Hey y’all, don’t miss new episodes out this week from The Wise Unknown and The Greenroom. Do you like these little audio essay experiments? Let me know.
"...reveling in what remains of him is one of the most transformative spiritual journeys of my life thus far. Learning to move away from language with him is teaching me when and how to move away from language with the whole wide world...Learning how to endure intimate suffering is opening me up to the suffering of the whole wide world. Being made messy and truly truly vulnerable...has made me more fully human and now I can recognize more layers of the humanity of others."
These lines seem are so resonant to my experience...moving beyond words my mom for the many years she lived with Alz; seeing the humanity in my siblings (8 of us in total) who all grieved differently all the while realizing many of the things we fought about were secondary to the slow disappearance of our mother; realizing in real time and over time how my personal loss connected me to both the grief and joy of aging in others around me. Now that I am a grandparent, I am keenly aware every day is a gift. Yes, even the days with 5 year old granddaughter tantrums. I have no illusion that I will live forever.
Your journey is more intense as a primary, live-in caregiver. I am grateful even in the midst you are able and willing to reflect openly with others. To name what so many experience and feel, while also calling us to both the inward and outward portals.
Wow, I am so interested in how 8 different siblings would process something like that! Thanks for sharing our intertwining versions. Your grandkids are so lucky to have you.
This is truly heartbreaking as it evokes memories of my mother, with dementia at the age I am now. We danced together and the most wrenching part was when she kept whispering in my ear the name of my father who had died 9 years earlier. This identification with my father lasted until she passed.
I’ve never recovered from that despite years of analysis. Will it ever end? I only know that reading Courtney’s columns and the amazing responses provide me with the most valuable moments of my life at age 87. Thank you so much! DD
About ten years ago I read a book by Yale philosopher LA Paul, whose work centers on the choices we make surrounding transformative experience. If I remember correctly, a fundamental argument she makes is that we cannot make rational decisions about whether to undertake voluntary transformational experiences (like having children) by comparing likely outcomes if we do or don't, because we will be different people afterwards than we are as we make the choice.
She does say, though, that we can decide whether we want to be someone whose life includes transformational experiences, for good or ill, or whether we want to play it safe.
Of course there are also the transformational experiences most or all of us experience without much say in the matter, like aging and illness for ourselves and the decline of our parents, most often these days involving dementia.
In observing my having been dealt some serious inevitably transformational cards, particularly in the last decade, an old friend declared to me that he has 'lived a charmed life.' He meant it as a sort of apology. What he cannot understand is that I don't think his life has been at all luckier than mine. I want both the inward stretch and the outward stretch of the transformational experiences I have had and don't crave any less vivid, easier alternative. Moments of respite are nice, though.
As a parent to a neurodivergent kiddo this sentiment of “crunched inward ever outward” is a powerful reflection. I frequently resist the inward and long for the outward, and also, that the inward is expanding me ever outward is a knowing I can feel deep in my bones. Thank you for this piece (and so many others!) for helping me feel not so alone in this journey.
The words “ dads and daughters “ sums up that special relationship some of us were lucky enough to have had. You dancing with Ron makes the lump in my throat return with the tears in my eyes.
Yes. This is life. We usher in new life which is such a spectacular miracle. We can't even imagine how those little lives are going to change our lives, sometimes in challenging ways.
And then we usher our parents towards their deaths. And that is a mysterious miracle that breaks open our hearts in different ways, yet the same. I had been helping my wife care for her mother, who was supposed to die within 3 months. We moved in with her. My wife's sibs came in to spell us on weekends (a luxury you don't have, Courtney, alas). Two last suppers and four months later, as the new year began, I felt resentment at caring for her, wanting my own life back (you know, your one precious life). One day, as I helped take off her compression socks, her foot was against my chest. She said in her kind, loving voice, "Thank you, Robert." A bolt of love traveled down her leg and directly into my heart. The resentment disappeared. Her final lesson for me was love. Maybe dancing with your Dad was a bit like that for you, Courtney. I don't know. In loving kindness ...
I needed this today. Thank you. Tears.
Love you, Nation.
