Wednesday, March 2, 2016

Firsts and Lasts --#Sol16 Number 2



Firsts and Lasts

by Natasha L.




http://wasteurtime.com/curiosity_corner/why_do_popcorn_pops/

When you have a child, you experience so many "firsts."  The first kick in your protruding belly as you sit in the darkness of a movie theater.  Or if you are a father, the first time you lay your hand on a blooming belly and even witness the bump of your baby’s jutting limbs. Your wondering child’s small finger tracing the path of a raindrop along the windowpane. The first kernel popping magically turning into full blown popcorn. Your child's little feet jumping up and down with sharps screams of excitement as each kernel pops into the bright green bowl. The first snowflakes falling from the sky as you and your child sing,

"If all the raindrops were lemon drops and gumdrops?
Oh what a rain that would be.
Standing outside with my mouth open wide.
Ahh-ahh-ahh-ahh-ahh-ahh-ahh-ahh-ahh-ahh.
If all the raindrops were lemon drops and gumdrops?
Oh what a rain that would be.

If all the snowflakes were candy bars and milkshakes?
Oh what a snow that would be.
Standing outside with my mouth open wide.
Ahh-ahh-ahh-ahh-ahh-ahh-ahh-ahh-ahh-ahh.
If all the snowflakes were candy bars and milkshakes?
Oh what a snow that would be."
(http://artists.letssingit.com/barney-lyrics-if-all-the-raindrops-bm6sbcq#axzz41n6E7a2o)

I never thought I would say this, but my “Ahh-ahh-ahh” has slumped into a blah. Raindrops and snowflakes are simply wet elements falling upon me along with whatever else life pours.  The shining sun is more a reminder of outdoor days I can rarely enjoy unless I pay a kind sitter to sit with my dad. My dad whose memory has been slowly eroding. He will sometimes ask me where did we just come from? What did we just do? The first moment of incredulity quickly turns into a habitual "Again and Again" response: you just saw a concert, you just attended church, yes you have taken your memory medication, no, it's Monday today.

Now with my father his lasts are his firsts and his firsts are his lasts.  Memories have been erased or merged into one. He will sit in a concert hall and tell me, “Wow, this is the first time I have been here” though he has been in that concert hall in the past. The glory of firsts still sneaks in under the curtains of Alzheimer. Likewise, my father experiences the death of friends and families who died recently or long ago for the first time as if the last news of unexpected death was not enough of a blow.

And then I wonder, like yesterday when he made his way to the poll, walking bent and slowly with his cane,  will this be the last time he votes? Will this be the last time we celebrate this holiday together? Or maybe the first in my situation. My parents were divorced ever since before I can remember. My sister and I would see my dad on weekends, some weeknights, and some holidays. However, now he has come to live with me since his separation from his second wife. Thus many holidays we celebrate together year round may be our last yet our first. Indeed, this is the first time, I have lived 24/7 with my father. He has come to my home to live his last days. I have worked hard to forgive him for not sharing on a daily basis his first energetic-self days. The first and the last. I have forgiven.

I may leave this earth before my elderly father. As I hit the bottom of my dry well, as I bump into a sense of fatigue and weariness. As the joy of life simply slips out from the back door of my life, I need to turn my “Again and Again and Again” experiences into moments of presence in my mind and heart. As I witness my father’s memory come in and out like waves in a shore, I need to stop, notice, and remember.

I need to remember to turn my ‘Agains” into “Firsts.”  Firsts morph into "Again and Agains" and finally "Lasts" before we know it.

My teenage son’s firsts will turn into my lasts. Gone are the snuggly nights of bedtimes stories, gone are the sitting on the lap days. Gone are the sensations of his little fingers grabbing my hand as we cross the streets. His first will become my lasts: his first college years will be his last full years at home, his first job will be the last allowance (youpi!), his first apartment...

I need to get on my knees and pray (or maybe also shriek and jump) for joy and excitement. I need to release myself from my kernel and let myself flourish into flying popcorn (with a little butter at my age). Most of all, I need to remember the pastor’s sermon as he shared these wise words by Rabbi Heschel, “Our goal should be to live life in radical amazement. ....get up in the morning and look at the world in a way that takes nothing for granted. Everything is phenomenal; everything is incredible; never treat life casually. To be spiritual is to be amazed.”

