To quote John Lennon, "And so this is Christmas..."  

This past week I attended two medical appointments with two people I love. One was very hopeful – not perfect, but a prognosis for a positive outcome. The other was nearly opposite, and involved sitting with a dear friend who was basically given their death sentence. I am both honored and heartbroken to have been in that room, and I know that there are darker days to come.

Talking afterwards, as my friend attempted to make sense of what he’d just heard, he engaged in some of the “what if?” questions, as in “What if this had turned out differently?” “Maybe I should have….  I wonder if…” All components of a painful life review, when it seems that the end will come sooner than anticipated. How will I be there for him, knowing that there are some tough decisions to be made? How will I answer those questions when my own end draws near, understanding that I may not get a forewarning?

Overall, 2019 has been a good year for me - several grand adventures and the excitement of planning for ending my career. And, as the calendar draws to a close, matters of life and death are at the forefront. It seems that part of growing in life, and in recovery, has to do with being able to hold opposing views – happy and sad, strong and vulnerable, gentle and firm. Black/white thinking has no place in my reality today, though wouldn’t that be easier? Good vs evil, positive vs negative? It is rarely that simple.

In thinking of the two people mentioned above, and also in listening to friends speak of people they are supporting during hard times, I was hit with gratitude for the community of our fellowships. In just a couple of days, my people have rallied, offering whatever is needed. On the other hand, my terminal friend doesn’t have a vast network to draw from, which is part of my sadness. I can be there. And I can know when to cry "uncle!" when I can't.  Having walked this road with my dear mother, I have a good sense of the questions that need asking, the gentle holding of another's heart as they walk the path only they can walk, the importance of seeking my own support.

In my home group on Sunday, the chairperson spoke of pain as love, pain as teacher, pain as the propellant towards healing. I realized that what I’ve been calling “pain” these last few weeks really isn’t that. Pain, in its purest sense, is only a millimeter away from pleasure – the gasp that signals both. What I label as pain, however, seems to be some sort of hybrid: sadness + regret, overwhelm + time constraints, fear + anger, for example.  Emotional pain is a sign of love, as in the exquisite grief when a loved one passes, but can also be an indicator that I’m confusing love with dependence, caring with neediness or control. What has always helped is putting pen to paper to unravel the depths of the emotion. And then the hugely challenging spiritual exercise of letting go, turning it over, accepting that what is, is.

A friend shared a quote (source unknown) – “What I truly want is on the other side of fear.” I would say, too, that peace of mind is on the other side of pain, if I’m willing to do the work to stay in the moment. 

Baba Ram Dass died this past week. I will share his quote and smile, hoping that this is his experience:

"Death is not an error. It is not a failure. It is the taking off a tight shoe."

How is it that pain as been your teacher? How do you both comfort yourself, and do the hard work of discovery and healing?