It’s been a week of saying goodbye:
- To my family doctor of 20+ years, who is taking super-early retirement from work that is now more than she can handle
- To a lake property that friends are selling, as it is now more work than they can enjoy
For me, neither loss is devastating, but each is a marker of a downward trend. I may eventually find another doctor, but I will not likely live long enough to establish a 20-year relationship with any person who is new in my life. I could visit the lake pretty much whenever I want, but for me that particular mix of people and place is about to be gone forever, not to be replaced.
Having a family doctor and having friends with a lake property puts me in a privileged demographic. It’s been a good run and I surely have no right to complain as parts of that privilege drop away. But I think I have the right–maybe even the obligation–to notice it, and to appreciate what has been and what is now gone.
One last look.
In her 90s, my mother talked about coming to appreciate small things in a new way. Babies. Flowers. Babies. Sunsets. Babies.
Maybe if I stop trying to hold on to the things that must pass, I, too, will find that new things are placed in my now-open hands.
And a look back . . .
Yes things change, not always felt to be for the best. But somehow we need to make the best of it. (Not sure how one does that with the loss of the doctor though)
You’ve many great memories of the lake as we can see above. (The fire burning inside the tree trunk/log is quite intriguing.)
Jim R – My father used to talk about “the new normal” – not a bad approach to accepting the relentless reality of change. As for the fire in the log, I had a great vantage point from a second-storey deck.
Jim R. Said it exactly how we feel and yes we have a lot of great memories. Hopefully we will have a few more good times at the lake before we sell.
Marilyn – Yes, a good thing to hope for.
Beautiful images and wise words, Isabel. Whether letting go of a property rich in memories or of a person intricately embedded in your nervous system, it helps to have a focus on the future. Babies, children, and other long-term legacy projects help to heal the wounds of broken attachments. I find that music helps, too.
Laurna – That’s it, isn’t it? We attach to people and places and things and ideas, only to feel that wrench when the attachment breaks for whatever reason. I think that Buddhism counsels detachment; I’m more with Kristofferson (in the metaphorical sense, not the druggy sense): The going up is/was worth the coming down.
Laurna – The wisdom isn’t mine, but I don’t know who first articulated it like that (letting go of one thing leaves our hands open to receive something else). It’s easier said than felt; easier felt than done, perhaps. For sure, looking ahead is a balm.
Good people come into, and go from, our lives all the time. They are like treasures that are here to be enjoyed while with us, but then let go on their own way. In some sense it’s like our children—they aren’t ours; they belong to the house of tomorrow.
Tom
Tom – 🙂 That’s a lovely extension. Thanks!
“Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold” is surprisingly one of the few bits of poetry I remember, because it expresses to me the necessity of recognizing change. (It is from a much more dire poem of William Butler Yeats, entitled The Second Coming.) One of the reasons I volunteer is that other people and ideas rush in to replace what has faded from my life. (Not bragging, but late last year I found a new family doctor close to home after my previous doctor had retired. It is possible.) Life will continue to flow around you and all of us.
Judith – Yes, it’s a compelling poem, for sure. And yes, change does continue to continue. I think your idea of volunteering is an excellent one – if we don’t put ourselves in position to see/find new people and ideas, how do we expect to do that? (And congrats on finding a new doctor!)