Dad in May of 2008
I am a firm believer that we must stand by our values and make our work/life decisions based on those values. Much of the work that I do with my clients is about making values-based and courageous decisions in their own leadership, in their strategic planning and in setting personal and professional priorities.
I was put to the test over the past couple of months. My father became unexpectedly ill in June of this year. On June 10th, I grabbed a red-eye from San Francisco to Boston and over the next two months spent most of my time there with no internet access 95% of the time and very little time for phone calls. Crossing the country eight times, I was there with him and my family while we went through tests, biopsies, diagnosis, ICU stay, move to hospice care, his dying, and his death.
I made a choice to let an amazing amount of time pass in “business hours” and to spend the moment by moment life journey with my father and the rest of the family. My father was never going to die again, my sisters and I were never going to lose our father again, my mother was never going to lose her beloved again. There was no way that I would prioritize this time in my life any other way.
Did I lose some business? Maybe. Did my clients feel that I had fallen off the face of the earth? No. Did the organization I am president of cease to function? No. Am I spending a phenomenal amount of time catching up? Yes.
What I received personally was the most amazing series of experiences, memories, and life lessons that have grown me and changed me as a person forever and for the better. What I received professionally was a deepening of my commitment to help others make hard and sometimes very fast decisions about their personal and professional lives and to live a life of meaning that is fully based in clearly defined values and clearly defined priorities. I am grateful for the opportunity.
September 19, 2008 at 8:36 am |
how amazing that we go through similar life experiences at the same time…. or is it?
my mother died dec 11. she was ill for a time and i cared for her alone; my sister was “too busy” and 4 hours away, my father had died over 20+ years ago.
to say it was traumatic and life-changng is a grand understatement. caring for your own lifetime caretaker – turned care needer with the self care abilities of a child, tears your heart out of you. or tore mine out of me. helping my mother i the bathroom nearly did me in; watching her misery knowing i could do nothing but offer drugs and love finished off the job.
i slept in her room to help her in the night… how can one describe this to someone who has never experienced it?
the worst was knowing all the emotional pain she had endured throughout her lifetime and feeling so bereft that i would never have the chance to make her happy enough to somehow compensate.
i’m 52. the last 30+ years have not changed my “internal young core”… that is to say, when i see “kids” who are 20 say and do things they think make them the “owners of the world” and better than i/we (mid-lifers) EVER were, i have moments when i want to grab them and say, “you think you’re something? -let me show you a photo of myself at your age, and let me tell you what adventures i’ve had”! —and yet, while i FEEL the same person on the inside, the inner core wrapped AROUND that “first inner core” is vastly different.
it is said we should hold onto and cherish those people who knew us when we were young. the older i get, the more i believe this to be true.
i’ve changed so much in my judgements, perceptions and actions that there are times i wonder if i ever was the person i fondly and not-so-fondly remember.
learning and changing with age and experience; what a concept… ;-
some people from our pasts only recall what we did that offended them at the time and can never see past it to the person into whom we have evolved.
others somehow never forget what they loved, and forgive us nearly anything we do in the present because they recall each detail of how we got from there -so long ago- to here, where we are now…. or at least what we aspire to become… those are the most precious; those who know our histories and it doesn’t change their steadfast love. perhaps they are angry, or offended, or whatever, but the core of love for us is a flame we understand, with incredulity, will NEVER go out… no matter WHAT we manage to do. those are the rare ones who can remind us how on earth we ever got here in times of both joy and crisis.
sometimes they quote us back to ourselves, and we can be both shocked at our foolishness or amazed at our own long forgotten insight.
most precious is having those who have seen the brightest light from within us and watch us behave as intolerable fools; yet love and delight in us throughout because they have seen and known IT ALL and just don’t care, for they KNOW the light that burns inside no matter how the temporary impenetrable fog into which we have steered or drifted hides it! …. we can trust them with ourselves as we can trust NO ONE ELSE… they remember who we really are because they were THERE. with luck and love they know how to burrow through that fog, somehow grab hold of us like a drifting boat at sea and drag us back to the daylight.
no matter how “in love” we may be, there is always the possibility that the new beloved will see us at our worst and leave us. but not those who knew us when we were young and KNOW IT ALL ALREADY… they know it is “temporary”, even if it takes a year or three!
