The sudden loss of a colleague this week has put my plans for the next several days in limbo. It was to be the busiest week of the year as far as work goes. Culminating in an end-of-the week series of events celebrating the community and its achievements. But this loss now tempers any possible celebration and requires a rethinking of what this week will and should be. It reminds me of a time two years ago when I learned a surprising life lesson.
It started very gradually. A few new aches and pains. Not feeling as strong as before. We chalked it up to getting older. That was two winters ago. But, as spring approached, it became obvious that there was something more going on with my brother’s health. The weakness increased and then more symptoms. It took more than two months to find the cause – cancer. In the meantime, as his strength and mobility declined, I began to take on more responsibilities around the house. After the diagnosis, a 21-day stay in the hospital meant daily visits, sometimes twice a day. All of this while still keeping things going at home and work.
When he came home, the real work began. A special diet meant extra care in the kitchen preparing meals. Measuring sodium content. Monitoring vital signs throughout the day. Doing laundry, paying bills. Communicating with family and friends. Tending the garden. Then a visit to the emergency room and a harrowing 30 hours of waiting, pain and frustration. Finally to come home again with a new perspective. A perspective of “it is time.” The pace picks up as friends and family stream through the house over the next seven days to visit one last time. Behind the laughter and storytelling, a mound of logistics to tend to. Meals for everyone in the house. Medication still to administer. Laundry to do.
And of course, the nightly routine putting to bed – a task that became more stressful each day. The nights of light sleeping, a baby monitor close by to hear the call for help or sounds of distress. What seemed liked years of living packed in to a few weeks. Intense, concentrated, and highly focused. Draining, but necessary and with no alternative because every fiber of your being is focused on this all important task. No thoughts of doing anything else. Not work, not hobbies, not anything else. Done willingly and with love at 90 miles an hour.
And then, it all comes to a stop. The end has come and the inevitable has happened. You knew it was coming. Lived with its coming every day. But somehow, the knowing in no way prepared you for it. It is as if being so much inside of it blurred the future. Blinded your heart and your mind to what was coming. It is not the death of your brother you did not see coming. It is not even the deep grief that is almost more than you can bare. What you did not see coming was the sudden, jarring loss of purpose. For such a long time your life was defined very specifically by the needs of your brother. 24 hours of each day solely focused on serving to the best of your ability. And then that purpose is gone and you are left numb and not sure what to do with yourself. Someone has thrown the emergency brake and you have went from 90 to 0 in the blink of an eye. You know you must move on at some point and live life. But, for now, you can’t think of anything to do that seems worth the effort. The intense sense of purpose you had for performing the most mundane tasks is gone. Replaced with an inertia that runs so deep you wonder if it will ever go away.
And, to some extent, that inertia remains. It manifests in a slowing down of life. An understanding that life is fleeting and to go too fast is to miss so much. Perhaps loss is the ultimate teacher of life’s lessons. A reminder that we are to cherish each moment, each person, each miracle large and small. The lesson too is to look deeper in to ourselves. Self-examination is not for the young and ambitious, but rather for those whose experiences have required a different perspective. One that values relationships over achievements.
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