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| Moonrise and Mt. Shuksan |
Yesterday I pondered what I might write about this morning, and for a while I considered writing a post about my son Chris, much like one I wrote a while back about my mother. So many of my loved ones are gone now, and although they still live on in my memories and photographs, thinking about them brings their essence alive again. That's when I realized that it was still painful to think about what to write, when it comes to Chris. He died almost two decades ago, in August 2002, and still I am hesitant when it comes to composing a post that would honor my long-gone child.
It has made me realize that I have a habit of burying unpleasant memories and thoughts that make me feel uncomfortable. Maybe everyone is this way, I don't know, but for me the sense of loss is submerged by everyday life, and it only comes up when I turn my attention in that direction. Mama died in 1993, a decade earlier than Chris, so maybe that's one reason why it's easier to think about her life. Or perhaps it's because it's not natural to lose and have to bury a child. Not that it doesn't happen every single moment of every single day, somewhere in the world we live in.
Coping mechanisms vary. I know several people who have lost a grown child, to accidents or illness or suicide. Some have almost defined their continuing existence by remembering and sharing memories, long afterwards. Others don't talk about it much. But I wonder how many are like me, averting their eyes and changing the subject. I am now in my twilight years, thinking ahead of how to spend the final decade (or two if I'm lucky) of my life. Longevity does not run in my family, and I've already outlived both of my parents. One of my sisters died in 2014, and the remaining siblings are all getting long in the tooth as well.
It's all happened so quickly! I sometimes forget my age, but not often, since age has also brought its share of aches and pains. I don't mind them all that much, but I know that there's not much reason for me to try to remedy them with doctor visits and even surgery, since they are as much a part of ageing as my white hair. And as I wrote last week, the Buddhist Five Remembrances is one way to keep in mind that everything is ephemeral and subject to change. But it isn't very uplifting to think that way; yes we know all that, but is it right to consider only the downside to being alive? That it will all end one day?
I have read many books during my lifetime, and some of them I have read more than once. It's my hope that my eyesight will last as long as the rest of me, since reading enriches my life so much. I'm always looking for another good book to read and appreciate, and since my interests cover the gamut from entertaining nonfiction to escapist novels, much of how I feel on any given day might be linked to the latest book I'm reading. My friend Judy gave me a book by Erik Larson, Thunderstruck, which I'm reading now. I didn't realize it until I began the book that I had already read another by the same author, Isaac's Storm, about the deadliest hurricane in history. He's a good author and is keeping my interest in this latest book, set in the early days of the twentieth century, in London, and it reminds me of how much our world has changed since then.
One of the best ways I've found to cope with difficulty, whether it's with the loss of our loved ones, or of youth, or any other cherished object, is humor. It comes with the territory of growing older, being able to appreciate the humor in just about everything that comes our way as the days and weeks and years pass. My friend John sends me emails filled with humor, and I find that as I laugh heartily at them, I feel ever so much better. Now that I have seen and felt so much of life, I think that I will choose to be a lover of all that makes us laugh. This brings to mind a poem that always makes me smile, written by Lewis Carroll in Alice in Wonderland (just a couple of stanzas here):
"You are old, Father William," the young man said,
"And your hair has become very white;
And yet you incessantly stand on your head—
Do you think, at your age, it is right?"
"In my youth," Father William replied to his son,
"I feared it might injure the brain;
But now that I'm perfectly sure I have none,
Why, I do it again and again."
If you want to read (or remember) the entire poem again, I've linked it here for your enjoyment. That will be what I will share with you to celebrate the beginning of spring in the Northern Hemisphere in 2019.
Now that I've written this post and didn't get all maudlin as I was afraid I might, I'll start the rest of my day. My sweet partner is still sleeping quietly next to me, and my tea is long gone, so it's time to finish. As always, I wish you, my dear readers, a wonderful week ahead, filled with lots of laughter and light. Until we meet again next week.
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