Reflections on life, death, the universe, and giving advice to my mother
Remember, when life blows, there's Fukitol to make it all go away
All the world is made of faith, and trust, and pixie dust.
J.M. Barrie, Peter Pan
As the week moves into fourth gear here in the Rose City, the fog is beginning to lift, yielding to a sun that looks like it might be making more than a cameo appearance. This time of year, those of us who live in the Pacific Northwest learn to value sunshine because it’s often in short supply. When it does come, it feels like an ex- you’re not quite over, revealing itself enough to remind you how much you miss her but not enough to reacquaint yourself. You can see and smell her, but you can’t run your hands along the small of her naked back. It’s an unrequited love that feels as if it will remain so forever.
Or at least until…what, May?? For now, though, I’m left to remember how good a little taste of sunshine feels. Hope abides. Possibilities reveal themselves. My energy returns. I can sit at my laptop and drink tea without feeling the need for a nap creeping up on me. Of course, it will be dark by 5 pm; within 30 minutes, it will feel like midnight, and I’ll be close to falling asleep on the couch.
Welcome to November in Portland, eh?
Magnus lays on the edge of the living room couch, bathed in golden rays, looking far younger than his 11 years. From his perch, he surveys the world, his bark warning me of other dogs nearby. I’ve come to recognize his array of barks; the differences are subtle, but the cadences and noises let me know what (or who) he believes to be the perceived threat.
He has one bark for random strangers, another for people he knows, and another for Amazon, UPS, FedEx, and other delivery people. But he saves his most “ferocious” bark for anyone wearing the uniform of the US Postal Service. Something about that uniform drives him homicidal; he barks loudly, snarls, and scrapes at the door like a mad dog.
Of course, were I to open the door, he’d run up to the postal person wagging his tail and looking for treat. Magnus is a 22-lb. Chiweenie and barely a threat to himself, much less anyone else.
One of the things I love about Magnus is that he reminds me of how fortunate I am to be where I am in life. As I’m writing this, the picture below is what I’m seeing:
Our two cats, Fred and Sjón, are around somewhere, but they’ve probably found their own patches of sunshine and probably couldn’t give a shit about what I’m up to.
I’m sitting at our dining room table with MSNBC turned up on the TV in our breakfast nook so I can listen to the news as I’m writing, and the sunshine has me in a wistful state of mind. Life is good, and not just because it beats the alternative.
It would be easy to feel sorry for myself. I have two family members on hospice, which is emotionally challenging but there are those in the family who are being hit even harder. One family member has late-stage dementia and is close to passing, the other has colon cancer and is determined to live the time she has left instead of being concerned with when she’ll die. One of the things she’s taught me (and which I plan on having memorialized in a tattoo) is a very simple saying- “Don’t let fear of tomorrow ruin the joy of today.”
Think about those ten words for a moment. And then consider how often we concern ourselves with things to come instead of living in the moment. We forget to LIVE. Instead, we worry. I’m being taught not to do that by someone I care deeply for; I wish it didn’t take her having a terminal disease for me to learn that lesson.
We will all die. We know that to a certainty. If we were born, we will also die. If A, then B. It’s what happens between points A and B that determines the quality of our life. The two family members I’m about to lose have led lives filled with love, integrity, honesty, and faith. I may not share their faith, but I love them as they have loved me. I feel privileged to say that they’re part of my life, and I’ve learned a great deal from them.
Yes, they’re going to die, and much sooner than we’d like…but that’s the cycle of life. We don’t get to choose when or how things happen when our time to go arrives. All I know is that I’ll cherish the memories of both of them with love and gratitude.
And I will do my level best to ensure that, no matter what, my joy of today isn’t erased by my fear of tomorrow.
And then there was this email I received a couple of days ago:
Hi Jack Cluth,
This email address has a legacy Blogger account associated with it that hasn’t logged in since 2007. In 60 days it will lose access to the account and associated content; the data will be permanently deleted unless migrated to the Google Account system at Legacy migration page.
There are no associated blogs with this account.
The Blogger team
Google Ireland Ltd, Gordon House, Barrow Street, Dublin 4, Ireland
You have received this mandatory email service announcement to update you about important changes to your Blogger product or account.
Hmm…if I haven’t logged into my Blogger account (something I barely remember) since 2007, shouldn’t we assume that I no longer have a use for it?
If I haven’t tried to access it in 16 years (and would I even remember my logon name or password?), would I have missed it if it had disappeared without my knowledge?
And why am I hearing from Google Ireland?
Wait…Blogger still exists? Should I be expecting emails from AOL and MySpace next??
Anyway, before I go, there is one story I want to relay that falls under the “I Can’t Believe I’m Doing This” heading. When Erin and I were back in Minnesota last month visiting my family, I had a long heart-to-heart talk with my mother.
In most cases, you’d think that something like this would mean me getting lectured or seeking advise from my mother. After all, that’s the role of a parent, right? Older, wiser, seen more, done more, been there, done that, has wisdom to pass along to offspring; that’s usually how it’s supposed to work.
Or so I thought.
Except that in this case, it was quite the opposite- I was the one giving advice to my 82-year-old mother.
Long story short, she’d been feeling sorry for herself (understandable given her age and circumstances, I suppose), and it had been coming across in her interactions with other people. She can be crabby, which when you’re 82 and everything hurts is understandable. But no one understands, or cares, what your problems are when you lash out at others. All they see is a crabby old lady that no one likes or wants to be around.
Since my Dad died three-and-a-half years ago, she’s been by herself, and her social skills, never one of her strong suits under the best of circumstances, have degraded. So, yeah- and she’ll freely admit this- Mom likes her cat more than she likes people.
I can’t say I blame her.
We sat at her kitchen table, I held her hand, and we talked about gratitude for and hour and a half. I suggested that she start each day by being grateful that when she wakes up she can see her toes, because it means she’s still on the right side of the dirt.
Then, be grateful for all the people who help her get through her days- the people who do her grocery shopping, drive her to her medical appointments, shovel her driveway…it’s a long list.
Finally, smile and say “Thank you.” That will go a long way. People who help others don’t expect much in return, but a smile and a sincere “thank you” can make someone feel appreciated. She doesn’t have to get up from her rocker, or move, or do anything. Just a smile and a “thank you” can let people know how much you appreciate them and their efforts on your behalf.
The best part of our conversation is that I think Mom heard me. She told me that she’d make an effort to be aware of how she acts around others and that she’d try to smile more and be more grateful.
When we talk on the phone now, I can hear the smile in her voice. I don’t know if that carries over to how she interacts with others, but I hope it does.
But I still can’t believe that I was the one offering advice to my mother. My, how the tables have turned, eh?
All I have to do now is remember to take my own advice.
Now I find myself more conscious of modeling gratitude and humor, and I’ve begun to pay attention to how people around me react. I’m learning that it really does make a difference. People love to laugh and they love to have a reason to smile, and it doesn’t take much for me to elicit one or both from people I come into contact with.
I hope that when I’m dragged out of here feet-first people will remember me as someone who always had a smile on his face and made people laugh. I can’t think of anything better.
If I can leave y’all with any piece of advice for having made it this far, it’s this:
Smile. Be nice. Make people laugh. It’s hard to be angry when you’re laughing.
And remember not to let fear of tomorrow rob you of the job of today.
You’re welcome.
Now go get yourself a cup of coffee and some cookies. You deserve it.
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