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All My Old Haunts…

2015.November.30

I had a poetic opening, but that part of my brain has been lost to logistics.

It was a hard weekend — not without highlights, but they were diffuse, like a bright lamp in thick, close fog. You didn’t know you were upon them until they’d already passed. You didn’t know when or whether more would follow. And between them, it was easy to lose direction.

I wouldn’t have seen the news of the passing of a dear friend and colleague if I hadn’t left a certain app on my phone some months ago, because it had been the easiest way to connect with my mom while she stayed with my caregivee. Less than two weeks ago, we placed my charge into a memory care facility; although I visit almost daily, my era as a full-time caregiver has ended.

I’d been trying to gather my thoughts on what to write, how the move was upside down — straightforward emotions and exhausting logistics — how I’d intended to start this grand phase of healing with eyes and heart wide open but so far have struggled to get even a good night’s sleep (let alone a good perspective).

But here we are. Less than two weeks into my bloody, fumbling, desperate heal, it’s time to pack a bag, board a plane, and mourn one of the best people you could meet.

I started writing his eulogy immediately, a short one (because nothing else will do for a person who has done so much) about how he’d barely known me, three years in the same office, ended ten years back, and yet this man of accomplishment and knowledge had checked on me more than any other from that time. He’d always asked about my caregivee, even before the dementia signs, as if he’d seen known our paths were destined to merge.

Last year, he talked to another good friend, who had moved to the area and was struggling to find a job. Her career trajectory was only tangential from his, and he had only my reference to go on, and yet he gave his time and focused insight freely.

I had intended to reconnect with him, and with everyone I will recognize at his funeral, some time next year. Probably a road trip. Maybe a happy hour and a networking lunch. I wanted to see them all through new eyes, and see how they see me. Most of them, it’s been ten years. I have a devastating fear that some will not get word in time, but maybe that’s a symbol of one’s impact: that it’s simply impossible to reach everyone in time before one’s funeral.

The timing is eerie. I’m not sure I could have attended a funeral one day sooner after The Big Move. And my departed friend just re-added me on Facebook a few days ago (he had a propensity to forget passwords and, inevitably, create new profiles because he loved to connect so much).

I was supposed to have a plan, an agenda, some sense of direction and questions I wanted to ask, some notion of how I was going to connect my past as an activist with my present as a caregiver and my future as a contributing member of society. What do I want to be when I grow up? I don’t know, what does your movement want people to grow up to become?

I’m going in empty-handed, though. Just a business card and an openness to follow the experience wherever it takes me. There are sure to be stories.

He would have wanted it that way.

Now here’s an adroitly relevant video from St. Vincent:

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