I remember when I was a young nurse.  I actually was attracted to the profession to prepare myself for decline and death.  The death part was easier for me.  My hospice patients knew what was coming, and often they and their loved ones prepared.  It was an honor to witness this transition, however it showed up- prayerfully, noisily, with acceptance or kicking and screaming.  But the decline in patients’ health was much trickier, open-ended, a state that could be awfulized or celebrated in creative ways.  I admired and respected the creative folks in decline, and resolved to use them as my models.

But now, today, at 72, I am awfulizing; my shadow side is in control, and I feel another depression looming.  I do believe that writing my thoughts and having them read may chase the darkness back into hiding.  So please, read on. 

First, what have I lost; what is missing?  Mainly I have lost my vitality, my drive, a good deal of Chi.  My body is breaking down.  I am short of breath with exertion; my thyroid gland is gone; I’ve lost most of my taste and smell since contracting COVID in 2000.  I cannot get into the yoga poses of days past.  I forget so many details of my life, but can remember the lyrics to every song ever written.  The beauty that I once had, yet never appreciated or acknowledged, is gone.  As a devoted dog rescue volunteer I can no longer walk the big, strong dogs because of my injured back.

I am in that in between place of suffering.  I must either take immediate, effective action regarding my demise, or I must let it go.  Letting go could mean sitting in a chair all day and watching TV.  Taking immediate effective action might mean focusing on what is left, my current strengths.  When I studied 5 Element Acupuncture the president of our school always said,

“Don’t treat what’s missing.  Find the patient’s strengths and expand on those. “

 A radical approach to healing, and one I remembered not a moment too soon.

Though I no longer excel at my strengths I still enjoy them, they benefit others, and that is all that matters.

I still practice yoga at least three times a week, and have learned to breathe through almost anything physical, emotional or spiritual.  I have a husband, daughters, grandchildren, and a few friends who adore me; I work daily to become comfortable with adoration.  I am working to become a writer that tells a good story, and hope to publish my memoir soon.  I can still prepare a bang-up meal and bake a near perfect pie.  I enjoy my own company more than I did in my youth.  Because my memory often falters, “Everything old is new again.”  I have a beautiful rock garden that brings joy to passersby and me.   I can still walk rescue dogs, at least the small and calm ones.  And I can kiss them and hug them and groom them and donate money to the cause.

I sense my shadow retreating as I write to you, dear reader.

I believe we are here to love and help one another.  We all are capable of that forever.  Prayer is helping and loving, and it can take many forms.  Meditating on a beautiful flower, practicing a sun salutation, listening to or playing a lovely piece of music- all these things can be a prayer.  If the only thing I can do is pray, I shall.  It is strength beyond all measure.