Well, it happened again. I’d be tempted to say “Damn” or worse, but I just did my annual Lenten confession, receiving forgiveness for cussing. I fell. I seem to be getting every possible clue that my abilities are waning. What’s so surprising, even discouraging, is that this dude believes that he has got it. You know what I mean. Mike drop. I AM on top of things. This firstborn child has never let his responsibilities get ahead of him. If I wanted it, and if I could plan for it, scheme for it, delay gratification for it, I got it.
I haven’t written a blog post this year. In one sentence, the shock of watching Mitch McConnell and Donald Trump decimate our democratic process has temporarily castrated my literary vocal chords. But, as bad as things are politically, sometimes I just have to write. I especially write to clear confusion from my mind, to find out what I do or do not think about an issue, to express feeling, or to share an insight. So I am writing about something which happened to me which is totally unrelated to our current political catastrophe. A couple of days ago, I received a huge jolt on the bumpy, downhill highway on which I and most octogenarian citizens find ourselves. We are gradually but jerkily letting go of all our acquired possessions and most of our treasured activities.
Jym reflects on a disruption of an otherwise ok holiday season and its meaning and benefit.
Maybe I do have something to say about Tiger Woods that hasn’t been said yet. At least I haven’t seen this angle in the news. But first, the background . . .
Readers of this blog may recall that this has not been the easiest year so far. Stephen is very slowly recovering from a hip replacement and bad drug reaction. He is still limping on a cane, and can walk maybe a quarter of a mile, slowly. I thought our vacationing this year would consist of our trips to Tower Grove Park. But a couple of weeks ago, Stephen—in his typical bold and courageous fashion—asked to go to Michigan for a couple of weeks of vacation. I had my doubts about being able to pull this off. But I figured out a way to do it. We would visit our friends in La Crosse for the weekend, and then explore Door County for the following week. At any point, should we need to return home early, it would be relatively easy to terminate the trip.
A week and a half ago I wrote my first blogsay (= blog essay) on caregiving. I talked about my several month commitment to maintaining this household while my partner recovers from surgery and complications, and some of my own limitations that I have had to overcome or deal with.
I’ve noticed that in the 10 days since that last post, I haven’t felt that I had a thing more to say to (my miniscule corner of) the blogosphere. It’s like whatever little bit of creativity or expression I have is all used up just in the day-to-day operation of the house. And it’s not like there haven’t been things worthy of commentary: the election, protests and repression in Iran, more seamy dirty laundry from the politicians, continued economic crisis. It’s just that it’s possible to be so totally absorbed by supporting another’s healing, that there is just not enough left to share elsewhere.
For the last few months, I have more and more been drawn into a situation of caregiving for my life partner. First his hip deteriorated, then there was the hip-replacement surgery, and then an additional recovery from a severe drug reaction. For a long time, I thought I couldn’t write about this on a blog, because it’s just too personal and private for Stephen, and also at times the experience has been an emotional roller coaster for me. Now here I am writing about it. I think it is okay to do so for several reasons. For one thing, my experience is not all that different in challenging character from that of millions nationwide and perhaps even billions worldwide. For another, I have found my way to composure and dignity in doing this service, and perhaps that may be helpful and comforting to others. And finally, this has been an incredible journey of self- AND other-discovery, and I want to talk about it.