so here's the thing.
aging sneaks up on you. i hear people, OLDER people, talk about how aging happens to you. i've always brushed that aside, as some kind of flaw of the resistant psyche, a lack of introspection, some kind of refusal to age gracefully. right now i'm understanding that there are two types of aging. one is the kind you welcome, that you do consciously, the result of choosing to create landmarks in your life, the willfull accomplishment of rites of passage.
but there's another kind of aging, one that feels pressed upon you, from external events. life rises up, fierce and unfriendly, and suddenly promise and hope have a shortened life span too. you find yourself standing in the midst of your life, disoriented and raw, bare branches and bones, all your little schemes and plans and ways of avoiding the right here and now are gone, and you discover you're in a blizzard and you're not wearing any socks. or a hat. or coat. or scarf.
two weeks ago, my father had a stroke. years of high stress living and even higher blood pressure finally took it's toll, despite taking ridiculous amounts of medication that would make a street junkie drool. the right diet, excercise, and pills that took all the joy out of life, all in an effort to avoid this. fuck doing the right thing, all it did was make the last 20 years like going to a carnival without any ride tickets or money for cotton candy, forced to hold your mom's hand while you watched your brother go on the roller coaster without you. the blood vessels in the right side of his brain collapsed, not quite at the finish line, stopping the blood from going through. first he lost his balance, then he lost his voice, then he lost use of the left side of his body.
my dad's 80. some of you know that. so it's an experience that's been a while in the making. it still feels too soon. for all of us. it's my dad. i had just talked to him 2 days before, when he cried in joy at some good news about my life. sudden stroke and death, i had expected. 6 mos. of bed-ridden illness and then death, i expected. stroke and unknown amounts of time as a cripple...no. i did not expect that. nor did i expect that a nursing home may become unavoidable because my mother is not strong enough to lift a man who cannot lift himself. i might move back to redding. god fucking forbid. but it turns out what is more important to me than my own everyday happiness is being with my father in the final moments of his life.
the peculiarity of it all is the way my life suddenly feels shortened. after awaiting this time for most of my adult life, to finally have it here reduces the span of the future a great deal. suddenly, i AM 35. i am 35 and unmarried and without kids and still in grad school and still not sure how all that stuff about home ownership and settling down and making a life and also travelling the world and doing some great epic thing with my life is all going to work. and i feel like i have a lot less time. because it is now, and my father is dying, and the horizon just got a whole fuck of a lot closer.
i also have regained a large portion of my childhood, with a wasp swarm of memories that are crowding into this ark with me. i recall that there was a huge part of my time with my family, with my father, that was not magical. that was not adventurous, that was not nurturing and yummy and creative and fun. most of my childhood, kids, sucked big donkey balls. suffocating and boring and soulless and an eternity trapped in the living room with my father's depression and my mother's suppressed rage. ha ha...guess what...i inherited a little of that. but i took a psych assessment test the other day for depression and it came up negative. hey! whaddya know! then i took a test for anxiety and it came up as severe.
oh.
i am holding it together. i've got it contained. i'm seeing clients and i'm doing burlesque and my social life sucks shit but that's mostly cuz i'm busy and i'm making crafty beauties and trying to sell them and i still feed the birds outside our front door, and they come when i call now, and i feel like snow white, except i've given up on prince charming. this weekend i am building a dias de los muertos altar and i am thankful that, this year, my father will not be on it. saturday i am doing a medicine ceremony and my best friend is in town and i just bought awesome victorian boots the other day, and the rest of the time i am gasping into corners when the overwhelming reality of my father in a wheelchair collides with the memory of my daddy riding a rototiller around our garden.
just to prove to you that i have not lost my sense of humor...
aging sneaks up on you. i hear people, OLDER people, talk about how aging happens to you. i've always brushed that aside, as some kind of flaw of the resistant psyche, a lack of introspection, some kind of refusal to age gracefully. right now i'm understanding that there are two types of aging. one is the kind you welcome, that you do consciously, the result of choosing to create landmarks in your life, the willfull accomplishment of rites of passage.
but there's another kind of aging, one that feels pressed upon you, from external events. life rises up, fierce and unfriendly, and suddenly promise and hope have a shortened life span too. you find yourself standing in the midst of your life, disoriented and raw, bare branches and bones, all your little schemes and plans and ways of avoiding the right here and now are gone, and you discover you're in a blizzard and you're not wearing any socks. or a hat. or coat. or scarf.
two weeks ago, my father had a stroke. years of high stress living and even higher blood pressure finally took it's toll, despite taking ridiculous amounts of medication that would make a street junkie drool. the right diet, excercise, and pills that took all the joy out of life, all in an effort to avoid this. fuck doing the right thing, all it did was make the last 20 years like going to a carnival without any ride tickets or money for cotton candy, forced to hold your mom's hand while you watched your brother go on the roller coaster without you. the blood vessels in the right side of his brain collapsed, not quite at the finish line, stopping the blood from going through. first he lost his balance, then he lost his voice, then he lost use of the left side of his body.
my dad's 80. some of you know that. so it's an experience that's been a while in the making. it still feels too soon. for all of us. it's my dad. i had just talked to him 2 days before, when he cried in joy at some good news about my life. sudden stroke and death, i had expected. 6 mos. of bed-ridden illness and then death, i expected. stroke and unknown amounts of time as a cripple...no. i did not expect that. nor did i expect that a nursing home may become unavoidable because my mother is not strong enough to lift a man who cannot lift himself. i might move back to redding. god fucking forbid. but it turns out what is more important to me than my own everyday happiness is being with my father in the final moments of his life.
the peculiarity of it all is the way my life suddenly feels shortened. after awaiting this time for most of my adult life, to finally have it here reduces the span of the future a great deal. suddenly, i AM 35. i am 35 and unmarried and without kids and still in grad school and still not sure how all that stuff about home ownership and settling down and making a life and also travelling the world and doing some great epic thing with my life is all going to work. and i feel like i have a lot less time. because it is now, and my father is dying, and the horizon just got a whole fuck of a lot closer.
i also have regained a large portion of my childhood, with a wasp swarm of memories that are crowding into this ark with me. i recall that there was a huge part of my time with my family, with my father, that was not magical. that was not adventurous, that was not nurturing and yummy and creative and fun. most of my childhood, kids, sucked big donkey balls. suffocating and boring and soulless and an eternity trapped in the living room with my father's depression and my mother's suppressed rage. ha ha...guess what...i inherited a little of that. but i took a psych assessment test the other day for depression and it came up negative. hey! whaddya know! then i took a test for anxiety and it came up as severe.
oh.
i am holding it together. i've got it contained. i'm seeing clients and i'm doing burlesque and my social life sucks shit but that's mostly cuz i'm busy and i'm making crafty beauties and trying to sell them and i still feed the birds outside our front door, and they come when i call now, and i feel like snow white, except i've given up on prince charming. this weekend i am building a dias de los muertos altar and i am thankful that, this year, my father will not be on it. saturday i am doing a medicine ceremony and my best friend is in town and i just bought awesome victorian boots the other day, and the rest of the time i am gasping into corners when the overwhelming reality of my father in a wheelchair collides with the memory of my daddy riding a rototiller around our garden.
just to prove to you that i have not lost my sense of humor...
VIEW 25 of 41 COMMENTS
I just turned 34 and feel the same way you do, but I can't let age be such a distraction. If I do I'll get crazy and stressed. I am on the verge of going back to grad school and feel torn by the late return to school, but I know it'l bring future happiness, which will make this time of my life look like a small speed bump.
your humor is awesome! let it burn bright with your smile and keep the darkness at bay