Living in the moment is an overused expression. In the mainstream rhetoric, it is a form of utopia. It is a state of being that we are in search of but very few ever really get there. When you must truly live in the moment because there is not an alternative then it is a more complicated version of releasing expectations. And it can feel truly liberating; so there are moments in the moments that feel quite freeing. If I could wave my magic wand then I would focus on living in the finite and continuously decreasing salient moments that we have before the early/younger onset Alzheimers winds its way through the stages. I think I could be quite good at it. But real life does not work that way for most of us so my moments are distinct and separate. This is an important characterization of my life.
The good moments, the bad moments, the precious moments, the meaningful moments, the anxious moments, the creative moments, the angry moments, the fearful moments, the grateful moments, the work moments ... all the moments are separate. EACH is compartmentalized and worthy. A sense of being overwhelmed is always there ... hovering and omnipresent as each moment struggles to overtake the next in line. And the moments are defined within each day. My life is no longer an integrated life model; it just is not. Moments are a coping mechanism. It keeps us from wallowing in the traumatic moments and allows us to enjoy the uplifting moments.
The people I encounter can unwittingly get ambushed with the impact of my moment. At least four times in the past week, a person in my path has encountered me when a tearful, raw moment has swooped into our shared space. It is okay. It has to be okay. It is going to happen. The human condition begets authenticity. It does for me anyway.
And there are the special, joyful moments. The moment can be an unexpected gift sitting beside my plate or a sincere sentiment of "thanks Mom" or sharing an emotional experience or seeing positive change in the world or a quiet evening. It can be as simple as my Husband telling me with tears of joy in his eyes that his best gift on our first night of light was cooking with our Oldest Son.
Some moments are still and silent in a calming way. And there are often those dark moments of nothingness; when absolutely nothing is left in that day. But always, the next day arrives and it is filled with whatever is next on life's list.
Some moments are still and silent in a calming way. And there are often those dark moments of nothingness; when absolutely nothing is left in that day. But always, the next day arrives and it is filled with whatever is next on life's list.
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| Oldest Son and Husband lighting candles on our 2nd night of Chanukah: a treasured moment. |
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| This clock is sold as a Dementia Clock ... it helps our household know the day, time and date of our moments at a glance ... and the proverb has been sitting on our counter for a very long time ... |
