I know a woman and her husband who are helping me find joy by facing the painful.
I encountered a 96-year-old, WW2 combat veteran who was slowly and diligently walking his way up the handicapped ramp into the dry cleaner as I was walking out. My random act of kindness was to stop and to listen to his story (which he initiated when he saw me), and I thanked him for his service. I wish he had more time to talk as it was an interesting story and I had questions, but apparently 96-year-old, WW2 combat veterans have better things to do than stand around all day jawing with a young whipper snapper. My loss. Funny how that worked out.
Even though I was “fucking just there, damn it!” and haven’t had a chance to re-ground myself, circumstances are such that I need to visit the close-relative-with-Alzheimer’s disease again to help quiet trouble waters and find a course through the hidden rocks and sandbars. I fear I am a slightly impaired river pilot, but the trip cannot wait and, even perhaps not at my best, I will do a good job.
So I again find myself hurtling through space in a narrow tube full of strangers, listening to the surreal dialogue which my brain assembles from out-of-context snippets of overheard conversation against the backdrop of the ocean-like roar that assures us the engines are still correctly hurtling us through space. I am ignoring a briefcase “stowed completely under the seat in front of me” full of pressing responsibilities from one world while I transition to another world also full of pressing responsibilities but of a kind quite alien to the world I leave behind.
The transition between these two worlds happens on this plane, and this plane is a sanctuary between these worlds. One of the reasons that I love to fly is because it is a space between these worlds. There is nothing I can do that will have much impact on either world while hurtling through space in this narrow tube filled with strangers. Sometimes these transitions feel as simple as changing out of one set of clothes and into an another. Sometimes these transitions are clunky and awkward. Sometimes, like running a gauntlet, battered back and forth. Sometimes, even while packed closely to many other Humans, that space between worlds feels empty and alone and lonely. This is one of those transitions.
There is nothing special about my experience, but I will say it out loud anyway. Being in the moment when that moment is exciting and fun is a super fun and exciting way to be in the world. Be Here Now when accompanied by puppies, kittens, holding a small child close to you, hugs, gently brushing your hand across the back of someone you love as you walk past them in the kitchen, knowing you just nailed that big presentation with that momentary awareness of just how talented you are, and balloons, and perhaps even some chocolate…….yes, please. Thumbs up for such Be Here Now. Being in the moment when the moment has a pronounced absence of such things is a Be Here Now I would rather avoid. Seems reasonable, right? Right! But I fucked up. I became so good at avoiding those yucky moments that I ended up avoiding all moments. I learned that avoidance in my childhood and mastered it in my teens, and I have been working to undo that learning. Ever. Since. At varying paces, I have made progress. Several years back, a personal crisis and much time spent with a talented professional accelerated that pace. The demands of daily Random Acts of Kindness have propelled the work of challenging that avoidance forward like a roller coaster. Everybody, hands in the air! Wheeeeee!!!
Back to being aware and mindful of that empty, alone, lonely space between worlds while hurtling through space in this narrow tube filled with strangers. It is not an empty, alone, lonely space because of being alone. As we have established, I am hilarious and fascinating, occasionally have deep thoughts, am curious about the world (and “nice,” let’s not forget that), so have no trouble entertaining myself. The turbulent empty, alone, lonely space I encounter traversing between worlds (maybe you find it other places?) is a byproduct of digging into and stripping away so many of the strategies used to protect and hid from the uncomfortable of the Now and from the uncomfortable of the Past and the ways that Past touches the Now. If we do that digging and stripping, we are increasingly left facing a core that has been peeled down to just You and tough questions about living up to your responsibility to You, and an ocean of emotion to ponder and float within. Like in a mystery movie where the heroine takes out her rock hammer, chips at the wall, and a huge piece falls away revealing a massive cavern behind the wall filled with empty. Everything, and nothing special.
The pressing nature of this trip has shown a bright light on a number of aspects of this trip. The characters involved have been placed into greater relief and their roles, which used to fall along a balanced continuum, are now easily thought of in terms of the good guys and the bad guys (I am obviously one of the good guys, duh.). Nothing has really changed and none of that is true. Perhaps most valuable for me (and because I share my brilliant insights with you, you by extension (an eye roll would not be an unreasonable response)) is the harsh light shown on the dynamics I bring to this situation.
In this space between worlds, I am asking: Why am I on this plane? Why was I on the one before that? And the one before that and that and that? Why have I answered all the painful, distraught phone calls, providing support and comfort and reassurance and crisis interventions that go back across years? Why all the many things, big and small, I have done to help this family member across a huge portion of her life? Of course, I have helped many people and the reasons why I help many people and especially this close-relative-with-Alzheimer’s disease are complicated. But in this space between worlds where I strive to Be Right Now, I find an important piece of the answer. A piece that is embarrassing and exquisitely painful both for me to experience and for me to admit to you. And here it is:
I want to be the favorite. Pick me! Pick me!! Even as she slips away into dementia, I hold on to the desperate pursuit of being her favorite, of being someone special, of being worthy of love without strings. I have become keenly aware of a lifetime of trying to win this prize, though I never knew it was a prize I was always trying to grasp & hold, and always felt like alluded me. I avoided the feared implications that I wasn’t good enough to win the prize, so avoided even awareness I was chasing the prize while so desperately wanting to win. There was a sense of striving and not getting that….something, but I never put words to the process or prize. I obviously wasn’t doing the process right, and, although I couldn’t figure out what “right” was, I kept trying. In the end I see it was a prize that couldn’t be won, because this relative didn’t have it to bestow.
And yet here I am, on a plane, still trying to win, even as I fully know it is too late and fully know there never was a chance to win because there was no prize. Had there ever been a prize to give (which there wasn’t), all hope of earning even a runner-up prize is lost beneath the waves of dementia. Previously it was buried in a fear of the world that so closed her off from the Here and Now, that made her unable to be emotionally vulnerable to withstand even the gentlest winds, so little love for her to give to her own damaged self that she had none left to share with anyone else. A good human, a kind human, a human who wanted to be something she was not. She is not at fault for the damage done to her. She is not at fault for the lack of prizes she might have given others.
There is no prize, as much as I achingly wish there was. How painful (Fuck!) and wonderful to know this. I am sure I will slip on this trip & beyond and find myself trying to win, and I also hope I can set aside wanting to win a prize from her. And I think there is still much to be won (Damn Hippies). It takes the form of trying to allow myself to be Me, and trying to live up to the responsibility I have for the Me I have found under all those layers (What? There are more layers? Jesus H). So I grieve & cry for the loss, and I travel to problem solve, to give of myself, to nurture, to quiet fears, to be present for sadness and rage offered to me because no one else will take them, to love someone I have known for a long time, even though this Human has no prizes to offer in return.
