Those of
us 60 years and older live with the sobering knowledge that sometimes the sky
really does fall. There are plenty of Chicken Littles running around, frantic
about a crisis at work or a broken automobile, but let’s be clear.
The very
real challenges of everyday life have little in common with the profound,
life-altering crises of lost loved ones, serious injury, severe illness, or
betrayal. Daily trials may cause sleepless nights, but by our age, few of us
have escaped being tasered by something huge that leaves us changed forever.
People
react differently to crises. My husband has to stay busy – no sitting in the hospital chair holding a hand or drinking tea.
He survives by doing what he thinks needs to be done, which involves everything
from gassing up the car to repairing the screen door.
In
reaction to her mother’s murder, a woman I know coped by eating ice cream and
watching funny movies.
Different People, Different Hurt, Different Solace
Like
Forest Gump, some people start running, and like Dorothy in the Wizard of Oz,
some build a fantasy world to buffer the hurt. Some, having faced unimaginable
tragedy, become tireless activists and advocates and work to help others
confront or avoid the heartbreak that shattered their world.
Some
cocoon themselves in the arms of friends. Some walk alone into the desert to
feel the solitude and the burn of the sun. Some go to church and stay there.
What can
possibly sustain us when every waking moment is consumed by the heat of physical
or emotional pain, or by worry or regret? This seems to be a particularly
relevant conversation for our 60-plus community. While tragedy can come at any
time, the earth beneath our feet gets less firm as we age.
Prayer, Poetry, and the Garden
Most all
of us will credit family and friends with helping to pull us through. But
there’s a deep personal place only we can reach. It’s in that terrible cavern
we must mix whatever elixir we can conjure to cover the wound.
When my
world crashed, I was sustained by three things: prayer, poetry, and the garden.
There’s nothing to fuel prayer like a crisis, and whether or not you’re
religious or spiritually oriented, reaching upward and asking for whatever help
might be available is a natural reaction.
But the
solace of poetry might surprise you. Poetry may not turn out to be salve for
your soul, but it has been for mine, so I encourage you to at least give it a
try. For those seeking support, grace, and solace, I suggest starting with the poetry of
the late and incomparable Mary Oliver.
For those
who garden, the notion that it can save your life will be no surprise. No
matter what the hurt or fear, being in the garden soothes.
Pulling
weeds, humming, talking to the plants, looking at the clouds, listening to the
birds, smelling the earth – it’s as
though nature meditates through us and only requires that we show up and be
still for a while.
The late
poet May Sarton wrote beautifully of the comfort of the garden in her Journal of a Solitude:
Coping with the Change
Life-altering
crises come in different packages, but all change us. When the sky falls and
the earth convulses in seismic shifting, we must find some way to survive it
and rebuild.
Surviving
does not mean forgetting. It doesn’t mean things will ever be the same. But
maybe, by sharing what has sustained us through our tragedy, we can help one
another.
Let’s Have a Conversation:
What event
made the sky fall for you? How did you manage in the aftermath? What helped you
cope with your new reality? Do you have a favorite poet where you seek solace?
Let’s begin a discussion.