i remember at a distraught 22 (?) i broke a window on a lover’s french door because i was so upset. (truth be told, i didn’t know the glass was there at all because there was a wood panel behind it), but still, it was broken glass, no way around it…. i was such a “child” back then; what did i know? anyway, my best friend was phoned, took me to her home to a cup of tea, listened to it all and put me to bed on her couch. i can look back 30 years and see what an idiot i was; how i behaved like an ape (i shouldn’t insult ape’s; i was worse!) and i swore i would NEVER, EVER, become such a disgrace. and i didn’t. not ever. one DOES learn things… people change… and yet, that same friend is my very closest friend to this day. we have seen nearly every up and down in each other’s lives and only stopped speaking for one single 2 week period during 38 years. (and that turned out to be a COMPLETE misunderstanding of a conversation). she never judged me badly for that incident; she knew me better than that. she knew i was beside myself with pain and didn’t yet have the tools or experience to know how to deal with it all. as i fell asleep on her couch she kissed me on the cheek, knowing full well that i had behaved abominably, and said, “I LOVE YOU, and this pain will pass eventually… but remember i love you, no matter what, and when you get upset call me FIRST… you can come here anytime, i’m putting a sign on this couch reserving it for you only”.
another precious memory of that debacle is that a mutual friend, very close to her but not to me, heard of the incident and said to her, “you’re a good friend to her (meaning me).” and her IMMEDIATE response was, “diane, she’s MY FRIEND”!
it was the moment when she related that conversation that i felt COMPLETELY ACCEPTED— TRULY UNCONDITIONALLY. for the first time in my life.
people talk a great deal about “unconditional love”, but when push comes to shove, those words are usually meaningless. i don’t have to tell that to you of all people, barbara, you see it every day i’m sure.
i can’t imagine my life without her. and, i believe, vice versa. she has her partner of 31 years, but she and i are a set. i am blessed to have her in my life. i told her once, (in front of her partner of course), “i love you so much i’m almost IN LOVE with you; though NOT as a lover, but it makes me so happy very to see you it FEELS like being in love”!
as simon and garfunkel said, “old friends – bookends -how terribly strange to be 70…”. it’s such a blessing to have friends who can see you at 70 and remember you dancing at 20. how few understand that.
how i strayed from my mother’s still recent death to the above philosophizing (sp?) is a mystery.
i respect and honor the choices you made during your own father’s passing. i’m glad it waited to happen until you came to a place in your life where your perspective was so wise; you genuinely saw the forest despite the trees. bravo!
so few of us do. my sister certainly didn’t, or perhaps i misunderstand her… it wouldn’t be the first time i interpreted her actions through my own eyes, only to find we both had no idea….
it gladdens me that your mother is still with you and you sound to be close with your sister.
what you wrote, well, i could have written it myself, though perhaps not as eloquently.
i grieve for your own pain, yet i’m so very glad you MADE the time to create the space in your everyday life to truly BE THERE in every way ostensibly possible. so few do. they miss the TRUE moments of our lives.
[when i can't decide what to do i ask myself, "on my deathbed, which choice will i wish i had made"? very rarely do folks on their deathbeds wish they had spent more time working...]
as i say, Bravo!
and, i wish i had known you in that time.
wishing you well, late thurday night from new york.
October 17, 2008 at 12:59 pm |
Barbara;
I love the way you share with the world in such a personal manner the value of life through your own experiences. My bet is that the people that know you and knew you were on this journey stayed with you and kept going because of the quality of people that you attract and because they know when it’s their turn you will be and have been supportive of their needs.
February 17, 2009 at 7:03 pm |
What a great gift to your Dad and more importantly, yourself! so inspirational on many levels. Trying to heal with my sister has been trying, to say the least…but I spend so many mornings having dialogues ( really, just monologues) in the mirror that I’ve spent 3 weeks missing out on MOMMMMMMMM! Please read me a story, mom, come watch my trick, mom, come play trains with me.
Pascal is only gonna love me this way for a very short time…I’m a gonna suck it up, now
and stop talking to myself in the mirror…probably not, but I’ll cut it back 
xoxo, J