The past year or so has been one of saying goodbye to a lot of things, both aspirational and physical. I've been reading a lot, especially in Buddhist thought, about attachment being the cause of all suffering, and in a lot of ways the idea has taken hold in my mind and actions. Not that my actual life situation has changed all that much lately, but still I have been saying goodbye. Even the thought of writing for an audience has gone by the way. Now that I am down to no page checks on my blog for the last several months, this is more of an occasional diary than a blog. If you happen to run across it, that is fine but I don't expect it. I may or may not continue to contribute -- I'll just see how I feel.
I think it all started with saying goodbye to Butte last fall. She was "the third orange" of "the three oranges." I've been using that handle ever since I, with my red hair, adopted the two ginger kittens in 1996. I have even owned "threeoranges.net" for 7 years, although I have yet to do anything with the domain name. I still have time, right? My car, blog, facebook account, and numerous other parts of my life are all labeled in some way with the three oranges moniker, but the three oranges no longer exist. Butte died, her brother Hairy is on his last legs with a kidney disease, and even I was in danger of losing myself this past year. Funny how so much continues to exist when our actual lives are so transitory. Butte's favorite place on the sofa pillow is still a place where both Hairy and I go to sit with the memory of her presence, but is it time to say goodbye to the idea of the three oranges?
In the case of me, the head orange, it was a routine surgery that turned life upside down and threatened its very existence. Fat particles from inside my bone marrow got into my blood stream and were returned to the heart, where they were sent out with force into my lungs, brain, and various other parts. Plunging oxygen levels in my blood caused great concern and kept me in ICU for a couple days, then aphasia from the stroke cause by the particles in my brain kept me from communicating clearly for a few days more, and with lingering confusing and difficulties accessing my internal lexicon for some time after. Fat particles that made their way to my retinas left me with blurry vision for a few months and a small amount of permanent damage. I'm told 15-20% of people who have fatty embolism syndrome die within a few hours or days, the rest of us fully recover. I'm said to be one of the lucky ones, but I wonder whether I have "recovered." I certainly feel different these days, more aware of how strong and fragile we are at the same time, less tied to the idea of myself as intact and completely integral. Part of me fell apart, maybe even fell off. But, that's ok. I'm saying goodbye to the old me, but am awaiting the me that is yet to come.
Saying goodbye to my Hairy is another matter. I've been blessed with months, maybe even a year or so, to say goodbye, since his kidney disease has not progressed for a few months and he is otherwise healthy and happy. So, I spend every night with him pressed up against me and I think "for a few more nights, my little lover." I want to fully enjoy our time together, and not grieve his loss until is has happened -- I want to learn to live in the moment and appreciate each moment, even thought I (think I) know what is ahead. What's hard is when I can't always be there for him, with him. There are still my "people family" who, in the grand scheme of things, do take precedence over a cat, however loved. So, sometimes I have to be away, or out of the house. I felt torn when I had to spend several weeks away this summer and leave him with a cat sitter, even though she was very good with him. I first spent a week away with family, then was home only a week, then was away 4 days for the annual family reunion, then 2 weeks home, and then away for 17 days with my in-laws, going with them on a train trip to Minnesota to visit one of their daughters and her husband. I knew my being there made the trip possible, as they were both 79 and probably beyond doing the trip solo. Yet, still, I hated being away from my Hairy and my house -- I was starting to feel "not me" this summer, DOING so much but not being.
And speaking of doing rather than being, another thing I've been saying goodbye to is who I expected to be in retirement. I had great plans for a post-retirement career or three or four. I couldn't imagine not working, not having some professional identity. So, I taught college classes and started a consulting career, and started a free-lance writing business on the side. And, I wanted to be a blogger, and volunteer, and get involved with community groups. And, I wanted to travel, and visit friends, and... And, I got so busy doing that I wasn't becoming anymore. I missed the feeling of becoming the person I want to be, but that person is someone who knows things, and more importantly understands things, and who has thought deeply about things -- internalized them. But, where is the time when you have such an AGENDA. Could I actually let myself just stop and be? I have learned that I can live well on much less than I thought I could. I don't really need the extra money like I thought I would, particularly when I look at how little so many have to live on. I don't want to be someone who gets bored in retirement and just sits in front of the TV, but is that really me? If I cut back a little on all the activity, could I possibly find myself in books and study? Can I say goodbye to the perception of myself and others of an active and involved retiree -- give it up to try to become the person that I want to be?
So, there I was with no more plans until Christmas, just me, my own little summer home, my cats (now with Jan's Ami cat, while she was off to Japan for several weeks), and looking forward to a slower fall and a chance to explore my new confidence in expanding my inner world. I was sure I NEEDED some time to myself, to reach back into the solitude and replenish my resources. But, then the phone rang -- just the morning after I drove home from my in-laws house, after our trip trip together. My father-in-law was dead. How could that be? I left him at breakfast just yesterday morning, he was in a great mood, joking and enjoying conversation and so glad for a great trip but to be back home. He got up this morning and "just died," as my mother-in-law put it. New plans, grief, questions -- did I miss something? Calling Jan -- turning back from Japan after the first leg of her flight, cancelling all the arrangements, funeral, who will stay with the mother-in-law this fall? Other people again need me more than my little hometown retreat and my cat companions. Saying goodbye to Jan's father and helping her to say goodbye, but also saying goodbye to the father-in-law I've known since I was only 18, my parent as well for 2/3rds of my life! Saying goodbye to "they way things have always been." Saying goodbye to the third parent I've lost, and too much anticipation of the time I may have to say goodbye to the last of them. Goodbye to my sister in NY and my plans to spend the holidays with her, my brother, and their families. Hello to my new home with my mother-in-law for a month after the funeral, then goodbye again to go spend 2 weeks with Jan, Then, today, goodbye to Jan as she goes to spend the month of Dec with her mother.
Now sitting in Jan's house, our house though it doesn't feel like mine anymore. My life, though it doesn't feel like mine anymore. So many things this year, I didn't realize I was so attached to. When I strip all that away, what is left? Am I about to find out?
