I felt I hit my peak at age 50. Truly the top of the mountain. Wonderful things were happening in my life; love, career, health, opportunity but I could see the downward slope of my life in my future as I aged. One could call it a crisis. But I like Brene Brown’s take on it. It’s an unraveling. Now in the autumn of my life, I know my days here on this planet grow shorter but because of that I am less inclined to waste them. I want to enjoy every day, take on new challenges, breathe in new experiences, be who I want to be, not who others want me to be. Life is precious. Live it. Live it fully. Right to the end. BH
“People may call what happens at midlife “a crisis”.
But it’s not.
It’s an unraveling . . .
a time when you feel a desperate pull to live the life you want to live not the one you’re supposed to live.
The unraveling is a time when you are challenged by the universe to let go of who you think you are supposed to be
The following is a true story about an extraordinary happening this past weekend. I hope you enjoy it.
Two Pennies by Barbara Heagy
This past weekend I was out and about, first stop being a tailgate yard sale at a local collegiate fund-raising event. It was lunchtime so I decided to take advantage of a food truck on site that sold gourmet grilled cheese sandwiches. When it came time to pay I decided to pay in cash, not something I do too often as I usually use my credit card, a carry-over from COVID days when we were all encouraged to use our cards rather than cash for health reasons.
“That’ll be $20.50,” the man told me. I handed him a $20 bill and then dug into my change purse for two quarters and handed them to him.
“Well, I haven’t seen one of these in a long time,” he said seeming rather amazed as he looked down at his palm. “A penny!”
I was surprised as I was sure I had given him just two 25 cent pieces and we haven’t seen pennies in Canada since 2013 when they were taken out of circulation. I had just returned from the States, so I assumed that an American penny had somehow gotten mixed up in my change purse which, in itself, was a bit strange as I had a separate wallet for my American money.
“Would you like it back?” he asked.
“Sure,” I replied.
As he handed it back to me, my mouth dropped open in surprise. In my hand was a very bright and shiny copper Canadian penny dated 2010. “Oh, my God, that’s the year Tom died.”
Still shaking my head in disbelief, I opened up my wallet to put the special penny away and again, much to my shock, there was another bright shiny penny. I took it out and checked the date on it. 2006! “That’s the year we were married,” I said aloud.
Where did these pennies come from? Is this a sign from above? A direct message from Tom? As I thought about him, I realized that not only was Father’s Day the next day and he was always called Poppa Tom by my girls, but it was also Tom’s birthday the same day, June 16.
Now, there are those who disbelieve and say, “You must have put those pennies there yourself as your own special reminder” but I know that I didn’t. Where would I have gotten what looked like newly minted pennies, especially since the last Canadian penny was minted over ten years ago? I thought too, Did someone in the family plant this wanting to surprise me? But, as my daughter Lara said, “I remember the year Tom died but I certainly didn’t remember the year you were married.” And I know with a certainty that my coin purse had been emptied completely by me just a few months before as I donated all my change to a busker. Besides, two pennies, one 18 years old, and the other 14 years would be tarnished with age, not shining and looking freshly minted.
Life is full of miracles. We just have to be open to them and recognize them when they happen. I think Tom was dropping in for a visit. Happy heavenly birthday, Tom!
Yesterday I spent several hours trying to work out my printer problems. I finally gave up and called the company HP Smart for technical support. The technician who I was hooked up with was called Samantha. Now, normally these calls can be hours long (which it was) and can be full of frustration and annoyance (which it wasn’t).
Because a variety of attempts to clear up my problem were needed, we both acknowledged that this was going to take a long time and some of the downloading processes were going to be very slow. We both settled in for the long haul.
For the next two or three hours, Samantha and I worked together to try and solve my problems. Meanwhile, we got to know each other as two human people with much in common. Even though we were separated by half a world (she was in India, I was in Canada), she seemed much younger than me (that’s an assumption), and we were two complete strangers, we connected.
She initiated the conversation and we quickly found out that we both had a love of writing, I a published author/a memoirist and she a daily journal writer and poet. We shared our losses in life of those close to us, including our beloved pets. We told stories about our loved ones. We shared our favourite poets and some of their work. We both love Mary Oliver. We laughed and cried and found common ground in our zest for life.
Slowly she helped me work out my printer problem and slowly we go to know each other as new friends. We both acknowledged that wouldn’t it be wonderful if we should meet some day face-to-face. When all was finally cleared and my printer was working again, it was time to say goodbye. “I’m having trouble saying goodbye,” she said. “Me, too,” I said. “Thank you for all you did for me and shared with me. You were wonderful.”
