Yesterday I received a call from my mother. She sounded exceptionally on edge and said, “I have bad news”. At first I thought it was my father or one of my aunts or uncle. “Slava Fintel died. We just received the news. I feel so numb.” I wasn’t sure how to comfort her.
After we hung up I started walking around the kitchen and folding towels. I unpacked 2 new towels with apples and blue trim and placed them at the top of my towel pile. I lined up all of the towels since I learned the importance of an orderly home at some of the Buddhism retreats I had been on many years ago. It took a good 3 minutes before I was conscious of my actions and decided to look for other ways to deal with the many emotions that came up at once.
My first impulse was to put on a movie I rent from Netflix but I had just mailed back the movies I rented and realized it would be another few days before a new movie would arrive in those familiar red envelopes. Besides, it was a beautiful day so I thought I would take advantage of the pleasant weather and walk. It didn’t take long before my feet started to carry me to a large bookstore nearby.
No matter what I did it didn’t feel right. World War II occurred long before I was born but I was left with very few live ancestors. My parents often met with a group of couples who studied together in Germany after the war. I spent many childhood days with these folks and their kids. They were my extended family. Slava, her husband, Mark and their 3 kids were always there.
Why am I taking this so hard? What is it about chronic pain and chronic illness that makes me feel so vulnerable, so helpless? If I were healthy, and especially if I had a life that I loved, would I be responding to Slava’s death quite in this way? My caring would be the same but would I feel quite so lost? Slava was my parents’ age so I wonder whether her passing makes the abstract of my parents’ coming death more real to me.
“Be with it”. I fondly remembered one of my Theravada Buddhism teachers, Narayan Liebenson Grady. When she first taught me that concept I had no idea what it could have meant. After many years of Mindfulness practice, I realize that my first impulse is to run from the many feelings, cover them up, distract my mind. So now, through this writing, I am observing the thoughts and feelings.
During the 1990’s, I took many relationship workshops, was in a singles support group, read countless Self Improvement books, and deepened my Buddhism study. Despite having acquired all of those relationship tools I feel as if I am in some sort of emotional demilitarized zone. I seem to be ping ponging around between a sense of loss and a dread of increased, future vulnerability.
It is comforting to share these thoughts with others who have long term pain and illness. Perhaps I am not alone in these feelings. There are physical problems, too. I have a Migraine with shooting pains on the left side toward the back of my head. It is difficult to fall asleep. It helps to remember to be patient with myself.
After we hung up I started walking around the kitchen and folding towels. I unpacked 2 new towels with apples and blue trim and placed them at the top of my towel pile. I lined up all of the towels since I learned the importance of an orderly home at some of the Buddhism retreats I had been on many years ago. It took a good 3 minutes before I was conscious of my actions and decided to look for other ways to deal with the many emotions that came up at once.
My first impulse was to put on a movie I rent from Netflix but I had just mailed back the movies I rented and realized it would be another few days before a new movie would arrive in those familiar red envelopes. Besides, it was a beautiful day so I thought I would take advantage of the pleasant weather and walk. It didn’t take long before my feet started to carry me to a large bookstore nearby.
No matter what I did it didn’t feel right. World War II occurred long before I was born but I was left with very few live ancestors. My parents often met with a group of couples who studied together in Germany after the war. I spent many childhood days with these folks and their kids. They were my extended family. Slava, her husband, Mark and their 3 kids were always there.
Why am I taking this so hard? What is it about chronic pain and chronic illness that makes me feel so vulnerable, so helpless? If I were healthy, and especially if I had a life that I loved, would I be responding to Slava’s death quite in this way? My caring would be the same but would I feel quite so lost? Slava was my parents’ age so I wonder whether her passing makes the abstract of my parents’ coming death more real to me.
“Be with it”. I fondly remembered one of my Theravada Buddhism teachers, Narayan Liebenson Grady. When she first taught me that concept I had no idea what it could have meant. After many years of Mindfulness practice, I realize that my first impulse is to run from the many feelings, cover them up, distract my mind. So now, through this writing, I am observing the thoughts and feelings.
During the 1990’s, I took many relationship workshops, was in a singles support group, read countless Self Improvement books, and deepened my Buddhism study. Despite having acquired all of those relationship tools I feel as if I am in some sort of emotional demilitarized zone. I seem to be ping ponging around between a sense of loss and a dread of increased, future vulnerability.
It is comforting to share these thoughts with others who have long term pain and illness. Perhaps I am not alone in these feelings. There are physical problems, too. I have a Migraine with shooting pains on the left side toward the back of my head. It is difficult to fall asleep. It helps to remember to be patient with myself.
