Pathscrossing

Learning About Myself, Again

Quite awhile ago, I read excerpts out of a book called Compassion Fatigue. A section in the book really got me thinking about what I was doing, about how I was helping people who needed support.

“It all started with an advertising campaign. We have all been cued by that famous series of ads by Save the Children. You can help this child or you can turn the page. The first time a reader sees the advertisement he is arrested by guilt. He may come close to actually sending money to the organization. The second time the reader sees the ad he may linger over the photograph, read the short paragraphs of copy and only then turn the page. The third time the reader sees the ad he typically turns the page without hesitation. The fourth time the reader sees the ad he may pause again over the photo and text, not to wallow in gilt, but to acknowledge with cynicism how the advertisement is crafted to manipulate readers like him – even if it is in a “good” cause.” (reference: Compassion Fatigue, p. 9)

I didn’t want to be that kind of person. But, ever since I read about it, almost ten years ago, I struggled with my own conscience when I would pass by a person with a cardboard sign saying, “No Home, No Money, No Job, Please Help.” Part of me wanted to empty my wallet, another part of me wondered if they would just use for alcohol or drugs. If I’m driving, I look away, trying not to make eye contact, not wanting to feel their pain and suffering even for a second. If I walk by them, and they ask, I had this canned response of “Sorry,” only to wish seconds later that I had done something.

It’s different today. Now, when I’m driving, and if my Mom is with me, she always begins to get some money out of her wallet to give to the person. Near as I can detect, there isn’t any question in her mind that she should do something. The more I’ve cared for my Mom, the more I see her giving $25 to anyone she gets mail from for cancer, leukemia, the needy, the homeless, the veterans, the list goes on. As I’ve wanted to respect her wishes during her aging, because I never know how much longer I will have the time with her, I’ve never questioned her intentions. So, she gives me the money, I roll down my window, and I hand to the person.

Now when I walk by someone on the sidewalk, I give them what I feel like giving. Sometimes it’s $5, sometimes $20, sometimes all the cash I have in my wallet. My mom’s taught me about this. I also think that my Buddhist practice have helped me, too. I’m trying to practice non-judgment and also self-trust, its a kind of non-thinking When I see someone who needs support, I just respond, I don’t try to judge what is right or wrong, or chase one question after another about what I should do. I yield to the goodness of my impulse, and more importantly, to give my respect to another person, to acknowledge the frailty of trying to support oneself, to offer a small gesture a blessing that their life have more ease, comfort, and happiness.

I still have moments when I wonder if I’m doing enough to help others. Then, I hear the voice, honed through my meditation practice and from the teachings of other Buddhist masters, teachers and practitioners, to gently give my attention to these feelings without judging myself, to be patient and vigilant, to have an open heart and a firm conviction for being compassionate. This is why I am committed to my practices, because there are so many opportunities to support another’s life, I just need to quiet the distractions and trust my deep intuition,” something I learned from Koshin Cain, Abbott of the Puget Sound Zen Center. Every time I am faced with a person who needs support, I learn about myself, again.

Loving and Letting Go

Jan , my partner of almost 19 years, left today to return to Prague, his home country, where he is teaching photography and more importantly, he is available to be with his Mom and his brothers, sister, nieces and nephew, and in-laws. This time he may be gone for up to eight months.

Moments like these are always bittersweet for me. When I say good-bye, turn and walk away, I always have this lump in my throat, as my heart swells with all the love that I have for him, and for the gratitude that I have because of the person I am when I am with him. I have learned about love with Jan, more from the difficult times than from the rosy times, more from the way he loves his family and friends than when he is just with me, and more from the honesty of his expressed feelings than my assumptions about unspoken feelings.

With Jan, I also have learned a bit about letting go, too. Every time I take him to the airport, I realize that I can’t care for him like I do when he is at home with me, and that there’s even a chance that I may not see him again. All I can do is be grateful for the time I had to love him, and trust that he will be surrounded by love wherever he is.

As a result of my zazen practice, I’ve realized something else. As I sit, when a thought appears and begins formulating a story, I catch myself, and return my attention to my breadth. With Jan gone, I find myself repeating this behavior. When I think of him and wonder where he is or what he is doing, I catch myself, and return my attention to my breadth. When I write an email to him, I do the same thing. If I begin thinking about writing someone else, or taking care of my taxes, or think about some aspect of my project at work, I catch myself, and return my attention to my breadth, to writing to Jan, and am filled up again by his love and mine.

This relationship has taught me about love, and about letting go. Both can exist at the same time, like the breadth, with each inhale and exhale, I breathe in love and I let it go to everything around me.

Supporting and Being Supported

My mom and I are being interviewed for a documentary on KIRO-TV about caring for one’s parents. It’s a wonderful opportunity for my Mom to share her story, and as it turns out, it’s been good for me to share a bit about it’s working out.

Background. Mom has stage 3 emphysema. She needs oxygen 24/7, hooked up to a portable oxygen tank. No matter where she goes, she always has to carry it, or someone who accompanies her. She’s got emphysema from years and years of smoking, probably almost 50 years. Mom also has rheumatoid arthritis in her hands, so it’s painful for her to open jars, turn doors, or anything that requires her to grasp firmly and turn. The last three years Mom has been shuttling back and forth between our house here in Seattle and my sister’s in Boise, Idaho. Before that, my sister cared for her for about five years. I basically offered to help my sister, as I saw the burden and stress that it was for her and her family. Now, she’ll be spending more time here mostly because I feel that my lifestyle can better support her changing health condition.

Through my interviews for the documentary, I’ve had some important realizations. The first one is about the amount of support that I personally receive. Jan, my partner, has been incredibly supportive.  When Mom first came to live with us, I basically “made” the decision for us. I never really asked him, which I know now that I should have. But, it just accepted it. He never fought me about. He never put his foot down and drew the line in the sand. He went along with the plan, a plan that we both never really knew what it fully meant. Through the months, Jan would take Mom to the dentist, take her shopping when I couldn’t go or wasn’t available, and most importantly, many of our activity choices he supported, even though he knew that it wasn’t something that he preferred. I am so fortunate for his loving support. But, there were more who helped, too.

When I was at my father’s dying bedside in Boise, Idaho a few years ago, my neighbors across the street, Mary and Deb checked on Mom during that week. When I was gone for about two weeks to help my Uncle, my Mom’s brother, move out of his house in Idaho, my friends Kevin and Kole came to stay here and take care of Mom for that entire time. When I was at Shanti-volunteer training, I mentioned my discomfort of being away from my Mom, and many of the participants expressed their compassion by checking with me to know how my Mom was doing. When I had to go on a weekend zen retreat to Santa Fe, my nephew from Vancouver, Washington rode the train up and took care of Mom. My friends ask about my Mom all the time, and some that know me real well, ask me how I’m doing. When I talk about my Mom, they emphasize how they want to know how “I” am doing. I take a deep breadth to get in touch with myself, and I share openly and honestly.

Caring for my Mom is a gift that she gives me. It’s a chance for me to demonstrate my love. The silver lining is that it’s also a chance for others to share their love and support of me. I realize it so clearly. I am so grateful for all that my family and friends do, ask, and give. Their support and understanding has inspired me to be there for them, and for others, too, to be vigilant for moments to “pay it forward.” Through my zazen (sitting meditation), I feel that I am more present to those opportunities, rather than be distracted by all the chatter in my head when I am with somebody. This is why the practice of zazen is important, to be open and responsive to supporting others and also to notice when someone else is supporting me.