Rough week, huh? Escalating wars in the Middle East. Devastating earthquakes in Japan with horrific tsunami and radioactive ramifications. A worsening global financial crisis. It’s as if the World is just wrapping its arms around itself, rocking out-of-control while dropping buckets of tsunami tears and screaming, “What on Earth….. ?????
After loading those tragedies on our backs every morning, we then shift to face the reality of our own lives, with their challenges and problems. We often forget to toss happiness, contentment and joie de vivre into that hefty baggage we’re hauling around each day. You bet, it’s far easier to be sad, miserable and depressed. “Woe is me” trumps “Ain’t life wonderful”, every time. And, unfortunately, being female, growing older, living alone, either by choice or happenstance, digging down within to find the lightness, is often tough, really difficult.
Call me crazy but I believe we can choose to be, no matter how our world turns, joyful and happy, or, not. Our glass can be half-full or half-empty. We can utilize our lemons to make lemonade or let them rot. I promise you, one can make a silk purse out of a sow’s ear. That’s what this week’s essay is about, doing just that.
More than six years ago, as my husband’s illness progressed to “noticeably serious”, we were forced to make some dramatic lifestyle changes, selling our Colorado home, leaving friends of 20-years, escaping the Rocky Mountains’ idyllic high-altitude living.
Once settled in Nevada, my husband, in his mid- 70’s, his mate, that would be me, in her late 50’s, faced a reality neither of us had even envisioned. ( Alone, I may be, but Alone, we are not. Alzheimer’s is difficult to diagnose, more difficult to predict, unpreventable, incurable and, presently, five million other Americans have it.)
Our years ahead revolved around his illness, my sharpening skills at the University after realizing the financial consequences of this disease, and, to my mind, just surviving. That was when I began writing a book, the working title, “Neither Nurse, Saint, or Martyr Be, My Role as a CareGiver”. Trust me, the title was the best part! Ninety-two pages of grief, anger, “Why Us?, discontent, gloom and doom later, I realized this was not going to be the block-buster to solve my financial concerns and it also was never going to see the light of day.
Being a midwestern girl, you might call this my “Get a Grip”, “Buck-Up”, “Shake It Off”, Moment. The time when, my husband being safe, secure, loved and cared for, always primary, I needed to find a path forward that included happiness. Whether alone by choice, death, divorce, or, like me, through illness, we all deserve to be happy.
Readers, never, never forget that.
This voyage has been arduous, not always successful. I still suffer times of inconsolable sadness. But, for the past two years, having ridded myself of Survivor’s Guilt, among other things, I have enjoyed more upticks than downs, my smiles are broader and my step is livelier. I find it easier to be Me. And, I’ve come to believe that not only do we deserve to be happy, despite the responsibilities and grievous roadblocks thrown in our path, every one of us can BE happy if that’s our recipe of choice. Yes, I’ve had to tinker with the ingredients, adjust the time and temperature, and purchase new utensils, but I’ve baked a whole bunch of happiness back into my life. So, here are some of my “tricks of the truc”, some serious, others, silly. They all work.
Step #1 – It is important to surround yourself with family and friends who love you unconditionally. Whatever your circumstances, everyone, yes, everyone, will have an opinion as to how your life should be handled. And, of course, some of those opinions will be critical, hurtful and harmful. For now, at least, get those critics out of your life or put them on the back burner.
Step #2 – Stop being a Victim. A huge challenge to this particular illness, and, probably, others, is that CareGivers lose themselves into the disease. It becomes, because it is, all-encompassing. It wasn’t until a year ago that a very dear (and, wise) eighty-two-year old-friend said, most kindly, “Oh, Mary, I’m so glad to see you’re no longer playing the Victim.”
Step #3 – Choose advisors carefully. When life gets shaky, you’ll need sound advice, buckets of it. Some will come free, others, I’m sorry, you’ll need cash. For financial advice, I called upon the smartest friends I knew. Just started asking economically-laced questions. Which, amicably, they answered, and still do. I call them my “unpaid Board of Directors”. I love ‘em. In dealing with uncharted territory, I relied on our doctors, books, organizations, support groups, and, most importantly, I hired a trained, educated senior guidance consultant who does know the territory and helped us immeasurably. Among my friends I found good, trusting “sounding boards”, often testing their goodwill, patience, and love. My last stop was always my California daughter, my best cheerleader but always thoughtfully and honestly direct. I’ve exhausted her.
Step #4 – Is your head spinning? Have second-guessing, panic, fright, and “shoulda, woulda, coulda”, become your sidekicks? For years I took every anxiety-reducing herb known to man until my frustrated daughter finally wailed, “Mom, you can mainline every herb in your cabinet, it’s not going to work. Get help.” And, I did. And, it did. A well-educated, experienced psychologist has enabled me and allowed me to find my path.
Step #5 – Sleep. Never underestimate the value of a good night’s sleep. Priceless. Park your worries. I cannot stress the importance of 8-hours of rest each night.
Step #6 – The Silly Stuff. Always at-the-ready to play on a dumpy afternoon, iTunes playlists filled with Golden Oldies, locked and loaded with my memories. I also delight in my playlist of newbies, Taylor Swift, the Green Peas (or, something), I even like the gal who botched “The Star-Spangled Banner” at Super Bowl XLV.( I forgive her.) Go to a movie. What’s so bad about staring at Matthew McConaughey (“The Lincoln Lawyer”) for two hours? Bake something rich and decadent/deliver pasta dinner to those 9-5 hard-charging neighbors who are your constant good samaritans. Keep all your hobby projects visible, scattered about, ready to go. Be messy. It’s okay. You live alone. Always, always, have a book to read. Never miss Jeopardy. Keep a Gratefulness Journal. Every night I write down two or three things for which I am thankful, ranging from the Chicago Cubs to 7-year-old granddaughter Clara losing a front tooth at our local PF Chang’s. Okay, I admit to some, yeah, well, many blank pages. And, granted, some of my “Grateful” I’m not proud about. I’ve written down, Krispie Kremes, probably more than I should admit. But, the journal is an ingredient for the road to recovery.
No recipe is fail-proof and, it’s true, happiness is elusive. Sometimes it even takes being brave. For every giant step forward, there’s always a baby step or three back. However, I believe with ever fiber of my being, that all of us can have it (happiness) and be it (happy), if we wish. Even in today’s world. Wasn’t it about 235 years ago that those someones wiser than us saw this pursuit of happiness-business as an unalienable Right?