{"id":7002,"date":"2016-08-19T07:01:22","date_gmt":"2016-08-19T13:01:22","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.handsfreemama.com\/?p=7002"},"modified":"2016-08-26T06:23:11","modified_gmt":"2016-08-26T12:23:11","slug":"an-unusual-term-for-death-that-helps-me-live-fully-in-today","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.handsfreemama.com\/2016\/08\/19\/an-unusual-term-for-death-that-helps-me-live-fully-in-today\/","title":{"rendered":"An Unusual Term for Death that Helps Me Live Fully in Today"},"content":{"rendered":"

\"DSC_0219\"<\/a>\u201cIt's the perfect time of day<\/em>
\n It's the last day of your life<\/em>
\n Don't let it drift away<\/em>
\n While your heart is still racing<\/em>
\n It's the perfect time of day.\u201d<\/em>
\n –Howie Day<\/a><\/em><\/p>\n

I avoided a particular closet in my house for two years. Stacked inside were five large, plastic bins stuffed with loose papers, writing notebooks, and keepsakes I didn\u2019t have time to file before we moved two years ago. Coincidentally, the items inside the containers were collected during the first four years of my journey to a less distracted life.<\/p>\n

For the past two years, I\u2019ve wanted to go through the massive collection piece by piece, determining whether it should be filed or discarded. But the task was immense and intimidating. It was much easier to avoid the closet altogether and plan on doing it another day.<\/p>\n

‘Another day\u2019 finally arrived in July when I was taking a month-long break from blogging and posting online to spend time with my family and focus on an on-going physical pain in my body.<\/p>\n

I was only halfway through the first container when I was generously rewarded for taking on this monumental task. There, among the disarray, was something that didn't belong to me. It was a booklet of poems addressed to my dad. I\u2019m not sure why I had it. I\u2019d never seen it before.<\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

Tucked inside was a note addressed to my father, dated 1965, right after the passing of his mother. I held the frail note gingerly, fearing it might disintegrate in my hands before I had a chance to read it.<\/p>\n

\"DSC_0584\"<\/a><\/p>\n

I went back and read the first sentence of the note three times: \u201cWe wish to express our sympathy to you and your family in the going away of your mother.\u201d<\/p>\n

the going away<\/em><\/p>\n

It was an unusual term for death; it sounded like she was on vacation or enduring a long hospital stay or perhaps had retreated to solitude by choice.<\/p>\n

the going away of your mother<\/em><\/p>\n

I couldn't get past it.<\/p>\n

I'd gone away too. Perhaps my dad gave me this precious memento during one of his visits, and I was spread so thin, so worn down, so distracted by my maxed-out life at the time that I\u2019d forgotten.<\/p>\n

We can go away<\/em>, even when we are here, can\u2019t we?<\/p>\n

I know that now.<\/p>\n

I also know we can go away if we don\u2019t take care of ourselves. I\u2019ve been in enough imaging centers, heart & kidney institutes, hospitals, and doctor\u2019s offices over the past year to see life\u2019s fragility in ways I never wanted to see.<\/p>\n

The sobering view has left an impression on me, often creeping into my daily thoughts and nightly dreams.<\/p>\n

As I awaited my first visit with a pelvic pain specialist in mid-July, I had an especially memorable dream. The shutter of my bedroom window was open and my eyes were playing tricks on me. Groggily, I went to the window to get a better look. In my backyard, I saw row after row of white folding chairs. Was it a wedding? I wondered. No, no; it was nothing pleasant like that. In the dark, I frantically scribbled exactly what it was, what I didn\u2019t want to forget come daybreak:<\/p>\n

\"DSC_0588\"<\/a>It said:<\/p>\n

\u201cSaw a sea of white folding chairs<\/em>
\nBut they were not for a celebration
\n<\/em>They were for a funeral\u2014my funeral
\n<\/em>I said no. I want to live
\n<\/em>Not die
\n<\/em>Then I shall act like it.\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n

Even in my sleep, those words were written like a woman on a mission to live \u2026 a woman who did not want to go away, momentarily or permanently.<\/p>\n

My middle-of-the-night \u2018note to self\u2019 reminded of the question my friend Kaitlin<\/a> asked during my intimate birthday gathering in January. \u201cWhat was your biggest lesson this year, Rachel?\u201dshe asked thoughtfully.<\/p>\n

I didn\u2019t even have to think. \u201cHow much I want to be here \u2026 and the importance of taking care of myself,\u201d I said, getting choked on my words.<\/p>\n

Although the four precious women seated around me knew about my surgeries and pain mysteries, I felt the need to further explain. \u201cI got a text from Natalie the other day that said, \u2018I love you, Mom.\u2019 Seeing those words in a text message felt like a glimpse of the future. I could see my grown Natalie standing in the produce department of a grocery store or sitting on the couch in her apartment texting me those words \u2013 not because she had to, but because she wanted to \u2026 because I was a part of her life \u2026 an important part of her life. I want so badly to be here for that day.\u201d<\/p>\n

My friends nodded and wiped tears too. It appeared to be a universal hope to be here for days such as those.<\/p>\n

