Am finding that 53 is a hard age. I can't put my finger right on why, but it just is. Those of you in my decade will understand...it's hard to explain unless you're actually there. I remember when my mom was my age, she was being prescribed valium by a 'not-so-well-meaning' doctor. He didn't take her symptoms very seriously, and chose to dose her with enthusiasm than using that same vigor to listen to what was really wrong with her. There was a time when she'd leave the dinner table abruptly, and it happened a lot. Nobody ever went after her. We'd exchange looks, not doing much better than her doctor. Something would upset her and she'd go to their bedroom, but we chose to figure she was over-reacting and not really facing something difficult.
Wish I'd been more sympathetic then, because I've won the concern of my own family. They take good care of me and feel for me when there are tears that come out of nowhere.
Another dear person to our family died last Saturday. Gary went to his funeral today, and in a crowd of about 100 folks, he was the only white man there. That must've been something. To be honest, this sweet gentleman was the boyfriend of our across-the-street neighbor and she was the 'other woman'. He was married for 49 years to someone else, and our neighbor was his lady friend---I guess you could call it. He was a treasure, even if he tended to have an unfaithful streak. He worked on our bathroom a couple of years ago, replacing a rotten floor and the plan was that sometime, when we had the money, he'd re-tile it. We're still living with the wooden subfloor, but with black enamel paint on it, it works. The tile will have to wait even longer.
With my sensitive mood, these past few months, becoming undone when sadness hits is harder. I'll tell you, I'm sick of death. Three people at church have died in the last couple of weeks, and in a small church, that's sort of amazing. A respite from difficulties, mine or someone else's, would be a pleasant change. But if you put yourself out there to care, then it goes without saying, the pain will have to become your neighbor. Not that you like all your neighbors.
(as a side-note...have imported my old Contemplative Joy posts here, going back to 2009, linked below. good to have it all in one place...just missing the 6 months of mid-June 2011-Dec 2011, I think, when the blog was hacked.)
