This image is not how I am feeling at the moment, but I must say that when I found it elsewhere on the web, it evoked a strong feeling of compassion in me. I have felt like this in the past and I have certainly been attendant when people I care about have felt like that. Most strongly it reminds me of how my own children have expressed their frustrations with life when they were too young to express themselves any other way. I suppose that is part of what I am a witness to these days. Young people trying very hard to make their way in life, unable to see beyond their own immediate needs in their very strong desire to make their mark on the world and in life. One of the interesting things about getting older is realizing that on the grand scale, this is a futile desire and ultimately not a very important goal. It's the smaller scale, the quick and subtle moments and opportunities that arise in human interaction that really matter: the warm smile, the meeting of eyes in silent communication, the passing comment of appreciation, the hug that lasts just a few seconds longer, the careless toss of an arm around the shoulder, or the out-of-the-blue, for no-reason-at-all phone call. A friend recently posted on her facebook page that the best feeling for her is when she realizes she has been missed. I concur.
The last few days I have been thinking about people I miss. I miss my father. Some mornings as I am reluctant to get out of bed and want to bury myself down into the pillows I hear his (annoyingly) cheerful singing "It's time to get up, it's time to get up, it's time to get up in the morning," and I instinctively draw in my feet to avoid the coming tickle. I miss my friend Marie who I can sometimes hear say "oh Debi, WHY do you care? Let's go have a diet coke at Taco Bell." I wish I could pick up the phone and call them. I do have people I miss whom I CAN call. When emailing is not enough and I need the calm and gentle wisdom of my friend Carolyn, I do pick up the phone just to hear her voice. Even with my own kids, who I am sure feel that they hear from me all to often, I sometimes just want to hear their voices, to know that they are okay wandering around out there in that big world. Of course I know they are okay, maybe it's really me that feels MORE okay when I recharge my "mom" battery by checking in on them.
Life is change, but we don't always have to like it. Mostly though, it is good. I like my life, I like what I am doing in the moment. I see myself becoming more like my own mother, for better or for worse, and it makes me realize how inevitable the turning of the wheel of time really is. It echoes the truth in the mother's curse - that you, like your children after you, will eventually have all the experiences, the good and the bad, that the generations before have had. Like my friend Marie used to say (and she understood this better than most) "try to live your life so you won't have any regrets." I have seen the truth of this in the years I have worked in hospice. And I think working with the very old, as I do, makes me more aware of how important it is to try and understand the other person's point of view in things, to make space for others (it isn't always about YOU), to give up that need for control of everything and just appreciate the gifts of the moments we have with each other. I am constantly surrounded by people who have the need to control everything. The photo above reminds me of them. I see them at work and sometimes in my family relationships. And I want to say to them "just stop, you will exhaust yourself, it isn't important in the long run, trust that you matter, trust that others care, trust that in the end this too shall pass . . ."
Life is change, appreciate the constancy of those you love and who love you.
My latest story quilt is small scale (just a bit larger than "Nana in Waiting"). The inspiration is an old photo of Chelsea and Skyler when they were very small playing rock and roll band with the neighbor girls Katie and Carrie Ockander. They were using various toys as instruments, including an old Fisher Price toy vacuum. I am calling it "Joyful Noise" - although at first I thought I would call it "I'm just a singer in a Rock n Roll Band."
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