Sadness Life can at times seem to be painted in only grays with subtle variations in tone to cut the monotony. I am not talking about depression here; it is just the sadness that seems to penetrate everything around me. Yes, I know that I am the one doing the painting here, using my own inner brush (perceptions) to put the different hues on the people and events that I come in contact with. Lately, that sadness has been more pronounced for me than in the past. This is actually a new development in my life…..something that I, in fact, welcome, for I have known for years that my anger, or inner rage, was something that was protecting me from either sadness or sorrow, or perhaps both. Maybe sadness is just another protective barrier, though a more gentle one. Even as I say this, I know that life is not just about sadness, no more than it is about anger. There are also bright brush strokes that paint life, there are joy and love and yes hope and I still see them, these bright colors around me. Yet the sadness seems to be always there now, perhaps like anger, it will be just a companion that accompanies me on this part of my journey and one day it will allow what is underneath to come to consciousness. I think my last retreat has opened up some inner doors and I want to keep them ajar, for to close them would really take more energy than I most likely have at this time; which would lead to depression. Sadness can lead one to places that are not healthy, spaces that are filled with self-pity and loathing; so I am working on not allowing that to happen. I am coming to the realization that one reason that God has been so important in my life, is early on as a very young child, I somehow (grace?) came to the understanding that I would drown in my own inner depths if I did not have a relationship with something greater than my own puny self. Leviathan dwells in the depths of my soul, which are my own fears, rages, sadness, and only God knows what else. Knowing that I enter into these inner worlds accompanied has very slowly over the years helped me to mine the gold that is also buried among the darker aspects of myself; pieces that are in fact self-destructive but spared from living them out. I know that I am not alone nor unique in this. Each person that I meet, or see, is a universe unto themselves, filled with inner experiences that could bring me to my knees if I even for a minute experienced them. Knowing this somehow makes it easier to accept others and not feel the need to judge, well at least much of the time. It is obvious that no amount of prayer will spare anyone the necessity of walking their own route to Calvary. Proceeded by the Gethsemane experience of being abandoned by everyone, even by God. Personal suffering tends to throw us back on ourselves. If the problem is chronic, then the feeling of being misunderstood is even greater, along with the sense of isolation. Perhaps the greatest source of suffering for mankind is the lack of empathy that is often not manifested (though of course, this is not always the case), in the face of the suffering of others. Also, this may be a necessity, for perhaps only God, as revealed in Christ Jesus, can bear the sufferings of all sentient beings without being overwhelmed. In any case, we each in our own way must come to terms with the ocean of suffering that surrounds us. It is so much a part of life that it can be ignored until it is our turn to be pounded by the waves. Suffering both opens up the heart and makes it more compassionate, or closes it in on itself as an act of self-preservation. To keep the heart open could be the whole point of our existence. Not as simple as it sounds though, as most people I am sure can attest to. Yesterday while sitting in a doctor’s office I saw an older woman in a wheelchair accompanied by a CNA who was taking care of her needs. She had dementia and was talking loudly like a child, her voice high and shrill, speaking about something that seemed to have happened many years ago. No one paid her any mind; her attendant did not respond too much since it was most likely something that went on all the time. There she was, alone, ignored, and she just chatting away, perhaps not knowing that for some she was a simple annoyance. Yet for her, this elderly woman, her world was real. She was alone, just talking about something that was in fact for her, very important. In the inner world of each of us, there is no past, present, or future, it is all now. When in a demented state this reality becomes something all too real; where the past becomes the present and the ‘future’ the ‘now’ forgotten I was reading a book to pass the time, but in my own heart I felt sad (and yes annoyed at the same time) and did what I could and that was praying for her and somehow be with her in her aloneness. I know for some this sounds foolish, but for me, God, the eternal is the most real thing there is. The ‘Now’ of God is eternal, ours are fleeting. So yes it was sad. Yet this elderly woman is not just ‘meat’ but a being made in the image of God, so that makes the sadness perhaps manageable. I don’t think faith is an escape from life but allows those who have it to embrace the pain that comes without needing to run away; which I feel leads to self-destructive actions and reactions as well. Secular Humanism can do it for some, giving them the tools to face the absurdity of life and to keep going without giving in to despair. As life progresses, at least for me, it becomes more dreamlike. The far past and the present can at times seem very close; the water that is said to run under the bridge seems to disappear and there is only ‘now’. This is at times a comfort, at others not. Life is not what I thought when young and perhaps if I live to be 80 or 90, my understanding will continue to change…..boy that makes me wonder….what are we becoming? What are we called to? I think love has something to do with it, for that is what is longed for and manifested all around us in our art, literature and yes music. So the term "God is love", is not just a cliché, but telling us something about the actual nature of reality. Imagine that—BrMD.
Sadness, loneliness, anger, despair. We have all been there. But if we have not experienced this, we will not have aligned ourselves with the passion of Jesus. I go through these things constantly . . .if I do not suffer then something is wrong with my soul. I also have times of joy and great gratitude, these are Graces sent by God. I cherish those. I can only take one day at a time, but listen for the voice of God telling or urging me to help others. If, like you, it is praying for someone. By taking the time to pray we are giving a small tiny part of our life for another person. Or if counseling someone, or just being a soundboard we are helping someone, that is what God wants us to do. Suffering is meritous.
That was my Mom progressively for 8 years with Alzheimer's. Yes, it was horrible for us all. It was horrible for her, not as some would presume, a state of blissful demise. She was a heart of gold that would become very angry at her disease for robbing her of her person, her family, everyone she treasured more than her own life. It robbed her of her ability to walk, feed herself, the dignity of toileting or washing herself, all human dignity. Dignity in dying is a real stretch. One of the greatest and hardest things to adopt as a family member especially is to meet them in whatever reality they verbalize. If they talk about things from childhood, share it. Validate whatever they feel! It is as real as day! If they intently state something that sounds like gibberish, validate it! Tell them strongly you agree. Look for signs of non-verbal read the eyes, whatever you can interpret. That is how we learned and did our best to understand her. It is possible they are also blending whatever with the reality of a horrible wretched disease of the brain which has one end. The process is agony, interspersed with days or moments of clarity, when you CAN share your day in very simple terms. In truth, the body with this disease does become a prison for the beautiful saintly soul that she IS. Mom is always Mom. We cherish you Mom (Angie) beyond words, as I would tell you at every visit for 18 months "I love you Mom forever and always!! You're the best Mom ever!! What word is bigger than "love" is what we needed to tell her. While she lost our names, she knew we were family. That day of her final mini stroke, when she looked at us in terror because she did not understand could not understand why she couldn't move half her body, it felt like she was looking at our souls, unable to speak. For me the only thing that gave her peace ....was wrapping my arm around her and praying the Rosary with her. It was agony for all of us. When she would pound on her bother's bad shoulder during his visits, while he would cringe in physical pain, he would also voice, wherever she is in her mind, he knew he deserved it. That recognition gave us all reason for very knowing laughter. The teenager he was DID deserve to be punched in his bad shoulder!! Yet it is an individual disease. Some become sweethearts who previously were mean and grouchy. OK, in Michigan it's super late! Must go to bed! Peace everyone, Holy Mother, St Michael, protect us all, your children!
