What I’m deciding these days: Blunted blessings are still blessings!

I looked through the kitchen window several days ago to see a deer in the shade garden—two feet from the house, beside the deck. I couldn’t believe it.

I went outside to make sure my eyes weren’t fooling me, and the fawn bounded out of the garden but went only a couple yards onto the lawn. I took in the sight: stilt legs, ears twitching, russet coat sprinkled with ovals the color of cream. The creature and I looked at each other; it was curious, I was surprised. It seemed to pose for my picture and faced me as if to say, “Dude, what’s your problem?” Soon it bounded next door and lay down in the shade under the trees at the back of my neighbor’s yard. It was beautiful.

What a blessing! But my enthusiasm dissipated the next day when I discovered the animal had chewed off one whole side of a prize hosta growing in a glazed pot on a stand at the edge of that shade garden. And several hostas growing under the trees in the back of my yard had been eaten to the ground.

Dear encounters

While many readers could tell stories of deer encounters, this was something new for us, surrounded by pools and fences in our suburban neighborhood. And I’ve decided the whole experience is something of a metaphor for my life these days: a beautiful blessing blunted.

In this life, especially the life of a caregiver, you can’t have it all. A graceful wild creature almost close enough to touch, yes. An assortment of hostas I’ve carefully nurtured in a shade garden more attractive than ever; I’m happy with it. But now the second could become a salad bar for the first, and I don’t like it.

The challenge is to revel in the blessings while not being undone by the accompanying frustration. Friday evening was a perfect example.

 Goodbye and good luck

We were invited to a beautiful home where we discovered a couple dozen friends and acquaintances gathered to say goodbye to two of our number preparing to move across the country. My extrovert’s need to be with people was satisfied by all the happy banter. It was a lovely summer evening on a well-appointed deck where we could tell this couple one more time we love them. 

In the course of the evening, more than one spoke to me about my blog. Everyone there seemed to know about or quickly discern Evelyn’s problems, and they were gracious and patient with her.

She moved from spot to spot, sometimes unaware she was taking the chair of someone else who had stood to refill their glass.

The crowded deck was two steps off the ground, and Evelyn constantly changed places, sometimes stepping precariously close to the edge before she haltingly found a seat. A host of helping hands guided her to each new landing place, again and again, because she didn’t stay in one spot for long.

She loved the food, as evidenced by the spills of chocolate cake icing and meatball barbecue sauce on her dress. I regretted choosing a white dress for her and kept waiting for her to be ready to leave. But she seemed to be enjoying all the hubbub of the chatter bouncing all around us.

Savor instead of curses

Would I have wanted to miss the party? Absolutely not. Did I enjoy the people? Was I glad for one last hug and picture with this couple with whom we’ve shared happy times for many years? Of course.

But was the evening difficult? Yes.
Did I fight being embarrassed by Evelyn’s behavior? Once or twice.
Did I ever completely relax and give myself to the people around me? No.
Was I on task every minute? Did I look across the space to keep my eye on Evelyn when I was getting up to find more food for her? Always.
Was I afraid we’d have some disaster other than the spills on her dress? Often.

The blessing of the get-together was blunted for me by the realities of our situation. This is just how it is these days. I’m learning to savor the blessings without cursing the curbs on them. Usually.

Saturday night life

Saturday evening I was cleaning up the kitchen when she came to stand beside me. “I want to tell you something,” she said. I put down the dish towel, looked at her, and waited. And waited some more. She seemed intent on what she wanted to say, but she couldn’t complete the sentence.

Quietly I offered, “It’s OK. You’ll think of it later.” She struggled with it some more before finally whimpering, “Oh, shoot” and turning away.

I put my arm around her shoulders and said, “I’m sorry, Honey. I’m so sorry,” and then my tears came. “I’d do anything to change this if I could.”

“I know,” she said, and hugged my waist. I gave a tighter squeeze and patted her back before she shuffled off to the living room.

Soon we would watch TV together, as we do most evenings. Saturday night she seemed especially interested in the movie we chose.

Photo by Dusan Ladjevic at istockphoto.com

She sat quietly through the whole thing. Occasionally I’d explain something I thought maybe she missed. “Are you enjoying this movie?” I asked more than once.

“Oh, yes,” she always said.

We took a break for ice cream halfway through. “I’m so glad we could watch this together tonight,” I said later, over the closing credits.

“Me, too,” she replied, and I think she meant it.

It was a blessing.