Tuesday, September 17, 2013

Good Grief!

Boy, it's been a loooong time since I've posted anything.

Lately, I have been feeling that I need to take time to grieve something in my life.  It's not that my life is not good, maybe even great!  I am doing so many things I dreamed I would do when I became a crone. I'm teaching chair yoga, planning to teach the Chakras again, singing in my choir, trike-ing, gardening, reading (not enough), walking with my walking sticks, doing yoga, going to the Parkinson's Dance Group, attending the PD Support group, seeing clients, seeing friends and family.  I dreamed of becoming a teacher and a sage when I became old, and I do believe I am.  Yet, as I have been meditating, the thought I needed to grieve kept popping into my mind.  I trust those thoughts that come to me while meditating.

I could grieve the fact that I have Parkinson's Disease, which is said to gradually or quickly progress.  So far, I am pretty fortunate in that my symptoms aren't too bad, and I can still do the things I want to do, although I need to be more careful, especially balancing.

I could grieve the fact that I had a very painful foot this summer, which prohibited me from much exercising.  It is much better now, but it may never completely go away.

I need to grieve these things.  But one change in my life seems more sad and scary.

I believe I need to grieve the fact that my dear husband has mild cognitive impairment, and, as it progresses, we will be faced with losses and a need to cope differently.  I fear I could "lose" him.  This is the man who has been by my side for 55+ years.  Who has supported every endeavor I have launched myself into.  This includes returning to school to get my M.A., singing (and rehearsing) in the opera and symphony choruses, participating in 500 hours of Hatha yoga teacher training, my teaching the Yamas and the Niyamas, the Chakras at Yoga North.  Going to India on a pilgrimage this last February.  And so much more!

This is the man who never cared if, or how much, I stuttered--even to the point of making phone calls for me.  This is a man who always believed in our children, no matter how "bad" they were as teens and young adults.  And he was right, they are all lovely and loving people.

But as he searches for words, needs help in understanding complicated issues, perhaps becomes less motivated to go out and "do," forgetting to turn off the lights (a small thing), I find myself becoming impatient at times.  I want to be as loving and supportive as he has been--always.  My impatience comes from fear--fear of losing him; fear of losing our life as we know it;, fear of being more and more on my own (and maybe "failing").

I need to take time to let myself feel these fears and the sadness with compassion, and then open my compassionate and loving heart to him and to life as it is.  This will also help me/us enjoy all of the riches we do have for as long as we have.

Namaste`   We are One

4 comments:

  1. PS: I certainly need to be clear about all of the signs of aging I am experiencing: forgetting and leaving shoes, jackets places, needing time to remember words, going into a room and not knowing what I'm there for (it usually does come to me). One can have dementia with PD; it's hard to know if it's aging or PD, but it's scary too. It's easier to focus on someone else--do you think?

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  2. Oh, Catharine--thank you for writing this. It's a beautiful piece that captures the pain (and the wisdom and joy) of disease and aging. You and L are an inspiration and we are proud to call you friends.
    Carol Person

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  3. It is a beautiful outpouring of love, fear and reality, Catharine, and helps us to realize what happens in aging and the grief along the way. Thanks for sharing do deeply of yourself.

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  4. This is beautiful and transparent and I thank you for posting it. It is so hard not to be afraid. I guess that was the whole point of our India escapades- to face our fears...to surrender them...and yet they still pop up. Sending you a big hug and an even bigger Namaste. You are a great teacher for me. Thank you, Sarah Seidelmann

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