\"DSC_0233\"<\/a><\/p>\n

I don\u2019t think it is any coincidence that the sympathy booklet belonging to my dad contains a poem that instantly captivated my attention. I refer back to it almost every day. It says:<\/p>\n

\u201cBuild a little fence of trust
\n<\/em>Around today \u2026 <\/em><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/em>Fill the spaces with loving work
\n<\/em>And therein stay.<\/em><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/em>Look not between the shelt\u2019ring bars
\n<\/em>Upon tomorrow,<\/em><\/p>\n

But take whatever comes to thee
\n<\/em>Of joy or sorrow.”<\/em><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/em>-Mary F. Butts <\/em><\/p>\n

Build a fence of trust around today …<\/p>\n

I have such hopes for that too.<\/p>\n

It is a daily struggle to keep myself here, in the blessed perimeters of today\u2014to avoid the constant urge to look ahead to tomorrow, next month, and years from now. It is a daily struggle not to worry about my children, the state of our country, my health and the health of the people I love. It\u2019s a daily struggle to keep my brain focused on the here and now, not on the twenty tasks I need to accomplish\u00a0by noon tomorrow.<\/p>\n

\u201cBuild a fence around today,\u201d a divine whisper says. That is the answer \u2013 not an easy one, but it is an answer.<\/p>\n

What is required to build a fence around today? I ask myself.<\/p>\n

Eye contact<\/em><\/p>\n

So I look at my daughter\u2019s face when she speaks to me.<\/p>\n

And I am building.<\/p>\n

Time<\/em><\/p>\n

So I knock on her bedroom door and say, \u201cMay I come in and hang out for a bit?\u201d<\/p>\n

And I am building.<\/p>\n

Inconvenience<\/em><\/p>\n

So I say yes to her occasional Starbuck\u2019s request before school even though it doesn\u2019t fit in my schedule that day.<\/p>\n

And I am building.<\/p>\n

Sacrifice<\/em><\/p>\n

So I participate in her interests even though they are not mine.<\/p>\n

And I am building.<\/p>\n

Presence<\/em><\/p>\n

So when I am in her company, I try to be there\u2014all there\u2014with her.<\/p>\n

And I am building.<\/p>\n

Awareness<\/em><\/p>\n

So when I speak to her, I think about my words; I listen carefully to hers; I breathe in her smell; I study her face.<\/p>\n

And I am building.<\/p>\n

Self-care<\/em><\/p>\n

So I go to my weekly therapy even though the process is humbling, the pain makes me cry, and the progress is barely detectable.<\/p>\n

And I am building.<\/p>\n

I am building a fence of trust around today\u2014investing in it, protecting it, holding it delicately before it disintegrates in my hands.<\/p>\n

\"DSC_0446\"<\/a><\/p>\n

I finally got to the last plastic bin the other day. Although I\u2019d wanted to clean out this massive container for two years, it wasn\u2019t meant to happen any sooner. It was destined to happen now, when it could be appreciated as the gift it truly was.<\/p>\n

At the very bottom of the fifth and final container, the ultimate treasure awaited me. It was a Mother\u2019s Day booklet written in kid penmanship\u2014the most exquisite font under the sun. My daughter had written: \u201cMy mom is special because \u2026 she's here<\/strong>.\u201d<\/p>\n

\"DSC_0571\"<\/a><\/p>\n

That was the year I came back.<\/p>\n

And this is the year I decided I want to stay\u2014right here in today.<\/p>\n

So each day, I will build a fence of trust around it. I will keep it hydrated with eight glasses of water. I will keep it in the sunlight as much as possible. I will tend to it with love and affection. There will be weeds along the fence; I know. But I will focus on the flowers, particularly one of them blooming right in front of my eyes. This one takes my breath away. Although I\u2019d be blessed to see the day she\u2019s all grown up, the day I most want to be here<\/em><\/strong> is today.<\/p>\n

\"DSC_0374\"<\/a><\/p>\n

*****************************************<\/p>\n

My friends, when I shared a vulnerable reflection<\/a> about what it means to \u201cget better\u201d on the of the Hands Free Revolution Facebook page<\/a> recently, the comments indicated many of us share health struggles that remove us from life and diminish our hope. Although pelvic pain is not the most comfortable topic to write about, I will continue sharing to give someone else comfort or hope. Thank you for the encouragement and courage you give me to keep sharing. Many of you have been using the hashtag #onlylovetoday<\/a> or #handsfreerevolution<\/a> on Instagram<\/a> so I can see you and your precious ones\u00a0wearing the \u201ccome as you are<\/a>,\u201d \u201csee flowers not weeds<\/a>,\u201d and \u201conly love today<\/a>\u201d metal cuffs. It brings me tremendous joy to know the mantras I use are working so positively in your lives as well. Today is the final day to use the promo code for free domestic shipping on all items in the Hands Free Shop<\/a>. Use the code: LOVESCHOOL at checkout.\u00a0<\/em><\/strong><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/em><\/strong>Upcoming speaking event news & ticket links: <\/em><\/strong><\/span><\/p>\n