It happens to me periodically – I misplace something that’s important and begin the search. All the obvious places are checked first and eventually, I tackle ‘the red bin’ – armed with disposable gloves, I pick through each bag of kitchen garbage. I feel slightly silly.
I can’t recall the items I’ve lost and then found, only the ones that have never turned up. One was the remote control for the garage door, something I’ve always kept a close check on and can’t imagine how it was lost. After a service call and $150, I had a replacement and was glad to put the experience behind me. I’ve never found anything in the kitchen garbage!
My ageing life is marked by losses. In the past year, I’ve lost my life companion whose wise counsel meant far more to me than I had believed. Then my brother, the head of our family after our parents died, who had always been there for us. And friends – who suffer the toll taken by sudden death, illness which savages beautiful minds, personalities or bodies, and the natural fluctuation within relationships that leads them to run their course and sometimes expire.
All leave gaping holes in my life, although with friendships there’s fluidity. As some slide back, others move to the fore. Proximity is the key. It becomes even harder to maintain friendships over a distance and while some survive well because they’ve always been like that, others quietly fade.
A more subtle loss is my patience. Is there a part of me that thinks I don’t have time to pussyfoot around? Forthrightness can sometimes get me into trouble, and it is not always easy to make amends.
I have also lost words, my ability to type, the padding on one’s hands that saves them looking like bony skeletons, and increasingly my muscle strength and my mobility. On the positive side, I’ve lost my fear. Fear of falling or having an accident and lying helpless and undiscovered for hours; fear of confronting the possibility of a nursing home; fear of being severed from my independence and everyone who supports me in that life. I’ve taken steps to address every remaining safety issue in my home; I’ve also taken to heart a friend’s reminder from Franklin D Roosevelt that we have nothing to fear except fear itself. Perhaps my mind has decided that feeling afraid is not worth the effort.
The flipside of losing my fear is finding confidence. Recently, for the first time in four years, I embarked on a road trip with my daughter to visit my extended family in the small town of Bingara in the north-west of NSW. On the way, we planned to see the columbarium wall in the Manilla cemetery where Ken’s ashes have been interred. It was a near 7-hour drive there and back: we stayed two nights. My fear of becoming incapacitated by stiffness and of negotiating a house without disabled modifications had kept me away from my brother’s funeral. But on this trip, with some practical adaptations and the loving care of my daughter and sister, I managed well. In the clear light of day, my fears shrivelled to nothing.
It may be the effect of grief, or simply ageing, but I’m gradually letting go of my high expectations of myself and often, of others. The desire to fill my day with achievements large and small has slid off my shoulders like a coat I no longer need. Paradoxically, these changes have given me not just more emotional energy, but also more time to re-invest in other aspects of my life.
I’ve had losses and I’ve not recovered or replaced them. I know new ones will continue to manifest in the years ahead. But as I turn them over like stones worn smooth with the waters of time and age, I see that they have found their place in the river of my life. Gleaming, they are an indistinguishable part of the whole, rich mosaic of the natural world and of our humanity.
Image courtesy Stocksnap, Pixabay
16 Responses
This blog is so poignant to read…yes we have so many losses as we age…and I am not always graceful or gracious about it about it I must say…but I need to constantly remind myself that there is always balance! We hopefully gain an emotional maturity and see the joy in the small things that we would have once taken for granted (like a trip in a car). Of course some days are just plain horrible!
I see from the moment we are born, we begin a journey of loss…leaving the spirit world, leaving the mothers womb, leaving home when we start school…losing teeth…or body parts or hair or health or independence. Gosh this Earth journey seems to be all about resilience and letting go. My hat off to you Ruth for having let go of so much fear…a great big balancer to the loss of all the other things.
Much love as always, L xx
Leonie, thank you for expanding on the journey of loss in our lives. So true. When I read your comment about taking things for granted like a trip in the car, I smiled and thought of the thousands of kilometres you notch up every week doing your funeral celebrant work. Just as well you are strong and resilient – and a good driver!