Will I ever talk with Samantha again? That would be unlikely for you know that when you call these companies, you are given a random agent, whoever is free at the time. But I am thankful for the time spent with Samantha. We had a very special connection.
Reach out to others. Despite distance and age and circumstances, we are all human. Thank you, Samantha. I enjoyed getting to know you. You made my day very special. In honour of you let me share your favourite Mary Oliver poem with others as you shared with me.
“When Death Comes.”
When death comes like the hungry bear in autumn; when death comes and takes all the bright coins from his purse
to buy me, and snaps the purse shut; when death comes like the measle-pox;
when death comes like an iceberg between the shoulder blades,
I want to step through the door full of curiosity, wondering: what is it going to be like, that cottage of darkness?
And therefore I look upon everything as a brotherhood and a sisterhood, and I look upon time as no more than an idea, and I consider eternity as another possibility,
and I think of each life as a flower, as common as a field daisy, and as singular,
and each name a comfortable music in the mouth, tending, as all music does, toward silence,
and each body a lion of courage, and something precious to the earth.
When it’s over, I want to say: all my life I was a bride married to amazement. I was the bridegroom, taking the world into my arms.
When it’s over, I don’t want to wonder if I have made of my life something particular, and real. I don’t want to find myself sighing and frightened, or full of argument.
I don’t want to end up simply having visited this world.
Stop and smell the roses. An old cliche, but it still holds true. Too many of us get caught up in this busy world and lose focus of what is really important to us. I read a wonderful Facebook post by Canadian singer/songwriter Jann Arden this morning that made me look at my own rushed and busy life. Thank you, Jann, for reminding us to slow down. I, too, used to pride myself on hitting the floor running each morning. Now I stretch a little, think a little, say a little prayer, and slowly ease myself into a day. There are still days when I have to set that alarm and get going but, with retirement, those days are few.
I still get caught up with my daily to-do list but I am more reasonable to myself and prioritize activities throughout the day. I still need to chop away at those obligatory “I shoulds.” I get trapped in false measures of success and don’t always fill my cup with my own desires and wants first. I still need to learn to say “No” more often. I still need to re-structure my day so that I feel I have spent it doing worthwhile activities that have meaning to me.
Balance is a hard one for me; peace, joy, love, and a personal sense of accomplishment. That’s what I seek in my life. At the end of each day, I should ask myself, “Did I find moments of peace today? Did I find a burst of joy today? Did I share love today? Did I accomplish at least one of my goals today? I do pray at the end of each day for the world, for my loved ones, for others but I rarely say a prayer for myself. Let me learn to do that better. To know and love myself better.
In the Autumn of my life may I remember that this is when one’s true colours come out in all their showy splendour. My beauty glows in scarlets and golds laced with hints of the past green of yesterdays. I blaze and my brilliance can take your breath away. I can only stand in awe at the majesty of it all.
Even as they fall from the trees, the leaves dance to their end in swirling, twirling eddies of colour. Such joy in their descent. I dance with them.
But the show of glory isn’t over yet.
I watch my grandchildren playing in the leaves on the ground. That’s when they’re the most fun for running and leaping, rolling and tossing in arms of brilliance. I join them in play too. And we laugh. And laugh some more. For what is life if we have forgotten how to laugh and play?
I used to say summer was my favourite season but maybe now it’s fall. It’s when the richness of a life well-lived comes to its peak of brilliance.
Before the quiet slumber of winter comes, let me revel in this season of beauty and wear my colours with pride and gratitude. And a whole lot of merriment. And add a dab of silliness just for fun.
A Sit Spot — “A sit spot is simply a favourite place in nature (or looking out a window at nature) that is visited regularly to cultivate awareness, expand senses and study patterns of local plants, birds, trees, and animals. The practice supports mindfulness, builds routine and increases focus.” (www.wildsight.ca)
My friend/dancer Colleen Frances, introduced me to this phrase. She took a beautiful picture of me on a beach in Costa Rica before our morning dance class began, when I was just sitting alone, prayerfully, gratefully enjoying the morning sunrise. She told me that if we do this, pick a spot each day, the same spot, perhaps the same time, and then just open our senses to what is happening around us, the birds and the animals begin to expect us and things begin to happen. Things we would never have noticed if we hadn’t sat silently and expectantly are wondrously noticed by us.
We Are Wildness (www.wearewildness.com) says the five qualities of a perfect Sit Spot are “it is close, it has nature, it is solitary, it is safe, your attitude.” Any spot can be a perfect Sit Spot, even if it doesn’t appear that way at first.
