When I turned 47 last year, I had no idea how popular I would be, nor how distinguished my guests would be. I knew that I was relieved to have swept away the last bit of dust from a major remodel and that I was enjoying having more time over the summer with my kids (daughter 12 and son 9) in our beautiful new surroundings. Life was good.
A month after my birthday, my mother passed away and I was introduced to grief in a way I had never known before. Having experienced the death of my father 5 years prior, I knew it would take months before I could think of her without getting emotional and feeling a wave of loss. But this was different. In her life, my mother gave generously of her time and attention to all of her children including me as her youngest. That constant expression of love over time wove its way deep into my heart. When she died, the knowledge that I would not feel her love actively in my life again caused a sense of loss that was profound beyond description. Perhaps because with her passing, I had lost both of my parents. And that meant that I was at once an orphan and part of the 'elder' generation. Was I ready for that? Was I paying forward the legacy of love and attention my mother had left? That question, my complete gratitude for the love of my mother and my own maternal love for my children pulled me through the grief.
My next visitor was depression--something I had never experienced before in my life. In fact, I had never been able to even comprehend what it was, much less how it felt. I know what you're thinking: This blog is going nowhere I want to go. I get it--that's what I was feeling. My life was going nowhere I wanted to go. Looking back now, it's as if I was trudging through a deep marsh with mud up to my hips in a dense fog. In the midst of this, I sat my husband down and said, 'I'm not sure what's wrong with me. But I think I'm depressed. I don't know what to do.' I don't think I expected a solution, I just needed him to know what I was feeling. But my husband's wisdom is broad, deep and often surprising. He calmly said, 'You can get some medications that will tell your body that you feel good and after awhile you'll start to believe it. Or, you could do what you coach your clients to do: Act as if you feel good and pretty soon you will.' And that was my path out.
Next up was 'the change'--menopause. I know nobody wants to hear about this one--unless you're one of the women who are in it, just entering or just leaving it. Otherwise, you don't want to know about it. Trust me, I really didn't want to know about it either. The idea of 'losing' my womanhood wasn't appealing to me. And if that wasn't enough, apparently, even without an invitation, this visitor will come, leaving a path of physical and emotional damage in its wake. There are plenty of great books and websites out there about how to manage this phase of life well, even gracefully. I'm eternally grateful for them. I'm far from having this one completely sorted out, but many women have gone through this before and thankfully they are speaking up about it. They have taught me to see it as a new beginning rather than an end. As a result, I have hope that in time even though this visitor will never leave, maybe it will at least feel at home.
My most recent visitor is pain. I've experienced physical pain before--the usual scrapes, bumps, bruises, even some strains, sprains and fractures. Prior to this, the greatest pain I experienced was due to dental procedures and childbirth. With both of my kids I chose to have an epidural, but in each case had to experience final labor and delivery without the relief from pain meds. Lots of pain, but well worth it. This has been my first experience with chronic pain. Chronic pain is a whole different ball game. It isn't something brief and intense that you recover from. It isn't even something you endure because you know something good is coming from it--it's just pain that comes to visit and doesn't leave. In my case, even with physical therapy the pain didn't subside, and instead spread and intensified. So I'm getting acquainted with pain, not knowing how long the visit will last. Will this be the one that keeps me company for the rest of my life? If so, how will I manage it and what will my life be like? I don't know.
Which leads me to my point. I've spent most of my life thinking that the goal in life is to avoid these visitors--death, depression, loss, pain. Who needs them? Certainly nobody wants them. But we often talk about wanting wisdom, humility, courage and hope. And now, a year and a half later, I'm learning that you can't gain those noble qualities without the aid of these visitors or others very much like them. So what you don't know--or even want to know--may be exactly what you need.
