized the taste buds of my eyes, as did the descriptions and stories flowing from my mom’s lips into my eager and hungry ears.
I thought about how my life would be viewed upon by my descendants. What would they be told? How would my life be revealed to friends and family? Would they know why I was in China, how I came to the profession I excelled in or the other multiple facets of my life? A glimpse. That is what they will come away with. As in a eulogy, they may speak to some of these attributes: my genuine and caring nature, gentleness, my passion for all living things (maybe veganism will not be as rare as it is now at less than 0.001% of the USA population), of course my random knowledge of the world and devotion to family and friends. Or, maybe my smile in the photograph, the telephone game could change all of that in time. My life could be “cut short” in the near or not too distant future.
The last post here was about remembering the loss of one of my very dear friends a year and a half ago. Only in her thirties and she was whisked away by cancer from her son, family and friends. She lived the life and journey that she was destined to. Denial and anger merged into sadness that I felt and breathed. Tears turned to acceptance and a quick realization that pain would not engulf her body any longer. I came to terms with that and surrender to the beloved for the mystery of the coming and going of our bodies.
Another friend passed on. Though, this one was 83. I knew her since I was up to my current bellybutton in height. A smiling hello, cookies and her fluffy, shy dog stick in the forefront of my memories.
A second-cousin of mine, in his mid-twenties, dropped to the ground while hiking alone along a section of the Appalachian Trail two and a half years ago. Why did his heart give out? Why? I don’t know. All I can sit with is he was out in nature, one of his favorite places. As kids we camped together and played all sorts of games into the dark of night. Watched the fire flies, then the stars emerge before our eyelids fell and a deep slumber that can only be found in nature surrounded us.
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Radiation. That miracle of medical science saves a life each day and causes many more a suffering that the majority of us cannot begin to imagine. For my grandfather, the atoms bombarding a growth in his abdomen are far from merely draining, they’re causing him all the numerous side effects. A list of such found in a television prescription drug commercial give you all the ideas you need to create a picture. My little sister and I will be giving my grandmother a break from the four to five day a week run to the hospital in order to keep up with his scheduled appointments. She’s proud and never asks for help. I was unaware as to the lengthy visits and pain he was in. Some of my family has the idea that keeping information from certain people is best for them and one should suffer alone until the breaking point is banging at the front door.
Back in mid-April I flew to Florida with the intent of helping my family in monitoring my grandfather in the wee hours of the night and morning. Midnight until six or seven in the morning is a stretch of a schedule to follow for a week straight. Here and there I would bite my tongue to stay awake as my grandfather slept soundly. Other nights I had all I could do to keep him from going it alone without his walker to the bathroom. Once in a while he would make his way to the kitchen… I shutter at the thought of the reality I endured, the pain of standing physically in his path to block him from finding something to eat. Because of failing his swallow test he could not drink, let alone eat anything by mouth. Doing so would put him on a deathbed suffering from pneumonia in the process. On one occasion his walker cut into my side as I created a wall in his path toward a treasured bite of food he had hoped, yearned for.
Writing that in my journal the same day, I cried for all that was around me. How I felt helpless in doing anything for him except denying access to x, y and z. His thirst and hunger for something, anything to be on his teeth and savored on the tongue, would be one of the most frustrating things I can personally comprehend. A feeding tube was and continues to be his only source of sustenance. Short-term memory fades for my grandfather on any given day or night. A look of confusion glosses over his eyes and wipes clean his face. Help is spelled out over his face as he searches a mind of vagueness for what he was about to do next. ”Oh right, go to the bathroom,” he might say. Other times, nothing came out and I would gently ask him if he needed help and then direct him back to bed or a comfortable chair.
My skills at switching from the topic of the hour, food a 24/7 obsession, could become legendary. I brought up his life stories to be retold, also hoping to jog his memory around the block and keep those stories there for him, too. Early on he was going to be traded to the Cardinals as a catcher had it not been for WWII, though he still made it into the hall of fame because of his extraordinary record in the minor league. Shortly thereafter tours of duty on boats took him crisscrossing the oceans of the world, and he told of his morals being tested and holding a gun. Once he did have to carry it on his person, hand on holster, and that was when in New York City escorting a crew of fellow servicemen with their wages in tow, which he would distribute as the bookkeeper. We assumed roles that I never dreamt of as a child. One where I was caring for him, assisting with a moment or helping decipher his slurred speech. A great appreciation of time spent in his presence and patience was on my mind during that week. If fact, that’s still with me.
There’s one coming into this world of light and another’s exiting into a world of a different light. There has been and will always be this coming and going of us. Death and birth are ever present. They are sacred and real. An ongoing journey for us.
The gifts of my life are utterly apparent. If I ranted on my gratitude for weeks straight I could scarcely cover the basics of what I hold dear and thanks for in my life. Basics. Life is why I’m here. To feel all spectrum of emotion, to make all variety of choices and stick to those choices. I believe in love, I believe in a creator that holds love for all of us. We’re in this together. New ways of seeing love and experiencing the mystery of it all before me is my path and I’m most thankful for that.
