Canada Saga 2013 - June 1

 

"O, for how short a time You have lent us to each other." (Inca Prayer)

 "Happiness cannot be traveled to, owned, earned, worn or consumed...(but) is the spiritual experience of living every minute with love, grace, and gratitude." (Dennis Waitley) 

 

In one sense, it seemed we had just gone out for a gallon of milk, rather than an 8 month sojourn. But as the plane touched down and taxi'd toward the small airport, the closed restaurant stood as a reminder that more than time has passed.  Its owner, a friend who had always treated us kindly, greeted us with his warm laughter, invited us to his home for dinner, and with whom we shared our Louisiana roots, had passed in late April.  For the first time in years, I didn't have gumbo file' in my carry-on to drop off to him. I breathed in the sorrow and pain with tears, then turned to receive the beautiful smile and hugs of a dear friend waiting to greet and drive us home, a reminder that life, and love, go on. 

 

So we've stocked the pantry and visited Farmer's Markets, brought our flower baskets

for replanting, set out the patio furniture, filled the propane tank for the barbecue, and eaten at

our favorite restaurants. Last Sunday we attended a concert of the Island Soul Choir, a group of 130 locals who practice monthly and perform yearly with a mix of lively and ethnic music. They are exuberant, to

the point that even Michael was on the edge of his seat joining in with a gusty "Guantamera." Seriously.

 

One of the blessings of leaving, of course, is the home-coming, as intense in its joy as the parting sorrow

was last fall. We came home to cool temps, constant drizzle, (or as we call it, pretend rain), a

committee of hugs and 'welcomes!', a heating system needing repair, a garbage disposal that simply buzzed and an oven that didn't get hot.  I tried not to relate any of this to Michael's new best friend, Sparky, but it did seem a bit odd that all these electrical devices were suddenly not functioning after the defibrillator walked through the door.  In a matter of days, Michael's hearing aids both went out, as well. His left one restarted with a new battery, but the right one is still non-functioning, and awaiting attention this week.

 

Last year we left in a blitz of closing-down activities, concerned with the sudden hospitalization

of my Mom, not knowing when we'd be able to return. My sisters practically willed her back to a

degree of health that no one expected, through their love and persistence. She can no longer be

left alone because of some ongoing confusion, particularly over her medicines.Our ever-changing tech

world has created problems with things that used to be simple (using the tv remote, for instance), and

have become more challenging for her (o.k., and me, too). Although she is physically limited in her activities, she is still able to enjoy our visits, take daily walks, and engage in stories about her earlier life, some of which are new to us. 

 

Our lives, too, changed as we adjusted to schedules and shifts over the course of the winter, and an angel sitter named Mary entered our lives to relieve us and be a new friend to Mom.

 

There is a grace in being able to move into the new and demanding role as caretaker, while allowing those cared for a dignity that seems to diminish, the needier we become. Because sooner or later, regardless of our age, we will all be in a situation of needing various stages of care. As we all struggled with creating this new space in our otherwise busy lives, I saw the beauty and compassion of my sisters and nieces, and the incredible generosity of the human spirit offering comfort to a distressed soul, and therefore to the world. Each little task of the day, which seemed rote to us, created a sense of peace and comfort in a world growing ever smaller for her. If we are, indeed, serving the Divine as we serve another, then service becomes a sacrament - easy to forget when the sacred seems so mundane. And this is the very secret of living as  sacrament in itself.

 

My mother would often say she felt like a burden, and I was reminded of Mother Theresa's advice to those who wanted to join her in her charities abroad: take care of your own families; spread God's love through service in your own world.

 

It's sometimes more desirable for us to volunteer in some far off place, or with a stranger, than to be patient and giving to those closest to us, whether it's an older parent, or a child or friend or partner who does that one thing one more time that drives us crazy and tests our love. It's easier to be joyful and tolerant with a confused toddler than with the equally confused - and often more terrified - elderly.  Each of us has held my Mom this winter, as she teared-up in the panic of a mind that she knew wasn't working properly, and over which she had no control. Each of us lives with our own ghost memories of the laughing smiling mother who we have already said good-bye to.

 

It was a winter of learning from my family and my mother, ever the teacher. She would wonder why she was still here, and I would tell her she was still teaching. I felt like one of her kindergarten students, only this time she was teaching the art of suffering and prayer and surrendering, and I was hoping I would never be put to the test. I would not be at the head of the class.

 

So it was with guilt, grief and much thought that we made our decision to come here for our summer. We

know our time for island living is limited to probably these next two summers, and we have to begin to get our place here ready for selling. As we stepped off the plane, the crispness of the cedar air cradled us. I was greeted by the loud barking of sea lions off shore the next morning, and the ever-present deer watched quietly as I walked the Rathtrevor path in the cool rain. The wild roses danced their fragrance with the ocean's, filling the air with their joy.

 

Thomas Wolfe said that we can't go home again, echoing Heraclitus: you can't step in the same river twice.  But there's a home within the Heart that we never leave, and places and moments that bring us back, return us to the Flow in the never-changing, ever-abundant River of grace. Maybe one day I'll leave that kindergarten class.  I'll grow up enough to "live every moment with love, grace and gratitude," wherever life finds me.  Until then, a very generous Spirit has given us the blessing of being together in this treasured place and time.

 

YAY GOD