What an impressive post. Losing fear and finding confidence. I’m envious. I was particularly interested in your observation that letting go of high expectations of yourself and others has resulted in more emotional energy and more time to re-invest in other aspects of your life. I encourage you to share your experiences on how this unfolds in future posts.
Thank you David for your positive feedback. I’m beginning to feel that my ability to write might be another loss not too far off. Thank you also for the Roosevelt comment – as you see, it made an impact on me.
I understand what you mean about loss, Ruth. Especially since my younger brother Nick died a year ago, and now cousin Carol, and friends, I am feeling that. You must have regretted that you were not able to attend your brother’s funeral. But I am glad you were able to make the car trip with the help of Vinodini and your sister. Lowering your expectations of yourself and others may help after a lifetime of high achievement.
Thank you Sue – it doesn’t take long for the gaps/holes to add up does it – a bit shocking really, when one stops to count. Take care.
“In the clear light of day, my fears shrivelled to nothing.” So true , Ruth. With interrupted sleep, my molehills become mountains in the dark.
Your expression of how fears are trickling away is encouraging. Thank you.
Unfortunately, the years behind us are more than those in front of us. On the way, we are passing through increasing losses, the age of loss my mother used to say. I try to pick out the happy memories of what was. Your expression of these not always sweet or easy passages is greatly supportive.
Thank you, Ruth for lighting the dark.
Thank you, Cecile. It’s interesting isn’t it how in later life, we draw on what our mothers used to say?
Your observation that the years behind us are more than those in front of us, is sobering. Making them good quality is our mission – and you do so much to this end. How I wish I had even a few of your cooking skills!
Beautifully written as always!!!! Plenty to think about. Letting go of expectations of others is a big one and I hope it’s one I’ve managed. But I have to keep reminding myself it’s a wasted emotion as it’s the expectation we can’t control!
Thank you Merv. Accepting that one/I cannot always control everything in the universe is a really big one. However, just owning up to it is enough to make me smile. I think you are doing pretty well.
I read your writings Ruth and then think I’ll let them sit with me for a while before I add a comment . Unfortunately , mostly, I do not return and respond .It could be because life gets in the way or that I don’t have the words to really tell you how profound an effect your sharing your thoughts have on me . I know it’s the latter. I just want to let you know how valuable your sharing is … and if your hands make it difficult to keep doing this maybe there is a “shiny thing “ that could assist. Your words are important ! Love Always , Glenda ❤️
Dear Glenda thank you, you have given me more than enough already. Much more.
I’m not the only writer to use the Thesaurus to advantage, and now I also dictate which is much easier on the hands than typing. However, my brain needs to make sure I edit it because the genie in the machine thinks it knows better than me!
This post is potent. You are in such clear recognition of current turnings. From clear water you reveal them to us, stones dropped in the current, then held again, to share with us.
I have been pondering water metaphors myself lately, the need to let go of expectations when I’m travelling and visiting my beloveds. I did a drawing of a small running creek at Willow Tree, when we were there for the funeral, just sitting listening to its gentle message…
Just flow.
I also love your metaphor of the coat sliding off your shoulders. That coat of what one ‘should’ achieve in a day. I sometimes call my shoulders my should-ers. So as I sit here on the train to Sydney, the beginning of my journey home to Mpartwe/Alice Springs you have reminded me to let my shoulders fall…
Thank you Ruth once again.
Much love to you.
Dear Deb, thank you so much for your words, chosen with such care and empathy. Thinking of shoulders as should-ers: I recall how my shoulders actually look (even more) slumped when I feel burdened, as if there is a real physical weight on them. After all your travels, being home will be balm for the soul.
What a lovely essay Ruth. I am glad you are no longer fearful.
Debbie
Thank you, Debbie. I’m emailing you about catching up soon.