18 comments:

  1. I love your post. I can only imagine how difficult and possibly healing it was. Thank you for sharing your story and giving a voice to the people who take care of elderly parents. I know it's not an easy task. I love the Rabbi's words that everything is incredible! What a great message.

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  2. Oh, Natasha, so much emotion while reading this entry. This line kept resonating with me: "The glory of firsts still sneaks in under the curtains of Alzheimer," and it's that idea of firsts and lasts. I get so CAUGHT UP in my own stuff, of being weary or frustrated that I miss the firsts and the lasts and then I lament them. I am getting better, but it's a work in progress. I try to remember that grace is greater than guilt, try to be kind to myself. You've given me the courage to do that. Thank you for these beautiful, beautiful words.

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  3. Wow. Yes to living life in radical amazement. Yes to being present to the moment. Yes to surrounding yourself with friends and loved ones who will join you in paying attention to the ordinary moments. So much love to you.

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  4. This is honest, vulnerable and deeply reflective. Your entry is an evolution of your thinking and a journey all in one. The way you parallel the firsts and lasts, the joy and frustration is admirable. Your honesty and thoughtfulness shine through with the enormity of what you are facing each day. Treasure each moment and find a celebration each day.

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  5. Now with my father his lasts are his firsts and his firsts are his lasts. This line breaks my heart. You are on a very tough road at the moment. May writing bring you some peace and may you find the joy in some of the moments you have each day.

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    1. Thank you for good wishes and feedback. I am wishing you a fruitful writing season.

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  6. Thinking deeply now about parallels with last firsts and first last...going through a similar situation with my mom but she's still (for now) living with my dad. I wonder about some of the same things you've written. Never treat life casually is great advice.

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  7. Thank you for your feedback. Yes, I like the way you put it "last firsts and first last."

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  8. Your raw emotion is so powerful. The quote "live life in radical amazement" - what a life to live. I wish you strength as you welcome every day and take what comes, as firsts become agains, and agains become lasts.

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  10. I had one of these epiphanies today...thank you for writing it so well... Thank you for describing radical amazement in such a timely fashion.., so lucky to be part of this writerly community

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  11. Yes, I love that quotation that my pastor shared. Thank you for your feedback. I love the way you put it: "what comes as firsts become agains, and agains become lasts."

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  12. Thank you for sharing this. You express your turbulent emotions so powerfully. It is hard to be caught in the middle, between aging parents and growing children, isn't it? I am going through some of the same things and there are days that just making it through is an accomplishment in itself. But you are so right; we should continue to "live life in radical amazement."

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  13. Beautiful words. You captured so very much in this post. As some of the other commenters have mentioned, I do hope that writing will be a way of rediscovering that joy and energy in life and also that it provides a sense of community that you are not alone.

    For some reason, this line - "I have worked hard to forgive him for not sharing on a daily basis his first energetic-self days. The first and the last. I have forgiven." stands out to me, an acknowledgement of both the joy and pain that comes along with life and relationships - especially those between children and parents.

    Thank you so much for sharing.

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  14. Natasha, thanks for reminding us of how precious this whole human experience is.

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  15. Natasha, I feel so personally fortunate that you are blogging now, and blogging about the things you're blogging about now. I am going to try to follow the advice that you're giving to yourself,and I thank you for giving and writing it in such a way that I feel lovingly inspired to do so!

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  16. Nastasha, I admire your choice to expose your heart to this writing community with wonderful vulnerability. As I read all of your shared moments of "lasts," I kept thinking how do we learn to treat each moment of each day as firsts.

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  17. Natasha, thank you SO MUCH for this post. As I sit here in all the firsts of my toddler's life, your post provides so much perspective for me to consider. It's hard to remember to savor the "firsts" -- but I also appreciate the reminder to think about the "lasts" as well. I also have so much respect for you in your personal life. This is a perfect reminder that we are all carrying our own burdens and that community, even if it's online, helps to lighten the load.

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