DIMI IS DYING: REFLECTIONS ON AGING AND GRIEVING

Our little dog is dying and it is heartbreaking to see him wandering around aimlessly, trying, I’m sure, to figure out what’s happening to him.  He has been a good friend and has brought much joy and happiness to our lives.  We feel privileged to have had his companionship for the past fourteen years, and it will be gut-wrenching to put him down.  He has lost control of his bodily functions; he stands in the middle of rooms, staring into space; and wakes up from his deep sleeps, disoriented and puzzled.  It is agonizing watching him disintegrate.  It will soon be time to say goodbye.

Arleah and I have felt, for some time, that we are dying.  We have acknowledged that we are in the last part of our life – it is not grim, nor depressing.  It is sobering, sad, full of loses.  We grieve a lot – for all the places we’ve been, for all the people no longer in our lives, for the places we’ve lived.  We have by no means given up on life.  We still love our work, and feel lucky to start people down the path of personal growth, and help others make profound changes in their lives. 

It is almost impossible to explain to people what it’s like to get old.  It’s not pretty.  There’s a saying we learned, when we were living in Montana, that sums up the experience – “There are no happy endings in nature.” The changes are enormous.  Arleah and I have been risk-takers and goal setters throughout are lives together.  But aging has tempered our risk-taking and our goals have a shorter window and are much less cosmic.  That has been difficult to accept. 

My work is more impactful than it’s ever been, and aging has allowed me to discard the burden of humility.  I am extraordinarily good at what I do.  I discover where people are stuck and what they need to change, with amazing speed and accuracy; and that feels enormously gratifying. Most people find that very helpful; some find it too much, too soon.

Other people, viewing us through a traditional prism, can run the gamut from irritating to insulting.  Most service providers over simplify their explanations of what they’re going to do, and talk way too loud.  I find myself regularly advising people that I have had a number of surgeries, but none of them have been lobotomies.

All in all, becoming an old person has been an ironic experience.  As we face the end, the opportunities to start anew are plentiful and intriguing.  Knowing us, we won’t be able to resist the challenge.

Morrie, At 76

November, 2018

Poem #21

In the midst 

of

my healing,

 the grief 

still comes 

sometimes.

Wrenching 

tearing 

agonizing,

 as though 

I

found you

 dead 

today.

When Your Child Dies

When your child, and mine, dies, it wipes out everything.  It wipes out the ability to focus, think, relate to people, including family and friends.  When anyone is so profoundly impacted by an event it is not likely that anyone will be in the same place at the same time. Ultimately this death redesigns your core self.  Nothing is so internally life altering as the death of your child. 

In many ways the death of your child creates an invisible prison because no one can see the overwhelming pain or internal distortion.  For me, the first year at least, was simply trying to not hurt so much.  I had the continual sensation of having a hole in my middle.  Not anything visible so people thought me a bit strange. I feel I have become a bit strange as no one can really share that experience, grief is truly a walk alone.

The rebuilding of self and life is slow and arduous, there are no guidelines, you have to make them up as you go.  On the other side of healing is a wholly different person with different priorities, different foci, different needs and a very different philosophy.   

The ripping apart inside is so painful, persistent and complete that it is a wonder that any of us come back at all.  The saddest and most difficult result is that no one can truly be there and very little helps for a very long time. 

Forty + years after her death I am still strange and different from others because the theme is still the same.  “You should be over IT by now”. “Time to move on.”  Etc., etc. in tiresome consistency.  I actually have gotten on with my life, a wonderful, marriage a satisfying career, another child and now our children’s marriages and now grand-children.  It has been a good life, and still, and still I am different and apart from others because… when my child died that wiped out everything.

Grief Is Not A Joint Venture

Chapter 1

Grief Is Not A Joint Venture

Grief is a lonely, isolating event, no matter what the loss.  Grief gets more people in trouble with themselves and others than any other problem.  It’s easy to get focused on sex, or money or “You are just a jerk” because those are things you can do something about.  You can’t bring back something lost.  Since all change is loss, we live in a time when we are constantly losing something or someone. 

Often, we are surprised and taken aback when our partner and others we rely on aren’t “helpful” at all.  In fact, they seem to be at odds with what we need.   For example; we recently moved from Montana to California to be near our children and grandkids. We lived in Montana for 20 years, so leaving was difficult, even though it was our choice and desire to be nearer our family as we age.  

Leaving Montana was more difficult then we had “planned” for.   This was our dream home on lots of property that we had lovingly “parked out” to be a wildlife refuge and a place for people to meet and renew themselves.  We happily achieved both those goals, but as we got in our 60’s and slid into our 70’s, we just couldn’t manage the enterprise well any longer.  It also was emerging that our health is fading, and it would be smart to close down our dream in Montana and rebuild our lives near our kids, while we were still young and healthy enough to rebuild.

That move turned out to be more painful and difficult than we anticipated.

I have lost count of the number of times I have had to rebuild my life.  Certainly, after the death of my daughter, then breast cancer, then parents and many furry friends.  It is always the same whatever the loss.  It has taken a while to realize that people really haven’t let me down, there is just not much anyone can do except walk by my side.  It has been an unpleasant truth that Morrie and I have to be very careful to remember what the real cause of our dissent I and not descend into bickering and squabbling over nonsense. 

The feelings are often intense and immediate, so it is often hard to pull back and realize that the real source of my pain is because I miss what is lost. 

No, grief is not a joint venture.