Maybe it's Marlin's passing. Perhaps it's the micro-dosing. I feel anxious about my mom's future and the complexities of making sure I can prioritize her needs and eventually manage her estate for at least the next year or two. It could be the argument with Tommy last night over the garage door closing issues and his dismissive attitude. Or it could be my need to set boundaries around how much work I do to address the Zen center's endless demands.
No matter the root cause, I had a rough night filled with a disturbing awareness of my own limited time. I tossed and turned, unable to sleep, preoccupied with thoughts of how quickly this could all end. Marlin's death occurred less than a month after our last exchange, wherein he merely mentioned not feeling well and suggested that I check in the following week. Maybe he knew then, keeping it close to his chest like the poker player he was. What would I do if I learned I had 4 weeks? 4 months? 4 years? Who would I tell? Who would I not? And how much time would I put into anything besides my affairs and my closest family and friends?
My mom was recently told she'd likely have another year, yet she seems to lack the full awareness I can't shake, being that the year does not mean sunshine and lollipops until the final day when it's just a peaceful fade to black. The 'likely' includes months of decline, pain, anxiety, and a one-way hospitalization without a return ticket other than the one on her toe. Yet, as far as I know, I'm working more on ensuring she's attending to her affairs than she is.
When this first surfaced for her, I was dead set—pun intended—on being intensely present for her throughout this as a shared human experience. I wanted to be engaged, supportive, and loving. I wanted to recognize her as a lifetime of experiences coming to a conclusion and honor that. I've lost sight of that. The routine, the change in her response to treatments, and the extended timeline all play a part. Still, mostly, her seemingly dispassionate approach to the emotional aspects of this final year has made me less inclined to be as fully immersed for now. I'm sure I'll return to that when things get more challenging, as it's simply my nature to do so.
What struck me the most about my thoughts last night was a connection between myself, Marlin, Linda, and my mom. The concept of an independent identity is a delusion. Living beings are inherently connected to others through their encounters, history, interpretations and responses to their environments and influences, which include other living beings. Good or bad, we are all impacted and influenced not just by a momentary exchange of affection or annoyance but by how it resonates or dissipates within us, setting the overall tone of our attitudes and character. Which we then feed back out and into others we encounter, too.
It's crucial to recognize our interconnectedness and impact on each other if we're ever going to evolve beyond the actions we take that cause harm or the position we take of being harmed. That's the key note to strike and hold: A delicate harmony, aligning tone and tempo, playing along and striving to harmonize when so much of our population seems out of tune with one another.
My mom was recently told she'd likely have another year, yet she seems to lack the full awareness I can't shake, being that the year does not mean sunshine and lollipops until the final day when it's just a peaceful fade to black. The 'likely' includes months of decline, pain, anxiety, and a one-way hospitalization without a return ticket other than the one on her toe. Yet, as far as I know, I'm working more on ensuring she's attending to her affairs than she is.
When this first surfaced for her, I was dead set—pun intended—on being intensely present for her throughout this as a shared human experience. I wanted to be engaged, supportive, and loving. I wanted to recognize her as a lifetime of experiences coming to a conclusion and honor that. I've lost sight of that. The routine, the change in her response to treatments, and the extended timeline all play a part. Still, mostly, her seemingly dispassionate approach to the emotional aspects of this final year has made me less inclined to be as fully immersed for now. I'm sure I'll return to that when things get more challenging, as it's simply my nature to do so.
What struck me the most about my thoughts last night was a connection between myself, Marlin, Linda, and my mom. The concept of an independent identity is a delusion. Living beings are inherently connected to others through their encounters, history, interpretations and responses to their environments and influences, which include other living beings. Good or bad, we are all impacted and influenced not just by a momentary exchange of affection or annoyance but by how it resonates or dissipates within us, setting the overall tone of our attitudes and character. Which we then feed back out and into others we encounter, too.
It's crucial to recognize our interconnectedness and impact on each other if we're ever going to evolve beyond the actions we take that cause harm or the position we take of being harmed. That's the key note to strike and hold: A delicate harmony, aligning tone and tempo, playing along and striving to harmonize when so much of our population seems out of tune with one another.