Category Archives: Impermanence

There is Only Now

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samatgreyrock

Eric took Sam hiking at Greyrock this morning. Dexter had coughed once last night, woke up around midnight and in my sleepy Mom mind was having trouble settling back down, so I got on the couch with him until he fell asleep. Then this morning, he coughed another time. Eric had planned to take him hiking again (they went yesterday), but we decided maybe Dexter shouldn’t go–even though we know that if Dexter had only one day left, he’d choose to spend it hiking rather than resting. Eric took both dogs on a short run before leaving with Sam. Dexter was so energized when they got back, so happy, watching so hopefully as Eric put things in his backpack, I almost changed my mind about him not going, but in the end he stayed with me.

Writing in my journal this morning after they left, I was considering the situation we are in. It was over a month ago when Dexter went on a hike, got a bloody nose, and I felt this same anxiety, thinking “this might be it, the last week, the final days” but I was wrong. What’s hard about a terminal illness is you are ready, waiting for it to be over, and yet you fear the end, wish it would never come. You suffer living with the mantra “he’s dying, he’s dying, he’s dying,” but you also feel a spike of anxiety and despair whenever something shifts, “oh no! he’s dying!”

It came to me in my morning meditation that the only answer is now, in this moment, in staying present. Nothing else works or makes sense–not numbing out, not running away, no method of escape or resistance, no hoping for something different or wishing for something better, no clinging to what’s positive or thinking only happy thoughts and rejecting the rest–you simply have to stay, be here now, live/love in this moment.

Presence and mindfulness and awareness are the only real medicine–the sound of my pen scratching on the paper, the thump and hum of the dryer, the sound of the dog asleep next to me breathing, the warmth and shelter and light, the ink in the pen and the blank pages in the journal and the air in my lungs, my body that remembers to pump and breathe without needing my interference, my bones and muscles doing what they do to keep me upright and writing, my eyes seeing, my brain processing language, knowing what word comes next and how to form it. This is all there is, and even it isn’t solid or fixed or even completely comprehensible. It shifts, gets a bit colder, the dog gets up and leaves, I pause not knowing what to say next. And then, the heat kicks on, the furnace hums, the dryer shuts off, and I know what to do.

dextersknee

I make plans, but they don’t work out. The plan to keep Dexter “safe” by keeping him home with me didn’t ultimately work. He was in the backyard, saw a squirrel and chased it. When I looked outside seconds later, his back end had given out. I didn’t see what had happened, so at first I wasn’t sure if he was having a stroke or something related to the cancer, or if he’d broken something. He continued to try and run after the squirrel, but his back legs wouldn’t cooperate.  His left leg wouldn’t straighten out or hold weight, so we headed immediately to the emergency vet.

Long story short: he’s injured his left knee. It’s either his knee cap, which is in the wrong place, or a tendon. He’s on pain medication for now, with strict orders to take it easy, and we will continue his anti-inflammatory as it’s one of the strongest available. We have a physical therapy appointment in the morning, and will meet to consult with his regular vet. Surgery in Dexter’s case, because of his cancer, just isn’t an option. The reality is, with Dexter’s age (he’s almost ten now) and activity level, something like this was likely to happen at some point, cancer or no cancer.

dexterslungsThere is good news. Dexter feels okay, although it annoys him his leg won’t work. We start physical therapy in the morning and there’s a good chance that will help him feel and function better. And while at the vet, they xrayed his chest, so we know that his cancer hasn’t metastasized to his lungs or heart. And even though I did cry a little, panic, and feel sad, and there was a bit of tenderness, terror in having to take care of it alone (Eric was still hiking, out of cellphone range), I didn’t freak out, I handled it. In the moment, something bad happened, but I knew what to do.

Any good energy you can spare my Dexter, kind and gentle reader, would be much appreciated.

Day of Rest

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On our walk yesterday morning, the frozen ponds were melting, singing and moaning, and I noticed around the edges that algae was starting to form, bright spring green spreading under the cloudy frozen surface of winter. The sky was bright blue, the sun blazing, and later in the afternoon, it turned gray and thick, and there was snow.

On this day of rest, I am still struggling to get used to my new progressive lenses (did I tell you I needed bifocals?), so the world seems blurry and is making me woozy and dizzy. I can’t figure out where to look, how to get things in focus. My right ear is plugged up, throwing off my balance that much more.

Amidst change, in what can seem like chaos and confusion, I still feel grounded. This morning while folding laundry, I was listening to Brene’ Brown’s The Power of Vulnerability. She clarified that being wholehearted (living and loving with your whole heart, “all in”) wasn’t a thing you had or arrived at, mastered or possessed, but rather it’s a practice, a series of moment by moment choices, what we invite into our lives and make space for, and what we let go of, release.

I’m hearing this message repeated in the Mondo Beyondo class I’m assisting, in the Cultivating Courage class I’m taking, in Rachel Cole’s Ease Hunting class, in other things I’m reading, other people I’m talking to, in the wisdom of my own heart–that with anything you want to achieve, do, be, you can approach it as a practice, a process that is ongoing.

As with any practice, one must suspend judgement, drop the agenda, show up with an open heart, allow whatever might arise, try not to get attached or hooked, stay relaxed, be soft and gentle, be present and mindful. It is so for me with creativity, with my various practices of writing, walking, yoga and meditation, with my life.

You move forward, in the direction of your dreams, on the path towards True North, you have an intention, a goal in mind, a map, but without expectation of arriving or being finished, and open to whatever shifts might happen in the weather or the terrain, allowing for days when you feel strong and full of energy, as well as days you feel tired and sad, accepting what is. You don’t take a breath thinking that once you do, you are now done, or once you do it “right” you’ll never have to do it again. You simply breath in and breath out, and keep doing so. So it is with practice, with life.

Enough. These few words are enough.
If not these words, this breath.
If not this breath, this sitting here.
This opening to the life
we have refused
again and again
until now.
Until now.
~David Whyte