I had an unsettling experience the other day while accompanying my ex husband of thirty-one years to a fairly simple out patient medical procedure. He is four years younger than me and not particularly cognizant of health matters; at least if he knows what he should do, he doesn’t do it.
We remain friends because, for the rest of our lives, we have two wonderful adult children and two even more fabulous grandchildren in common. We support each other in many ways including going to holidays together and sharing time with the grandkids. As we age we have also been able to help each other to doctors appointments (and procedures), as well as house and pet watching. I am grateful to have this working relationship and wouldn’t do anything to jeopardize our, sometimes tenuous, friendship. In 2004 we actually went on a month long trip to Australia and New Zealand. I wouldn’t recommend spending that much time with an ex. That is a whole other story.
Anyway. As I waited for him I noticed that it was taking a particularly long time for them to come out and take me back to recovery so that we could leave. One hour, two hours, another thirty minutes and I was getting concerned. When I finally was able to go get him I was astounded to see that his O2 saturation was only up to 88% after being on oxygen and getting a breathing treatment. They were reluctant to let him leave until he could stay up in the 91-93% range. Now this man has smoked for fifty-one years, I should not have been surprised, but this very concrete manifestation of mortality hit me like the proverbial ton of bricks!
I believe that all of us of a certain age know that we are nearing an end game but do an adequate job of putting off the actual reality. That is, we know but we do not see. I do a marvelous job of ignoring how far I've come from my birth! My friend has perked along for quite awhile doing all the things that he should not do, but as the nurse informed him that he would probably be on full time oxygen within a couple of years, the roosters were spreading their wings and finding a comfortable spot to roost, in both of our eyes.
He eventually stabilized and I was able to leave him at home after feeding him and admonishing him to ‘stay down.’ (He had two cigarettes during this time. What?)
After updating the kids I went home to mull this over. While looking at my new matches on the dating site (no Virginia, there is no prince yet) it suddenly occurred to me that I had to consider a possible suitor in terms of how healthy he was! I have heard many older women say that, once divorced or widowed, they would never marry again because they didn’t want to take care of an old man. Given the general longevity comparisons between men and women, this is not a heartless statement but a reality.
While I would not abandon a partner if he developed health concerns, I do not want to spend my last years administering to someone who could not be bothered to stay healthy. Like the picture says, I want to keep on cruising for as long as possible. I need to make careful choices.
Oh, this search for companionship is turning downright brutal in so many ways.
On a rather humorous note, I did get a “smile” from one of the dating site men. This means that he has looked at your profile and is extending a feeler to see if you are interested. I wasn’t. This particular fellow was dressed in a pink frilly shirtwaist, blond mop-top wig, white tights and precious little white pumps. Yes, he was looking for a dominant woman and, being six foot two, he thought I might fit the bill.
Sigh.
I had an email from another fellow a week earlier that started his missive with “Hello Sunshine!” and wanted me to write back to his private email instead of using the usual dating site communication. Luckily, I didn't respond. The next email I got was from the site warning me that this fellow had hacked another's profile and was not authorized to post and was, most likely, a scam artist looking for victims.
Well. This is not going well at all.
Exit stage left.
I don't know where I would be without my weekly writer's group. Not only do we critique our work and share a love of writing, we offer support in personal ways as well. There is always visiting when we first sit down because we truly like and respect each other. Often there are tears when sharing upsets or triumphs. And sometimes there are chills because of the strange synchronicity that seems to validate the rightness of our gathering.
After everyone is caught up we either read our latest efforts or do a timed writing with or without a prompt. I am always enriched by being with them, whether it is learning of a new book or blog, or a great place to eat, or where to get your computer fixed, or sharing nebulous notions of dreams and spirituality.
Last week one of them brought some interesting prompts in the form of three questions.
Where have I felt the presence of the holy in my life?
Where have I felt most alive?
What do I long for?
Interesting, yes? Maybe you would like to play along?
Here is my answer:
My first thought as I read these questions is that the out of doors under a wide sky is where I find my holy; any place long on scenery and short on people. True solitude is not a scary place for me. Although I have no problem being in a crowd, when alone I feel closer to the infinite somehow.
Recently I went camping to the far northeastern part of Washington where there is very little light interference, what they call dark skies. That was the point; this was a trip for astronomy buffs. We carried flashlights with red filters and were unable to have camp fires or any form of light pollution after dark, creating a blackness around us that was almost palpable.
It was the very first time that I was able to see the whole Milky Way spread across the sky above me. This was an event of singular magnificence for me. It took my breath away. I could not get enough of it.
We went on walks in which a volunteer with a laser pointer that seemed to touch the stars would pinpoint the different constellations. But really, all I wanted to do was lay on the ground and get lost in the vastness above me. Joy infused and fairly tingling with life, I felt blessed to be sharing the experience with others who understood. We all spoke in hushed tones at night, as if in church worshipping at the alter of creation.
Occasionally a comet would lay a path in the dark, or a satellite blink and tumble it’s way around the earth. But it was our galaxy, that long trail of stars and planets overhead, that held me in its spell.
I had it all. I was outside under a vast sky with few people around, in a beautiful undulating valley, and I was with my family.
When I was young I would gaze at clouds flowing over my head for hours. When I lived in the city I would find the quiet, wide open places, usually at night, where I could just be. This, then, is what makes me whole, which could be construed as holy. This is what I long for, to belong without reservation to a universe filled with beauty and love.
The requirements of daily life often push our souls into “shushing” when we most need to listen. I will try and keep the wonder of this experience close at hand, so that when my life gets hectic I can remember just how lucky I am to be spinning on top of this beautiful planet in it's neighborhood of sparkling points of light.
www.darksky.org/ (The Dark Sky Project)
www.tmspa.com/ (Table Mountain Star Party)