Yes, this post is all a little dark, but there’s a silver lining at the end, so stay with me.
All through life, regardless of age, you wonder how to live your life. Should you be more understanding, patient, and loving, or less? What is your duty to others, as opposed to yourself? Should you take that job overseas and break your mother’s heart, or stay in your hometown close to the relatives? Is it okay to stop attending Mass? When the heck are you going to get serious about exercise/diet/meditation/pursuing your dream? Are you too busy? Could you be more organized?
Are you wasting your life in one way or another? Are you following your passion, or is that just for people in magazine articles? Should you be doing more? Less? Are you ethical? Compulsive? A doormat, a boor? Do you drink too much?
Oh, honey, you are so lucky to be able to agonize over it.
Bill’s sister passed away suddenly and unexpectedly a couple days before Christmas. She was reclusive, and we only saw her once or twice a year. We suspected that health issues were causing her to avoid us even more than usual, and then, a few days before Christmas, she had a health emergency. She refused medical treatment – consistent with a lifetime aversion to doctors – and died at 3 a.m. She was only 66.
As I pondered her death, the suddenness of it began to sink in. To shock me, how arbitrary and final it was. One minute you’re grinding your teeth over all those questions, and in the next second: You. Are. Gone.
My friend and I were commiserating recently about our clueless husbands, and if either she or I were to die, our guys would be screwed. In my case, I’m Tech Support at our house. In her case, she’s the bookkeeper. She cannot make her husband do the bills, focus on their assets, or care about their balance sheet. She was complaining to me, and then she burst out laughing. “I’m worrying about my mortgage payment being late when I’m dead.” We laughed so hard we cried, but it makes my point. We just don’t get how final and intransigent is death.
It’s not that weighing and worrying over the issues and situations of life don’t matter, but I never realized how much of a luxury it is to be able to worry an issue to death, as I tend to do. I keep thinking of my sister-in-law, sitting out on her patio on a spring morning, thinking about her questions. What to have for dinner, should she cancel her paper, what the hell is wrong with her hearing aid?
And then, in a millisecond, boom – no more questions.
You, dear reader, and I, still get to think, weigh, consider, and choose. Isn’t that a gift? We can do almost whatever we want.
So go ahead, juggle those oranges or plates or chainsaws. You are alive. Enjoy the choosing. Appreciate this fully. This is the silver lining.
A sincere sorry for your loss.
I’m ‘only’ 45. And I couldn’t agree more.
I’m living my passion and wow, is that challenging at times. The challenge itself sometimes is reason to reconsider and always the answer in the end is: yes, this is what I want!
I’d rather thrive than just survive. The world just seems to like you more when you’re boxed in safely. But when you really start to connect with people they all want the same: really LIVE. Thank you Lynne for writing this.
Totally relate. I am stunned that at almost 56, I am still asking myself so many of those questions. Its exhausting. I finally remind myself, that my feet take me where I want to go. Evidently, I am there. Great post, and very sorry for your loss.
Thanks, Cinthia. Your comment reminds me of my mom sighing in exasperation when I lament some aspect of being 60. “Lynne, you’re so YOUNG!” And I always answer that 60 is the oldest I’ve ever been, so it’s kind of freaky at times! It’s a matter of perspective. But after losing Sally, I now have greater perspective. I feel like it doesn’t even matter what I do (beyond the ethical basics), because it’s my existence and my choice, so I choose to enjoy it, however I define that, and you can too. Best wishes.
Wow! a profound and thought provoking post Lynne. And so many responses of similar thoughts and feelings; and, how we can live in the positive. I give thanks to God every morning during my coffee and chat time with Him, for a new day, for my health (and pray I AM truly healthy), for every blessing He gives, including answered prayers.
I do get frustrated with myself for not accomplishing all that I could, so I ask God, through His son Jesus and the Holy Spirit to guide me through the day. I think they need to push me more, or at least speak louder and more precise so I will do those things I should be doing 🙂
I have been working on myself for years, to transition from bad habits to good habits. I know I am my own worst critic and wonder sometimes if I am actually doing what God wants me to do, even if it is not accomplishing what I think I should be doing!!!!!!!!!!! (second time using these words in 2 paragraphs! Hmm! maybe He IS telling me loud and clear 🙂
Hi Ann, I think anyone who worries that much about being the very best person she can is bound to hit the high notes on a regular basis. I’m going to guess you’re doing a great job.
A hard-learned lesson but so easily forgotten. Thank you for the kind reminder, Lynne.
Indeed – this is the silver lining-! Every day is a gift. I am 67 and lost my husband of 39 years 10 months ago. Suddenly. We thought he was healthy! It felt like the cosmic bitch slap.
Stress and worry are now big parts of my everyday life as a widow. Having to deal with everything “alone” is very stressful. Being “alone” is stressful. Feeling “guilty” is stressful.
I deal with it differently everyday….somedays I can deal with it and cope. Other days it takes over and brings me down into a very dark place that sucks.
