Working On Doing The Work
Mr. J and his therapist have been working together through the undetermined death sentence he has. Could be two years. Could be ten. Without exposing Mr. J’s business, suffice it to say the two of them have settled on a method of dealing with the uncertainty. I, too, have been working on regulating my emotions to wrap around the uncertainty and the grief. Below are some strategies I am employing, and a bit more about Mr. J, who I absolutely adore with every cell in my body.
I’m Adding a Mantra to Help Relieve My Stress
In addition to my beditation, I am adding a breathing mantra before I get out of bed. I also use it throughout the day. I breathe in to “I am content.” I breathe out to “I am grateful.” In and out. In and out. It is true that each day brings us closer to death. However, I strive not to focus on the whole death thing (well, most of the time). I am choosing to focus on our journey together. Each and every day. How lucky am I?
Focusing on What I Can Control
This spring, Mr. J and I watched the NCAA Playoffs. I have 25 years of memories of watching the Sweet Sixteen, the Elite Eight, the Final Four, and the National Championship with Mr. J, curled up on the couch. With a smorgasbord of various cheeses, meats, fruits, and nuts. Also olives. Olives stuffed with blue cheese, or garlic, or almonds. We are people who love to snack. This year it is bittersweet. Will he be here next year? Will he remember basketball next year? I am working on focusing on what I can control.
Remember When
The thing about knowing you are losing your person is that you cherish things more. Connect more. Remember more. Recently, while watching a cooking show, a contestant grabbed pig ears for the centerpiece of his appetizer round. “Remember when we ordered pig's ears?” I ask. And Mr. J and I both recall that time in Charlston, where we enjoyed pig’s ears (among other things), at a very pricy lunch at Husk. I heard a Jack White song and said, “Suddenly I am transported to San Diego,” “Driving North,” Mr. J nodded. “To San Clemente.” I make a note to remember this when he dies. The way we can read each other’s minds. The way we have a quarter of a century of memories together.
Meat Folding
Mr. J and I share a very twisted sense of humor. Things make us laugh that other people don’t find nearly as funny as we do. We laugh a lot. In fact, Mr. J makes me laugh every. danm. day. (Again, how lucky am I?)
Mr. J was reading a Facebook post to me. “You can take a charcuterie class at this bar,” he said. “I saw that, but it costs $80!” I replied. “Well,” he said, “it offers tips and tricks, cheese-slicing techniques, food pairings, and meat folding.” “Meat folding!” I exclaimed. “I was just going to say that!” he responded. “Remember when,” I say to myself, making a note to add “meat folding” to my long list of things we have laughed at over the years. I’m laughing about it right now.
There are Purple Crocuses In My Yard
The other day, as I was walking from my car to my front door, I noticed purple crocuses growing in my front yard. Some are where I planted them, and some are where the squirrels planted them after they dug them up. Seemingly spontaneous splashes of purple sprinkled about my yard, a sure sign of spring.
I planted those crocus bulbs years ago. Maybe almost 20 years ago. I have loved my years of spotting the crocuses, the first sign of spring here. This year, it occurred to me that this may be the last year that Mr. J can enjoy the crocuses. Or not. With his diagnosis, it’s hard to tell.
I am learning, slowly, to live “in the upside down.” Uncertainty and grief are two of my constant companions. But I am learning to push them into the background. I breathe in, “I am content.” I breathe out, “I am grateful,” to remind myself that right here, right now, I am content. I choose to be grateful. I continue to remind myself to focus on “now.” Not next spring, not even this summer. “Now.”
“Now” Has Its Own Benefits
The thing about “now” is that there is joy to be had. From the bloom of the crocuses (Mr. J would insist on “croci” if he was reading over my shoulder), from the bloom of the croci, to the laughter from Mr. J, to the savory taste of brown butter and sage, “now” has many benefits. “But he’s going to die,” my brain argues. “Not today!” my brain responds. “Now,” I tell myself. “Right now.”
Things I am Grateful For
Right now, I am grateful for our beloved first dog, who loves Mr. J fiercely. She brings us both such joy, but Mr. J more than me. I am grateful for pasta for dinner. I am grateful for the Monday night TV programming, that both Mr. J and I geek out on. I am, for that matter, grateful that Mr. J and I share the same political bent, and the same desire to watch political shows that support our views (I know, I know). I am grateful that Mr. J remembered to take both his morning meds and his afternoon meds today.
How Lucky Am I?
I am very, very lucky indeed.
"Could be two years. Could be ten." Don't we all live with such a wide range of possibility? My point is NOT to minimize your husband's predicament, but for the rest of us who benefit from your beautiful writing, we don't know either when our number is up. Hundreds of thousands of people across the world will not wake up tomorrow, and one of them could be me or you or someone close to us. Your focus on being present and grateful is something for all of us to take to heart and learn how to do. I'm working on it, but sometimes I forget. You do a great job reminding us, Anne.
I love your mantra. I think I shall incorporate it into my morning routine.
In the last year of my daughter's life, I also knew that she would not be there forever, even before the doctor took away all faint hope; a mother knows. We took her to all her favourite places, camped, and watched The Aristrocats countless times. All of these memories I treasure. She knew I loved her every moment of every day, and I knew she loved me. That is the lasting gift I hold in my heart.
Although her life was shorter than I believed it would be, I am a much better person from her being in my life.
I love that you treasure and record all the beauty and mundane of your time. You will appreciate it later.