Once we’ve chosen our spot, Colleen used the phrase RAW — Relaxed body, Alert mind, Waiting spirit, to describe the mental conditions we use when we sit at our ‘Sit Spot.’
My photographer friends often use this means of getting that perfect and unique photo. Stu McCannell, a skilled wildlife photographer, told us that the birds and insects and other animal life around us have habitual patterns that we can use to get that perfect shot. The Kingfisher returns to the same perch overhanging the river or the dragonfly has a favourite blade of grass or leaf to return to. In my garden, I know when to expect the robin for its nightly bath in my small pool.
My artist friend Suzanne Dyke, loves to sit in ‘plein aire’ and paint what she sees in front of her. Sections of my books have been written after sitting, contemplating nature and my own thoughts.
Choose a Sit Spot. Visit it every day. First, just sit, in quiet and alertness, watching and listening. You may be inspired to paint that picture, write that journal entry, take that photo, or it may just relax you and fill you with wonder at our beautiful natural world we have around us. “Stop and smell the roses” as they say. You’ll be better for it.
Yesterday, my daughter Brittany, returned back to her own apartment after a four week visit. We both live alone and she works from home, so it was a wonderful time of bonding once again. Last summer she came to live with me for 16 weeks and together we built a magnificent garden in the back yard restoring a weedy lot into a showcase of flowers, flagstones, and a fountain.
I was glad she was here this spring and together we enjoyed running out to the garden to see what secrets were sprouting from our plantings last year. We were happy to see so many of the perennials return, bigger and better, and we were able to enjoy the garden so much earlier this year with minimal weeding and pruning. This year, she helped me plant some more: a red peony, new lilies, delphiniums, dahlias, cosmos, Star of Bethlehem, creeping phlox, a planter of various herbs, as well as adding many bright coloured annuals to the mixture. New seeds and bulbs got planted and we’ll see how they do: sunflowers, scarlet runner beans, and gladiolas.
She also did so much work inside my home, adding her skills as an interior designer to many areas.
My office has been transformed from a cluttered and busy site to a comfortable and pristine workplace. She stripped wall coverings, re-plastered and sanded, then painted all the walls a beautiful shade of blue. She organized and re-designed the books and frames and knick-knacks down to a well-ordered, trim, and efficient space that still reflects my personality and interests.
Years ago, when I was looking after my daughter’s cats while she travelled the world for years, the cats decided the old wooden door frames in my home were great scratching posts. The cats are now gone but the damage remained. Brittany decided she could restore them back to their former glory and started researching how to do it. As a surprise to me, she sanded and re-stained seven doorways and frames.
She drew up blueprints for my back sun porch and we now await our contractor to create the space with new cupboards, ceiling, light fixtures, and flooring. We already have waiting the new laminate flooring, a beautiful carpet, a bench, a shoe cupboard, and a new mirror.
I can’t thank her enough for all that she has done for me. We both realize that the universe came together in so many ways, the biggest being the pandemic, to give us both the opportunity and time to be together and build on our relationship in my home.
Brittany, I love you and thank you for doing so much for me. You are generous and hard-working and have a beautiful spirit. Thank you from the bottom of my heart.
Margaret looked into the bathroom mirror
as she did every morning. She ran her fingers through her hair, eased out the
tangles. Picking at the corner of her eye, she rubbed away the sleepiness of
the night. As she leaned in to the mirror, she flexed her lips to check for
stray pieces of food caught in her teeth. Stepping back, she glanced down for a
moment and then back up to greet the face in the mirror. She struck her pose,
her best look. Turning her face slowly to the right, then the left, she
examined the small wrinkles at the corner of her eyes. “That’s okay, they’re my
smile lines,” she told herself confidently. The same smile lines curved down
from either side of her nose to the edges of her lips. As if to prove it to
herself, she smiled once at the reflection. And that’s when she noticed it.
A little spark, a twinkle in her
eyes, a flash of mischief, looked back at her. Her silly, get-into-trouble
three-year old face was still there, looking for the next amusement that would
send her into high-pitched giggles and squeals of delight. She stuck her tongue
out at it. No wonder she enjoyed her little grandson so much. He gave her
licence to let the little girl out once in a while, to romp and play and be
enchanted by the simple pleasures of life once again.
She took one step back away from the
mirror and looked past that little girl to another reflection. This time a
young girl, an almost woman, stood shyly in front of her. Margaret could see the
bloom on her cheek, the tightly closed lips afraid to say the wrong thing, the
averted eyes edged with long, curling lashes, that cautiously looked up at her,
then quickly looked away again as they made eye contact. Margaret knew she
still lived inside of her. Every time Margaret was faced with a new social
situation, a new challenge at work, the insecure young girl appeared, telling her
she just wasn’t ready, didn’t know enough, wasn’t capable of grand achievement.
