I live in Room 108 at the Terraces, and keep my door open during the daylight time so I can feel a bit a part of the flow of life beyond my little space. And because I have the door open, I have had several inquisitive would-be visitors, both of them men, both suffering from dementia, I suspect, but able to move their wheelchairs about on their own. One is Mr. Tibbs, my neighbor, and I don't know the other.... There is curiosity and befuddlement in their faces as they stare into my space, and I try to meet that stare with kindness. What I find comes up more often though is distaste -- an aversion to being gazed at as though I were some specimen in a jar (or in this case, in a hospital bed!). I don''t open my heart but feel it shrink, pull away from these guys, wanting them to wheel themselves elsewhere. Where is the compassion? And why do I have this aversion? It almost felt like fear the other night, as Mr. Tibbs literally wheeled himself into my room. What was I thinking he would do to me? Get too close? And then what? I think I felt helpless to get away, literally, and fear came right along for the ride. Yes, I have been through a life altering experience and my nervous system is not as strong as it used to be, perhaps.... I need to remember this ... There is a huge fragility present in my system, and maybe I am not sure it will be protected. I don't want to be repulsed by these suffering old men, and I can think of many reasons to go the other direction -- that of compassion and openheartedness. But, yet, I just want to be left alone. I want to know that my space is my space...
Unfortunately, when you are institutionalized you don't have much control over your space. And, so, I must be with that.
Moment by moment reality.... uncertainty .... meet these and be with them. No judgment, no reaction.
Am feeling a mixture of pleasure and sadness that Sara & family are going on their Canada vacation, the one we were supposed to do together. I want them to have a good time out there and I know I am missing that time, and I will be missing her terribly. She is a sweet loving presence in my life that makes me grateful for motherhood. She tries hard to do the right thing, and agonizes when she's unsure of the right choice. She needs this vacation to replenish herself, and I need to let go for now. Loving and letting go. Tough. When I start to think of letting go, I realize there are SO many ways we can do this.
What do I see: letting go of fear (just a passing emotion), letting go of loneliness, of control impulses,
of imagining my future plans, of identifying with the pain in this body, of wanting more creature comforts .... the list could continue on.... but I won't.
The sun outside my window is sinking and the light softening. This is one of my favorite times of day, and I am stopping now to take it in. And feel grateful I am alive.
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