We have been working through the Serenity Prayer at church and today we talked about accepting hardship as being THE pathway to peace. Not an easy thing to talk about, for sure and a harder thing to actually face. Not the rainbows and roses that we sometimes like to see life as. In fact, our pastor spoke about how most of us can get on board to it being A pathway to peace, but not THE pathway. The truth is, most of us avoid pain as if it is, well, painful.
Never have I seen this play out more than on Sunday mornings, after church, where the rubber hits the road. This is when my husband, Ric and I, make the short drive over to Aspen Siesta (nothing like its name implies) to visit my mom and dad. Ric never knew them, really, so he chooses to walk and commune with nature while I make what seems to be a trek from the car to the door to see my aging parents. The door is innocent enough in and of itself, but I never quite know what to expect on the other side. Sometimes I have a "good" visit, but other times, not so much.
I would like to say that I look forward to these visits, but that would be a lie. I would also like to say that I have embraced this pain, leaned into it, but that, too, would only be a partial truth. In reality, watching my parents' slow road to the grave has been one of the hardest things I've ever had to face. And most days I am far from having an accepting attitude toward any of it.
Today as I walked in, a local guitar player was in the foyer with some of the tenants of Aspen Siesta gathered around. As I entered, I scanned the crowd for my parents, seeing my mom instantly, then my dad right after. She looked at me with a knowing look which is always good as they say she has Alzheimer's.
There is usually one other visitor that I see every Sunday, without fail. He is a man in his late 60's or maybe early 70's who visits who I think is his wife. He holds her hand, with no response from her. She stares blankly into space, her curled up, withered body unresponsive to his touch. Yet he is faithful, always there, caressing her hand, looking into her far-away eyes.
Watching them together usually brings tears to my eyes. I fantasize about what their lives together had been like and I imagine that it was spectacular, making it all the more heartbreaking that she is now confined to a wheelchair, her crumbled up body unaware of the pain going on outside of it. Watching them also makes me want to cherish my own marriage more, even though I fall short there as well.
Today was even more heart-wrenching as a man in his 30's or 40's sat next to the woman while her husband sat close by. I imagine this man was her son, but I had never seen him there before. He looked at her, pain in his eyes, awkwardly touching her hand off and on, very much the opposite of his father's technique. My heart broke for this family, the son visiting mom as dad looked on. I pitied them, felt great sadness for them. Then I remembered my own predicament and I thought, which is worse? Having both of your parents in wheelchairs, in a nursing home, where they are barely subsisting or being a father, watching your son look pensive and unsure, holding the hand of the one who gave him life, but was now on a march toward death? It is unimaginable that I even have to contemplate which is worse.
I felt compassion for both of them, but probably more so for the son. I could relate so much more to him because I AM him, in many ways. Wishing I could be any place but here, in any situation other than this one. But also compelled, at the same time, to grasp at any lingering piece of life with my parents.
I didn't talk much to my mom because I wanted to be respectful of the musician who gave his time and heart to play for a less than captive audience. The only clapping he received was from me, the father and son, and my mom. At one point I looked over at her and asked how she was. She said, "I'm happy." I was taken aback for a minute, then smiled, thinking she is way better off than me in some ways, naive to just how hopeless her circumstances are.
As I walked out the door that day, the bright Colorado sun warm on my face, I whispered to myself "Accept hardship as the pathway to peace, accept hardship as the pathway to peace..." I willed myself to take it in, to hold the truth close to me, to wear it like a cloak. I have tasted a small piece of this truth; I have a feeling I will taste much more. And I'm trying to be grateful.
Accepting Hardship as the Pathway to Peace