"...reveling in what remains of him is one of the most transformative spiritual journeys of my life thus far. Learning to move away from language with him is teaching me when and how to move away from language with the whole wide world...Learning how to endure intimate suffering is opening me up to the suffering of the whole wide world. Being made messy and truly truly vulnerable...has made me more fully human and now I can recognize more layers of the humanity of others."
These lines seem are so resonant to my experience...moving beyond words my mom for the many years she lived with Alz; seeing the humanity in my siblings (8 of us in total) who all grieved differently all the while realizing many of the things we fought about were secondary to the slow disappearance of our mother; realizing in real time and over time how my personal loss connected me to both the grief and joy of aging in others around me. Now that I am a grandparent, I am keenly aware every day is a gift. Yes, even the days with 5 year old granddaughter tantrums. I have no illusion that I will live forever.
Your journey is more intense as a primary, live-in caregiver. I am grateful even in the midst you are able and willing to reflect openly with others. To name what so many experience and feel, while also calling us to both the inward and outward portals.
Wow, I am so interested in how 8 different siblings would process something like that! Thanks for sharing our intertwining versions. Your grandkids are so lucky to have you.
This is truly heartbreaking as it evokes memories of my mother, with dementia at the age I am now. We danced together and the most wrenching part was when she kept whispering in my ear the name of my father who had died 9 years earlier. This identification with my father lasted until she passed.
I’ve never recovered from that despite years of analysis. Will it ever end? I only know that reading Courtney’s columns and the amazing responses provide me with the most valuable moments of my life at age 87. Thank you so much! DD
About ten years ago I read a book by Yale philosopher LA Paul, whose work centers on the choices we make surrounding transformative experience. If I remember correctly, a fundamental argument she makes is that we cannot make rational decisions about whether to undertake voluntary transformational experiences (like having children) by comparing likely outcomes if we do or don't, because we will be different people afterwards than we are as we make the choice.
She does say, though, that we can decide whether we want to be someone whose life includes transformational experiences, for good or ill, or whether we want to play it safe.
Of course there are also the transformational experiences most or all of us experience without much say in the matter, like aging and illness for ourselves and the decline of our parents, most often these days involving dementia.
In observing my having been dealt some serious inevitably transformational cards, particularly in the last decade, an old friend declared to me that he has 'lived a charmed life.' He meant it as a sort of apology. What he cannot understand is that I don't think his life has been at all luckier than mine. I want both the inward stretch and the outward stretch of the transformational experiences I have had and don't crave any less vivid, easier alternative. Moments of respite are nice, though.
The last paragraph of this is so clarifying and true. Thank you, as always, for taking the time to add layers of wisdom here.
As a parent to a neurodivergent kiddo this sentiment of “crunched inward ever outward” is a powerful reflection. I frequently resist the inward and long for the outward, and also, that the inward is expanding me ever outward is a knowing I can feel deep in my bones. Thank you for this piece (and so many others!) for helping me feel not so alone in this journey.
That feedback means so much to me. Thank you.
The words “ dads and daughters “ sums up that special relationship some of us were lucky enough to have had. You dancing with Ron makes the lump in my throat return with the tears in my eyes.
Yes. This is life. We usher in new life which is such a spectacular miracle. We can't even imagine how those little lives are going to change our lives, sometimes in challenging ways.
And then we usher our parents towards their deaths. And that is a mysterious miracle that breaks open our hearts in different ways, yet the same. I had been helping my wife care for her mother, who was supposed to die within 3 months. We moved in with her. My wife's sibs came in to spell us on weekends (a luxury you don't have, Courtney, alas). Two last suppers and four months later, as the new year began, I felt resentment at caring for her, wanting my own life back (you know, your one precious life). One day, as I helped take off her compression socks, her foot was against my chest. She said in her kind, loving voice, "Thank you, Robert." A bolt of love traveled down her leg and directly into my heart. The resentment disappeared. Her final lesson for me was love. Maybe dancing with your Dad was a bit like that for you, Courtney. I don't know. In loving kindness ...
I love this image of her foot on your heart. What a gift. Thanks for being present enough to feel it and now share it with us.
Such beautiful writing and sentiment 🩵
Thank you, Courtney.
It’s fine, I needed a good cry this morning 😭 Thank you for your thoughtful words. Looking forward to listening to that interview, too. ♥️