Finding ‘peace and poise’ amid many reminders that the past is past
This weekend I did something I’ve never done before. I replaced my cell phone with a new one without telling my wife. I don’t feel guilty about this (I’ll explain below), but it does feel strange, one more sign I’ve opened a new chapter, advanced into new territory, chosen a new path—whatever metaphor works best to say, “Things here keep getting different.”
I’ve needed a new phone for months. I’m not one of those guys who feels he must grab each new upgrade, but my current model was at least six years old. Its battery needed to be repaired, and its case wore out and fell off sometime last year. I just kept using it, even after I dropped it on the hard floor of the LaGuardia airport in October, smashing the back, but not the screen. It continued to work fine, and I always had a charger handy.
But I finally decided to quit procrastinating. My wife was on an outing with some friends Saturday, and with the time I had to myself, I went to the store and made the trade.
Evelyn still has her old phone. This is what’s strange. We’ve always bought new phones together. But Evelyn has largely lost interest in hers, and when she does pick it up she has trouble navigating the buttons and arrows and prompts. It’s working fine, and I don’t see the point in buying a new one.
But I couldn’t share with her how pleased I am to have a new one myself, because I’m pretty sure she’d say she wants one too. And even though she’s now seen me with this phone, she hasn’t commented. I don’t think she knows it’s new.
This is one more sign of what I already knew but confronted afresh this weekend. I’m alone here. Evelyn, my wife of almost 50 years, has very little say in the navigation of our days.
Something I read this weekend, along with something I saw and something I heard brought this aloneness into clear focus for me.
A key skill
In her column appearing in The Wall Street Journal Saturday, Peggy Noonan quoted words of wisdom Norman Lear offered at his 100th birthday party. The legendary sitcom creator said, “There are two words we don’t honor enough. One is ‘over’ and the other is ‘next.’” And then she explained the meaning she took from his observation.
I heard embedded within his words a layer of advice: That it’s actually a key skill to be able to see when something’s over, when it’s the past, not the future; that you have to have eyes that can find the next area of constructiveness, which may take time; and in the time between . . . you must maintain your peace and poise.
She used the quote to launch into her comments on Kevin McCarthy’s weeklong struggle to convince members of his own party to elect him Speaker of the House of Representatives. Should McCarthy have had the “peace and poise” simply to give up the battle?
That’s a question for someone else to answer, but Lear’s quote made me think again about what’s over and what’s next for me in this caregiving journey.
A lifelong partnership
Earlier I had listened to a husband and wife, dear friends, talk about all the decisions ahead of them as they plan to execute an international move. Their strategy would be to sit together Monday and lay out everything they needed to do and decide. In their sharing, they’d figure out what to tackle and when.
“When we were serving alone together on the mission field, we called this a staff meeting,” my friend quipped. And I felt a fleeting ache to enjoy such meetings in my marriage. But all such consultation for Evelyn and me is over; “it’s the past, not the future.”
A vanishing connection
The same evening I’d heard about another friend whose husband is demonstrating bouts of severe dementia. “Does he still know you?” a friend had asked her.
I was stung by how well I resonated with her answer. “Oh yes, he knows me,” she said. “But I don’t really know him anymore. He’s not the man I married.” She is seeing what’s over, and I’m taken by the “peace and poise” she’s demonstrating in this uncertain present.
Pleasant moments
My wife and I have enjoyed several pleasant moments in the last few days. We noticed a huge Dollar General store in the strip mall where we ate lunch Monday, for example, and she was eager to stroll the aisles. We chuckled about finding stuff there we needed but didn’t know we need.
Our life together is not all bad. But here’s the difference: I was thinking what it would be like if God had put us in a different picture. Suppose one of our children hadn’t married, had become severely disabled, and needed caregiving from us. Like our current reality, dreams would be crushed, plans would be put aside, and we would walk an unchosen journey. But unlike today, Evelyn would be more than my often-pleasant companion. We would be partners.
But the possibility of that partnership is in “the past, not the future.” I’ll think about that this week as I get acquainted with my new phone. As I discover its new features, I won’t point them out to Evelyn. I’ll pray instead for “peace and poise” to enjoy my phone alone.
Cell phone picture by Jonas Leupe on Unsplash. Lear photo via WikiMedia Commons.
Encouragement for caregivers and those who love them. Starting next week, January 16!
