‘Live in the moment.’ Good advice, even from a daily cartoon
Saturday’s The New Yorker cartoon-a-day calendar displayed two dandelions in a grassy field. One was talking, and the other listened with an expression of something between concern and fear. Both were done blooming; their faces appeared on round, wispy seedheads still fully intact.
“The wind, the wind,” the talking dandelion said. “That’s all you think about. You gotta learn to live in the moment.”
All of us have heard the advice. But it seems ironic, perhaps even foolish, when we can see disaster ahead for these two whose faces will inevitably be sent floating away with the next spring storm.
For the caregiver unaware of the challenges to come, the advice is apt. I’m slowly learning to relish and remember each sterling moment.
One of those happened one evening last week.
Complicated
We had just finished an episode of the old TV series Madam Secretary. It was one of our favorites when it first appeared on the network (part of that Sunday-evening routine I mentioned last week). I came across it again some time ago when I was scrolling on Netflix, and I realized we had never seen the series from its very beginning.
Evelyn was willing to give it a try, and even though I know she can’t really follow everything going on in each episode, she continues to say she’s enjoying it. So I plan to go with that as long as possible.
I glanced her way when I clicked the remote at the end of the episode. She sat up and looked at me with no comment, as if to ask, “What’s next?”
“I really enjoy this!” I said. “But I know this one was a bit complicated.”
“Yes,” she said, her eyes steady on mine. “Complicated.”
Impulsively I remarked, “I want you to know I’m so, so sorry this is so hard for you.” She didn’t drop her gaze. It was if I were talking with her 10 years ago about a sprained ankle or a bad cold. “And everyone who knows you feels exactly the same way,” I added.
Then her expression changed, and her face contorted. “Really?” she said and began to cry.
I moved beside her from my chair and hugged her. “Yes. Yes! You’re such a trooper. You try so hard. And none of this is your fault. I am crushingly sorry you’re going through this.”
I was crying too, and she hugged me tight in an embrace that lasted long.
Challenge
We almost never talk about her diseases. She doesn’t seem to want to. And I’m not sure she’d even always acknowledge the objective reality that something is wrong with her. She just plows forward, trying to figure out how to get to the bathroom or where to put the forks she’s pulling out of the dishwasher, like someone who’s lost her glasses but can’t stop to find them.
And I do the same. We cope with the current challenge, whether it’s a stained rug from a spilled coffee cup, or the last pill she must take even though it’s sometimes hard for her to swallow. We talk about what’s next, not what once was.
But in that embrace, we dealt with each other as husband and wife, not caregiver and patient. We admitted to each other the mess we’re in and found strength in each other to keep going on. In a busy week, even with several other blessings, this one was without question the high point.
Recording it here is my way to remember. There are windy days ahead, and who knows when we’ll “live in a moment” like that one again? Recalling it may help me stay steady despite whatever storms tomorrow brings.
Photos by Yulia Gusterina and gan chaonan at istockphoto.com