Saturday, November 14, 2015

Refraction

My generation is experiencing loss.  We are mostly at the midpoint of a centenarian life; I like to think we'll live another healthy 50 years if we want.  Unfortunately, that means our parents and other family members are growing older too, passing away in greater numbers as life's cycle continues.

Watching my dear friends go through this in 2015 has been heartrending.  The roller coaster of illness, hospitalizations, disability, relocation and for some, death foretells a future that I don't want to consider for my own family and yet, I know it must come to pass.

Writing helps me process what I see and feel when confronted with these painful passages.  Because I've been an onlooker rather than a participant, I've observed a commonality between the ill/dying loved ones and their grief stricken family members.  Each exists in an emotional/physical fog as they struggle to find a safe path through this passage.

I'm imagining the intimate connection of how two loved ones must say goodbye.  Each is on their own journey...one processing their own demise, one processing the demise of their loved one.  Regardless of who is around to support them, no one but themselves can walk the path and understand the passage.

They are each other's light passing through a fog, a refraction of love and a reflection of life and death.

refraction:  the fact or phenomenon of light, radio waves, etc., being deflected in passing obliquely through the interface between one medium and another or through a medium of varying density 
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REFRACTION


I sit alone
A chair of hard wood and straight back
I sit alone
Time rushing, unchecked
Others see life, a purpose not lost,
Harder for me, adrift more than most

I gaze alone
A cavern of dark thoughts and cold moments
I gaze alone
Thoughts seizing, now frozen
Others feel warmth, flames newly lit
Harder for me, scared I still sit

I rise alone
A rock of limestone and sand
I rise alone
Legs trembling, knees stiff
Others walk forward, time still unspent
Harder for me, not knowing my strength

I step alone
A foot dropped in great pain
I step alone
Heart broken, life stained
Others flee sadness, but it fills me whole
Harder for me, chasing dreams then my soul

I float alone
A welcome thick fog
I float alone
Grief stricken, but calm
Others call to me, beloved on each side
Harder for me, I’m saying goodbye



Thursday, November 12, 2015

When I Can't Tell You So

It's very difficult to hold back unsolicited advice to others dealing with the mentally ill.  In the past, while coping with individuals whose minds took vacations from reality, I experienced great pain.  Trying to have patience, empathy, and understanding while being subjected to their radical thoughts tested my limits of forgiveness.  Giving up, I stepped away to preserve my own peace and health.

 Letting someone go who exists physically but has disappeared mentally is a grief filled undertaking.  Moments of connection cause hope but without medical intervention, it's a lost cause.  No one can truly come back without help.  But getting help means giving up control and I've come to accept that the need for control is all that the sick can rely on.  If they control their environment and those who step in and out of their circle, they're able to convince themselves that sickness isn't within them.

Watching others encounter ill family or friends for the first time is equally frustrating.  No matter our experience, our advice is useless because hope springs eternal for those newly exposed...exposed to seeing their loved ones drift away or create havoc within the relationship.

That moment of "I told you so" will never pass from my lips as I watch the destruction take place for others.  Sadness instead as we see them struggle to comprehend their loved one's unhealthy mind and realizing that helping our friends manage their pain is more important than understanding another's madness.


Tuesday, November 10, 2015

What We Permit, We Promote

It's the simplest of sayings and the hardest of truths.  Our courage is challenged daily by its premise.  When do we step in to protest, initiate action against injustice, or state our opinion loudly?

I was reared in the submissive culture of passive aggression.  Unruly discontent was frowned upon; many in my Appalachian/Southern society learned to be disagreeable without being insufferable.  In other words, if we chose to stab you in the back, we did so with a butter knife to extend the misery...much more polite that way....

The desire to keep confrontation neat and civilized, maintaining our courteous Southern facades has always smacked me as hypocritical.  Why can't we be passionate and messy when we disagree?  And yet, it is hard to break free of one's upbringing.  I pride myself on being independent and equally castigate myself for not being more blunt when I observe appalling behavior or hear inane comments.  Pride goeth before the fall....

All those ignorant or inappropriate social media posts?  I don't always comment; people dig their own holes and I let them.  But I don't hide others' messiness from myself by unfriending or deleting them.  It's good to know where folks stand on issues and to see their how their psyches are incompatible with mine.  Plus my inner psychoanalyst knows it props up my own self esteem.  We humans are insufferably egotistical.

Enemies.  Frenemies.  We have them regardless of our good intentions to keep the peace.  And so then I look at the saying and ponder:

What we permit, we promote...

Is it enough to sit behind a keyboard expressing opinions?  Do my protestations fall on deaf ears during friendly debates as I encounter fixed thinkers versus fluid thinkers like myself?  And in today's hyper cyber society, does it matter?  The news cycle is so frenetic that absorption seems impossible.  We move from tragedy to ecstasy, entertained in a hamster ball mentality that moves quickly without getting anywhere.

Philosophy versus reality tends to be my motivator.  If an actual outcome can be altered by my oft unwelcome comments, then I open my mouth or tap my fingers to cry out an opinion.  But I'm learning to stay quiet upon hearing a philosophical rant from someone who never alters their view.  Their need to reinforce themselves doesn't translate into wasting my breath or usage of my gray matter if they're not open to hearing other ideas.

What we ponder then, can we eventually solve?
Perhaps.