Saturday, June 23, 2012

Serenity

This morning I said goodbye to my sister Karen, my brother-in-law Michael, and my niece Madison. It was a wonderful visit—we celebrated Madison’s birthday (twice!), I got to share in the moment as my sister’s sensory world opened up after fifteen years of invisible-but-very-real limits, I shared some quality time with other friends in the Rocklin area—and it’s the last time for many of those things.

For many years, now, I’ve been able to travel up to Rocklin at least a couple of times a year to visit, and Karen, Michael, and Madison have been able to travel down to the Antelope Valley at least a couple of times a year to visit Mom and me. With me moving to Hawai‘i, visits become much less frequent. It’s not going to be possible for any of us to make a (relatively) casual trip to see the others. I imagine that once I’m settled I’ll occasionally visit the Mainland, but once a year is as good as it will get and it may not get that good for a long time. Who knows when I’ll see my Rocklin friends (or Lucy or Bailey, the family dogs) again?

I’ll see Karen, Michael, and Madison once a year, probably; the traditional Hawai‘i vacation will continue and for me, they’ll be cheaper than they've been in the past. But once a year is not the same as four or more times a year. It’s the end of an era.

It’s another “last.”

For the most part, I don’t really like these lasts. (The few I have liked I’ve mostly kept to myself.) Endings, of traditions or habits or regular contact or normal practices, are hard. Some are harder than others...

Farewells are hard. Reduced contact with loved ones (family, friends, respected colleagues) is hard. Change is hard, and the more it changes things we value, the harder it is.

But change is also inevitable, and sometimes choosing the change brings some comfort. I chose this change (and I’m sorry that it leaves some of you with no choice; I’m well aware that by choosing this change I’ve imposed unwelcome changes on you), and that helps me face the pain.

If I seem serene, I am. If I seem unaffected, I’m not. I’m deeply affected. My serenity is the product of a great deal of agonizing over my choices and my decision to “seize the day.” This choice is remaking me, and I’m not gonna lie; that’s among its attractions.

No comments:

Post a Comment