It won’t be long now.
A dear friend of ours is in hospice care, on the final steps of her life journey. It came on suddenly, and her decline has been shocking and heartbreaking. Yesterday, we saw her for probably the last time. While I wouldn’t have missed it, I couldn’t help thinking that the person we used to know was already gone.
A few days ago, I had a phone conversation with my Mom, who had just lost one of her beloved dogs, Jake. She talked about loss, not just of the people and fur babies in her life, but of places she had once known, like her childhood neighborhood that she will probably never visit again.
We also discussed the Wayfarer’s Chapel, a beautiful glass church open to everyone, which used to sit inside a lovely redwood grove in Palos Verdes, a rocky promontory not far from Los Angeles on the Pacific Ocean Coast. I have fond memories of the place, that I visited with friends on multiple occasions. After landslides threatened the structure, it is being dismantled piece by piece to be reconstructed elsewhere. And the homes of my grandparents, now long sold and belonging to someone else.
My Dad, too, echoed these themes of loss to me recently. His own vision loss, which has restricted him more and more. His circle of friends has been diminished by time and death. And he’s become more dependent on friends and family to do even the most basic things.
And on the world stage, we’re all stumbling through the loss of who we used to be as a people, as a nation, the sense of what it once meant to be an American. As war and dictators flourish around the world and a November election promises to be divisive and bitterly fought, we mourn the loss of what seemed to be simpler times.
Loss is all around us, and sometimes it’s hard to find something hopeful to anchor ourselves to, in order to withstand the storm.
* deep breath *
Hope is a habit. It’s not something that comes naturally to many of us. It’s something you have to practice. I’ve given it a lot of thought, as regular readers of this column can attest. When something knocks us down, we either find a reason to get back up, or we give in and give up. Making a regular practice of hope gives us a reason to pull ourselves back up.
The sun is shining outside our office window this morning, a lovely fall day. A few minutes ago, I harvested fresh bell peppers and tomatoes from my garden. Yesterday evening we had a lovely dinner on the patio at a local restaurant with two dear friends. And I made progress on my writing, something that always soothes my soul.
Even in politics, there’s hope – far more than I felt a couple months ago. Our new nominee has infused joy into this election, something I never expected.
And of course, there’s my beautiful husband Mark, one of the kindest, strongest men I have ever knowm, and without whom I would truly be lost.
We grasp each other’s hands, and we soldier on.
When we were leaving our friend’s house yesterday, I knelt over and kissed her forehead, and told her I loved her. She reached up and squeezed my hand, and told me she loved me too. And I knew that she was still in there.
She’s at the end of her life journey, and none of us can know what will come next. Selfishly, I hope she finds her way back to her husband, another dear friend of ours – that he’s waiting for her in the wings with that big grin of his. Theirs is a love story for the ages.
I carry that last, soft touch of her hand and that whispered I love you in my heart, letting it warm my soul, and continue along on my own life journey with Mark.