“Most of Jesus’ teachings are completely incomprehensible from a first-half-of-life perspective.”
Richard Rohr
In the first half of my life, I bristled whenever I heard The Serenity Prayer.
Rohr points out that in the first-half-of-life, we have other developmental tasks to attend to and thus are unable to surrender and let go of the control we think we have to have to establish ourselves in life. (finding a spouse/job, making a name for ourselves, accumulating possessions) He also points out that we eventually have to let go so we can fall into our True Self–the best part of us that is always there but who we aren’t yet ready to meet.
I write in my memoir, A Long Awakening to Grace, about my experience of learning to let go and the awakening to grace that came when I truly surrendered. I was forty-two when I embarked on the path of letting go and fifty-seven when I awakened. It is embarrassing to admit that it took fifteen years. It is an indication of how deeply entrenched my illusion of control was. Today I understand that holding onto this illusion for so long has its roots in the inattention and negligence of my childhood. But there came a time in my life when this coping mechanism no longer worked. I needed a new strategy to survive.
My experience in the second-half-of-life is that surrendering is an on-going process. It is something I find myself needing to do over and over. When I am under stress, as I have been these past few weeks dealing with my daughter’s health crisis, I revert back to trying to seize control. Before long, the toll it takes on me and on my daughter finally wakes me up again to my need to let go and surrender.
Last evening I pondered this. Yesterday, when the home healthcare nurse heard crackles while listening to Nicole’s lungs, I pointed out that she hasn’t been using her spirometer as often as has been recommended. The nurse empathized with Nicole about people being on her case. This morning during her occupational therapist’s (OT) visit, her oxygen level was low. It was recommended that when she first gets up in the morning, she may need to increase her level from one to two liters.
To me, that means we are going backwards. Rehab had hoped she would be off oxygen during the day before she left their facility. They got her down to one liter. Now, it is needing to be increased for at least part of the day. I gave my daughter a little tough love this morning while in her presence I had a conversation with her OT about my caregiver role.
I asked, “How should I respond to this? Do I need to harangue her (control…stress on our relationship) OR do I need to accept that it isn’t important to my daughter to increase her chances of living longer by doing all that she can to strengthen her lungs which her disease is in the process of weakening.
The questions I ponder are: Do I need to accept that living longer isn’t her primary motivation? Do I need to let go? Do I need to surrender to the possibility I might outlive her? In the bigger picture, would that be a better outcome? I am her only family and her only support. How do I practice taking care of myself as I experience the pain of watching her make self-destructive choices and the chaos of another possible healthcare crisis?
At forty-two, detaching with love became my challenge. Between forty-two and fifty-seven, I practiced disengaging from the chaos surrounding me and wasn’t always sure I was doing it with love. At fifty-seven, my most spiritual experience in life came when I succeeded in letting go with love and surrendering to a higher will. The gift of grace received at that time changed my life.
At almost seventy-four, I once again struggle with what actions and attitudes of mine constitute detaching with love and surrendering to a higher will. My True Self knows the answer. I must be quiet enough to hear the still small voice of wisdom within.
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I just heard my daughter’s timer go off reminding her to use her spirometer. And I heard her using it. When the opportunity arose this morning to have that tough love conversation with her OT, I took it. I think that was my True Self’s wisdom.
Thank you, Universe!!
You’ve asked some tough questions in this one, Linda. (“Do I need to accept that living longer isn’t her primary motivation? “) Is the answer in the question?
Loving you through all of this………..
I should have added, “Do you want more for her than she wants for herself”? We do not know that soul’s agenda…….
All I know, Ruth, is that as a mother it is heartwrenching watching my daughter not take care of herself…especially when I read in DM caregiver groups what the consequences will be…not just for her but for me. What parent of disabled children doesn’t want more for their kids than they may want for themselves…than what is even possible for them. Coming to acceptance of “what is” and finding the wisdom to know the difference between what I can control and what I can’t are spiritual practices that I’m grateful to have learned, but they don’t remove the pain and sorrow.
I can’t imagine what it would be like to live with a chronic illness. I remember a nurse many years ago criticizing a diabetic patient when she found several candy wrappers under his bed. He had already suffered many consequences of his diabetes: heart disease, failing vision, neuropathy and a pending amputation. How could he be so stupid?
But to live with a diagnosis that has no cure…to constantly be denied the pleasure of eating whatever you want when others can, To be told what to do and have choice taken from you (which is really reinforced when you are a patient in the hospital!). I can certainly understand his rebellion and desire to take control of things out of his control. We all want to be empowered and I think we often resent being told what to do, even though we may inwardly acknowledge that it is the best course of action.
No easy answers.
Yes, Carol, it has to be hard to live with a chronic illness. It is also hard for their caregiver. It is hard to determine what is helpful and what is enabling the disease. I spoke to her nurse and OT because that is what I needed to do for myself. Sitting by idly watching her neglect to strengthen her lungs does not feel very loving…especially since she hasn’t made it clear to me that she doesn’t care if her lungs grow weaker. If that is the path she chooses to take…and I don’t think she’s made a conscious choice…then I will accept that. And I would prefer she live elsewhere. I don’t want to experience the chaos that will ensue with the consequences of her neglect. Her actions, or inactions in this case, impact me. I have enough to do to take care of myself even without this added stress. Does that make sense?
Your genuine sharing will help many people. Thank you for sharing with me.
It thrills me to hear this from you, Pat,
It is scary sometimes to put myself out like this, but your encouragement gives me more courage and I appreciate that more than you can imagine. Thank you for subscribing to my blog.
Rohr is right. Overall, my second half has taught me more than my first half.
Wisdom does seem to come with age.