Margaret stood a little taller,
pulled herself erect into the whole woman she knew she could be. She looked
again at the reflection. This time, she saw a grown woman. A woman about to be
married. A woman who loved and knew she was loved. The face was rounder, the
lips fuller, the eyes shone in confidence. It was a sensuous face, a glowing
face, a face that was about to embark on a new journey with a man who loved
her. Margaret could see the future in that face, full of promise, children, and
new adventures. Margaret smiled at the reflection. It, too, was still a part of
her.
But then she eased herself back into
her own form. She stood a little less at attention, relaxed into the older body
that was hers that morning. She looked back intently at the mirror. The face she saw this time was even fuller, a
little saggy, a few more wrinkles than she had first admitted to. But the eyes
were calm, all-knowing, all-accepting. She was proud of that face – proud of
every gray hair on her head, proud of every crease on her cheek and forehead.
She was now a mature woman, a woman that was an accumulation of all her life
experiences. A woman that had lived a rich, meaningful life; one of joy and
pain, sorrow and celebration, and a full acceptance of it all. None of it was
lost. It was still all there, reflected back at her from that beautiful face in
the mirror.
I’m back from camping for four glorious days at the Hillside Music Festival with my family. We were part of the 1,400 volunteers, musicians, artisans and food-makers who helped to create the magic for the three day festival on a small island in the middle of a lake.
Hillside is really like living in a bubble – a bubble filled with music, singers and poets. It’s filled with drummers and dancers, parades and gatherings, art and artisans, beauty-makers and joy-creators. Tantalizing aromas fill the air with sizzling sausages, spicy tacos and curry fries. Colours and textures infuse the eyes with tie-dyed fabrics, twisted metals and gems, and carved wood pieces. Workshops offer new experiences of living and loving, moving and creating. The Children’s Zone is full of bubbles and paint, sand and water, music, crafts and laughter. The smoke from the Sacred Fire rises to the skies all weekend long, circling around the poles of the tipi in the Indigenous Circle.
Volunteers get to stay on the island where we create Volly Village with tents and trailers, banners and pennants. In the village are old friends and new friends, stories and gatherings, love and sharing. After hours, campfires burn and spontaneous musical jams and drumming fill the nighttime hours until the sun rises and a new day begins.
Yes, Hillside Music Festival is a delicious escape from reality. Now the bubble has burst and we all have returned to our homes. The secret lies in keeping the memories and magic alive in our own little worlds with photos and mementos, shared stories and friendships. It truly was a Happy Hillside and I am looking forward to next year.
December 11, 2018, was the anniversary of Tom, my beloved husband’s death. Eight years ago, he passed away into another world. Facebook, my main social media site, has a feature that takes you back on your timeline with each passing day. You are able to see what you did and said on December 11 from 2008, 2009, and so on. I was able to trace my life for the weeks and days preceding Tom’s death. I could see all the things that were happening and my comments on them, and I couldn’t help but think over and over again, If I only knew that one week later, three days later, Tom would be dead. It put a very different perspective on life for me. We just never know, do we, what life will bring. It reminded me even more to live each day fully, with zest. This is the main theme of my book, our story, in 10 – A Story of Love, Life, and Loss that I published after Tom’s death. His death and the grief over the subsequent years has taught me much about living a full life.
Grief has softened me. Not at first. First I felt raw and torn, laid open like a jagged wound. But with time that has healed and in the opening of that wound, deep in my gut, I have come to recognize a soft, vulnerable place. And I mean I physically feel it that way. There used to be a hole, a place where the pain of losing Tom and never having him in my life again sat like a dark cavern. It has been replaced. Now there is a fullness filling that empty hole, a soft spot, almost like the yolk inside an egg. It sits in the same place, never forgetting, but always accepting. Tom’s death took away a piece of my soul, but left behind a soft, accepting centre of love and gratitude. It may be delicate, but it’s not weak. In its softness is strength, courage, empathy. It’s pliable, secure, and forgiving.
Reading Mark Nepo’s , The Book of Awakening, I came across this passage. He seems to know about that soft spot within that comes after deep pain. He writes:
“It leads me to say that if you are unhappy or in pain, nothing will remove those surfaces. But acceptance and a strong heart will crack them like a shell, exposing a soft thing waiting to take form. It glows. I think it is the one spirit we all share.”
Grief has cracked me open, and because I was able to look and experience it full in the face, it has left behind a soft jewel in the centre of my soul.