And yes, I have family and great friends that I can lean on and who will support me…to a point, but . . . . .I know I really am on my own now and it scares me.
Grief is a long haul and this is just the beginning. Thanks for all you write Lynne.
“No one ever told me that grief felt so like fear.”
– C.S. Lewis quotes (British Scholar and Novelist. 1898-1963)
Shelley, I am so sorry about your devastating loss. And only ten months ago. It’s very early days, my friend. Be easy on yourself for awhile. Thanks for including the fact that you have “family and great friends” that you can lean on; that’s a comfort to all of us who are reading this. But you know that part about “I know I really am on my own now”? I think that’s my special – well, “burden” isn’t quite right, but okay – burden, that I’ve always been very close to that knowledge. I do get to distract myself from it for days, months at a stretch, thanks to the love of a good man and my grandbabies, and to work that keeps me busy and fulfilled, but ever since I was a teenager i’ve been really aware of that cosmic aloneness. Great thinkers, in fact, have pondered and railed at it through the ages – not saying I am one but only that it makes me feel better to know it’s not a new fear. Some have speculated that God gave us, as compensation, the ability to reach out to each other, to comfort each other, to know without words what other humans are going through. The human experience is both dark and light. Yes, your journey is just beginning, but if it’s any comfort, my mom lost Dad when she was 82. They’d been married 59 years. She is 89 now and although we have our moments of grief, still, for the most part we enjoy our lives. And yes, I do understand that could hurt you even more to read that, but think of it as strength. You’ll acquire that strength, and you’ll be happy again. Love, Lynne
Lynne, your post has me thinking once again about living life in the moment. Seems to me, I spend a good deal of energy fretting about what’s going to happen down the road. This comes from a childhood of ‘don’t get too cocky, something bad is waiting just around the corner’. So I learned to be a planner which somehow gave me the false notion I was in control! LOL!
Living in the moment has never been my strong suit but over the last decade I’ve become more aware that time is fleeting. I’m embarking on my 70th decade ( I’m hoping at least a decade) and this is a little scary but I’m reminded often by others that it beats the alternative. Thanks for a great reminder to live now and enjoy the moment as you say “in a millisecond, BOOM”
Annie, that’s interesting that your family influenced you to believe you could hedge against mortality. I guess that’s better than feeling completely powerless! At this point in your life you’ve probably figured out how to balance fear and complacency so you can be happy more often than not. I hope, anyway. And yes, no matter how scary at times, it beats the alternative.
Very interesting ,my Mentor Carol just forwarded these comments and don,t tell me we are not guilty of thinking the very same thought sat one time or another .Is it because we are all women or am I WRONG
Stevie, I just read “The Female Brain” by Louann Brizendine, and I’m going to say it’s more a woman thang than a man thang! Because we just worry more, period.
Lynne, your post hit home..and I have shared with my friends “of a certain age”
You are an excellent writer….kudos to you.
Glad it resonated, Carol, and thanks for the nice compliment.
I am sitting here reading all the wonderful responses to another great post.
I am waiting until Feb 3, to find out if I have a life threatening problem or not. I refuse to worry as that will not change a thing.
Once I have the answer, I will then have decisions to make or not. I have not spoken to this with my daughter as of yet, because I know it will toss her into a tailspin. no sense upsetting family about something I have no answers to yet.
I may seem selfish, but I do think this choice works for me right now.
There are things in life we have control over and things we do not.
I choose to worry about the things I do have control over, no matter what the out come of my future appointment.
Your blog is so welcome to my Fridays Lynne.
Thanks
~~Kathleen
Kathleen, I think your approach is wise. You are managing what you can, and leaving the unmanageable for a responsible later date in order to wring the goodness out of the interim. Very mature.
I went through the same kind of strategy when I thought I had ovarian cancer. Here are some thoughts on that from Sept. 2010, for whatever help it might be. https://anyshinything.com/sleepwalking-through-life/still-here
Keep me posted, and I’ll be thinking good thoughts. Best wishes.
The other morning I was driving to work at a very dark 5 AM. I was hurtling down a totally black highway at about 60 when suddenly i noticed huge shapes on both sides of my car. If my windows were open I could have touched them…. elk, and for some inexplicable reason none of the 20 or so were in my lane. i spent a good share of my 2 hour drive feeling so fortunate to be alive. Like your sister in law’s story we need these zen slaps to remind us to have gratitude for the present moment.
Love your posts Lynne.
“Zen slap.” Perfect. Thanks for the great story, Nanci, and I’m thrilled you’re okay.
Another excellent, thought-provoking post. I often feel that I spent too much time trying to meet others’ expectations (promoting other authors, responding to emails, participating in online time-wasters, etc.) when I would enjoy creating something instead. There definitely needs to be balance! So I’ve decided to make a list of what’s really important to me–what I enjoy, what gives me the most satisfaction, what actually HAS to be done to avoid having my house condemned. Then that’s what I’ll try to do first. I’m guessing all those other “must dos” will cease to matter so much.
Who knows? Maybe I’ll start juggling oranges too!
