Wednesday 19 September 2018

Some days possibilities seem impossible

Last Saturday I woke up feeling guilty and selfish.  I was to go to my parents to help out with my Mom who has Alzheimer's and I didn't not want to go.  I just wanted to stay home for one weekend and do a whole lot of nothing, in my house, in my cookie and dumpling free, air conditioned house, with my comfy bed waiting for me at the end of the day.  

So I went for my walk anxious to state my possibilities for the day, then feel the shame I felt melt away.  That did not happen.  Time after time I stated, "Today it is possible that..." and nothing. I tried "Today it is possible I will give my Dad a much needed break", " Today it is possible that I will put the needs of my parents before my own".  Still nothing.  No uplifted feeling or renewed sense of purpose.  I still did not want to go.

And then that voice in my head said, "It's okay to not want to go." Then the possibilities started:
"Today it is possible I will do the things I don't want to do."
"Today it is possible I will accept feeling selfish and guilty as part of being human." 
"Today it is possible to accept that life is not turning out the way I had planned."
"Today it is possible I will show up anyway for those who need me."
"Today it is possible I will feel gratitude for my good, my bad and my ugly."
"Today it is possible my ugly will lead me closer to living in grace."

It was a shorter walk that day and I'd be lying if I said I arrived home with the same feelings of calm and hopefulness that I felt last week.  But I did feel at peace.  By stating my truth in the form of possibility I was relieved of the idea that giving loving care to others requires total selflessness. It doesn't, it requires you show up and do your best.

And as I walked into my parents house that day I realized that these weekly visits have given me the gift I have been waiting for my whole life.  I guess I didn't notice the gift sooner because it wasn't "packaged" the way I had always dreamed it would be.  I had always dreamed I would be told how good I was and that I had done well by the one person I have butted heads with for as long as I can remember. Instead the person that I had always put on a pedestal, constantly seeking out his approval, told me he needed me and thanked God every day for me and my brother.  His approval was packaged in gratitude.
That day my Dad looked at me with his 85 year old eyes and said, "I've already plugged in the fridge in the garage so the beer will be cold."



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