Things don’t always go according to plan in small and big ways in our lives. We are constantly derailed, whether it’s the barista making the wrong drink at Starbucks or our retirement plans going awry through illness or death. Our ability to be present with ‘what is’ is the only predictable thing in our unpredictable, constantly changing lives. One of my clients at hospice brought this reality into clear focus for me.
Jerry’s daughter Jeannie (not their real names), brought him to his appointment at hospice every Thursday for several weeks. After steering him to his chair and sitting him down in my office, she would wait out in the waiting room with her three little daughters while Jerry and I talked. Jerry had a degenerative condition that had severely impacted his ability to speak and to carry out simple tasks. Sometimes his speech would flow easily for a few sentences before he became completely at a loss for words. Every session was like a game of charades. He could sometimes come up with a sentence or two before the words would stop. At that point, he would try to act out what he wanted to say. It was an arduous process, but over time as I got to know him better, I got pretty good at guessing what he was trying to tell me. His face would light up when I guessed right. And we would sometimes laugh at the absurdity of my wrong guesses.
It was a slow go, but Jeannie assured me her dad looked forward to our sessions. It was a whole hour where someone gave their full attention to him, interested in hearing what he wanted to say, despite the communication challenges. His family members were busy with their own lives and couldn’t give him the level of attention he needed. His condition kept him trapped in a failing body and mind with little ability to connect with the world around him.
Jerry had recently retired from his thirty-five-year long career. He knew he had loved it but couldn’t remember what it had been. Jeannie filled me in on details that made it easier to understand him. He had been an engineer. He had also enjoyed a hobby of collecting rare coins, which was a frequent topic of our halting discussions. His life had been busy and productive, and he and his wife had planned to spend their “golden years” traveling and enjoying their grandchildren. But that was not to be—the disease had hit immediately after his retirement.
The brief time I sat with Jerry each week was impactful. Big chunks of time were spent each session in silence. At first, I was uncomfortable and couldn’t wait until the hour was up. As the weeks went by, I learned to appreciate our time together. Jerry’s sense of humor regarding his situation was inspiring. His determination to connect despite the challenges presented by his devastating condition was impressive. He never gave up trying to communicate with me during the session. It was painful to watch but witnessing his sense of triumph when he was successful was worth the struggle.
Jerry deteriorated noticeably each week until Jeannie could no longer bring him to his appointment. Shortly after our last session, she called to inform me he had died. She thanked me for helping make his last weeks more bearable. I told her I was touched by her commitment to her father—it was challenging for her to take time off work and load up her three girls and Dad into her van to bring him each week. And I let her know it was an honor to have worked with him.
I’ll never forget my work with Jerry and the lessons he taught me. Live fully here and now—not just because our plans may not pan out, but because now is all there is. Being with ‘what is’ is often challenging, even seemingly impossible. But it can be helpful to remember that some of the most difficult challenges hold the greatest opportunity to learn and grow if we are open to them.
And sometimes our greatest challenge isn’t some debilitating disease or other devastating situation. Sometimes, our greatest challenge is to stay awake even during the times when our lives seem completely mundane and uninspiring—when we can’t seem to muster the energy to break through a period of inertia and boredom. During these times can we choose to stay committed to our growth? Can we begin to look deeply into our life? What hidden fear, pain, disappointment is concealed by the boredom?
What form does your suffering take? Whatever it is, see it as a clue to the next step in your evolution. What have you been ignoring that needs attention? At the center of our suffering, whatever form it takes, is a great treasure, the key to our growth. Can we open to it, embrace it, and allow it to release its gifts into our lives?
Consider This: Can you embrace the gifts and lessons life brings you in whatever form they appear?