Better than chainsaws, Sandy!
About six months ago, I felt like I was WAY too busy. I was a rat in a wheel, running mindlessly. So I decided to only engage in social media that I enjoy – that I would do anyway, even if I didn’t have books to sell. So now I blog – because I love it. I check Facebook because I enjoy the people there, and the interaction. I unsubscribed to a dozen update streams or newsletters that I was getting in my email. That was the biggest deal – wow. My email is so much less busy now.
Because in the end, all you have is your love of life. If you ain’t loving it, change the routine.
This is life, Lynne and you nailed it again! NO worries about being too maudlin. We’re all going to die and I think you’re saying , just live until you die already and be grateful to still be here dealing with life’s’ twists and turns. Whenever I start to feel sorry for all the chronic illnesses -heart failure, kidney failure,etc, I remember how grateful I am to still here dealing with the 20 meds and 11 doctors I see, All the price I’ve had to pay for surviving cancer 18 years ago. Stops me in my tracks and puts a whole new spin on it. And then I realize how great I feel–much better than my medical record would lead you to believe, and I really feel grateful. Love you and your energizing words, my friend!
Thank you, Kathy, my dear friend. I am stunned all over again at what you survived. It can all be taken from us in an instant.
When I was 17 my friend was driving us to school. She turned left at the school, but she wasn’t paying attention and simply turned left into oncoming traffic – two lanes of commuters going about 45 mph. We were hit in the right front quarter of the car. It spun around several times, ejecting both of us, stopping just before running her over. Me? I was doing the luge, without the equipment. All I got was some abrasions on my hip, and Frances was a little more hurt but still nothing broken. God, how lucky.
In. An. Instant.
Lynne,
Have I told you lately how much i love you? Well, let it sink in; you are one of the great broads on the planet. . . and i get to hang out with you and your deep voice (as in philosophically deep) in cyberspace — and even better you are wise and over 60. Hmm, how cool is that?
Several years ago a person i adored died suddenly and it sent me into a spiral of shock. He. Was. Gone. I am still dealing with the question and goal: how i can I live a better life and not squander it? Yet, sadly i still do squander the precious gift of being here occasionally. Your post was a vivid reminder.
Awww, Heather, thanks! I mentioned earlier that I had trepidation about possibly bumming y’all out (in the back of my mind is Mom saying, “You worry too much!”) So it’s gratifying to know this post resonated. I’m sorry about your friend. Time heals, but not completely. Sometimes I let myself listen to Rainbow by Jia Peng Fang (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nYKqg_DWGt8), because it evokes such overwhelming grief that I believe Dad can hear me, and is comforted by knowing I miss him. Even though it’s been almost 7 years. (Ack! stab of pain.) XOXO
So very true. I had my first real wake up call when my husband had a heart attack at 53. Wow! That wasn’t supposed to happen! 9/11 and my father’s death at 89 was enough, thank you very much. For the next five plus years the fragility of life hit me over the head again and again, until I cried “uncle!” As we age life calls us over and over to pay attention to what we’re doing. PAY ATTENTION to this gift of life. Appreciate it. Be grateful for it. Make the most of it. Follow your heart, your passion. Connect with those things that really matter. Your post is a beautiful reminder of this – so clearly articulated. Thank you.
Thanks Dorothy. I was a little concerned about the darkness of it, but then on the other hand, if it reminds us to appreciate the light even more, so be it. I’m happy to be alive, and if it all ends tomorrow, so be it.
Right on, Lynne! There’s a sign somewhere in town, and every time I pass it, I gulp. It reads, You’re just a heartbeat away from the hereafter. Makes ya think, huh??
Debbie, I once experienced heart palpitations relating to Bill’s hip surgery. It scared the hell out of me. The doctor said many wives go through this when their husbands have significant illness or injury, and it passed, but I had never before felt so vulnerable. Just one little muscle. Fine now, though.
A timely and touching post as usual, Lynne. The universe periodically hits us upside the head with these types of reminders. And we’re lucky to get them.
Roxanne, this may sound odd, but I often feel very light after leaving a funeral. I guess it’s not that hard to figure out why. Of course, I also have a headache from that whap upside the head.
A timely reminder. Needed that.
<3
<3 back, Jan.
I hear you, Lynne. This is the reason why I recently updated my will, sent a copy to the two folks who are my designated “after I die divvy-uppers”, and then let it go. All the fretting in the world will not stop me from absent-mindedly stepping in front of the wrong (or right) bus. But the permanence of that act is still hard for me to digest.
Mindy, I sat down one day to write some instructions for Bill about the wireless router, DVD player, TV, three computers…holy crap, I ended up laughingly calling the document, which is now up to about 20 chapters, the Spreen Operating Manual. What a pain! Now I’m afraid if he or my son had to go through it, they’d take one look and say, “the hell with it.” Toss it in the trash. But still, I pick away at it, about once a week. My mortality exercise.
Hahahaha! Perfect! Perhaps they will lovingly read it at your wake 😉
😉 😉