On the threshold of losing someone you love

Once upon a time there was a farmer who had an old father and a little son. His father had become unable to work. During those times only the young and new were valued, so the common and sensible thing was to simply get rid of elderly. The farmer took the little boy’s sled, piled the old Grandpa on it and started to move.
‘Where are you taking Grandpa, dad?’, the little boy asked. 
‘Deep into the forest,’ was the answer.
‘Why? Is there a house there?’
‘No, be quiet,‘ father was impatient.
‘Can I come with you?’
‘Come if you must,’ father replied and the little boy hopped after the sled, taking many short steps to match his dad’s big ones in the snow. Finally they arrived deep in forest and farmer dropped the ropes and turned around to go back. The little boy tugged his dad’s coat: ‘Dad, you can’t leave Grandpa here. It’s cold and he will surely die.’
‘But he is too old to work and the winter has been so hard. I’m just being sensible leaving him here.’ With these words farmer turned around and continued towards home. The little boy run after him and pulled his coat again: ‘But, Dad, you can’t leave my sled here!’
‘Why not?’
‘Because when you are old, worn out and unable to work, I’ll need the sled to carry you into the forest to die.’
The farmer thought to himself: ‘I don’t like the idea very much. It is against our people’s ways, but perhaps the boy is right. I’ll have to hide the old man from the neighbours, but surely I can find food to feed him.’ So he turned to his son and said: ‘You are right. Let’s get Grandpa home. We’ll take care of him, but don’t let anyone know.’ So they turned around, fetched grandpa and brought him home again.
Not long after there was a famine in the land which lasted for seven years with failed harvests. People ate all their food to the last bit. They had no grain and nobody knew what to do. The wisdom of old people had died along with them. One day farmer took grandpa small piece of bread and said it was all that was left. He said there was no more food and no more grain to plant another crop.
‘Well,’ said the grandpa, ‘it isn’t as bad as you think. You have a barn made of wheat thatch. Take it down and thresh it. You will find there is enough grain to last till spring and sow new crops.’
The farmer listened to the old man and did as he said. In due time he had excellent crop. When neighbours discovered his good fortune, they came around and asked how he found any seed for grain. The farmer said he got an advice from his old father.
‘But you have no father! He died!’
‘Oh, yes, I have!’ And the farmed brought his dad out of hiding and revealed their secret. After that no one ever thought of getting rid of the elderly. They valued and cherished their company, wisdom and experience of life.

***

This folk tale came into my mind when I thought about my mum. At the end of January her health was very poor, she was admitted to hospital. From my talks with her doctor and our relatives I understood the situation was very serious. My mum lives in Latvia so I got the first available flight from the UK and prayed that I saw her alive.

My mum’s life had been hard – she buried 4 children at different ages and a grandson. Now she feels really, really tired and just wants to go in peace. There’s big uncertainty in the air – as doctor said – she can die tomorrow, or in a month or maybe few months, or a year. No one can predict how long exactly her kidneys will be able to work properly and she absolutely refuses to have any operations or other medical interventions. The Big Mystery is approaching…losing my mum is very tangible now and even though I share and respect her wish not to hold onto life by all means, the thought of her not being around is very painful. My heart is filled with sadness and at the same time deep gratitude for every moment we still are together.

As I am spending time with her in care home – listening to calm and peaceful music, reading her favourite poetry or something from magazine, chatting about unimportant things, watching TV – I notice how weak she she has become, how easily slips in drowsiness, how unwilling she is to walk even few steps to window and back. She says she doesn’t want to make an effort for anything anymore.

 And I notice how calm I actually am being with her. I am aware that no matter how natural the order of things is to lose parents, especially in their old age, nothing can really prepare you for emotional turmoil and pain that awaits you. So I simply don’t prepare myself.

My struggle is guilt. Guilt about putting my mum in care home. Even though she agrees (and she is very clear in her mind and fully aware) and seems to be content with that; even though I know that medical help is available there that would be somehow limited at home; even though we all know she is not able to live on her own. Even though….

How do I deal with this guilt? Do I do tapping? Do I journal about it? Do I look for and find more and more convincing arguments why this is the only solution? I could… But instead I do nothing. I don’t do any conscious effort to let it go. I acknowledge it is there and I don’t resist it. As soon as I notice it’s on surface again, I just breathe it in and out. Breathing in and out – that’s all there is at times. Allowing myself to feel whatever arises, focusing on body sensations. And reminding myself to trust and have faith that I am doing the best I can and that all is ultimately well.

We are society that searches for and values instant gratification. As soon as we feel the slightest pain, be it physical or emotional, we need to get rid of it either by taking a pill or looking for another technique or simply suppressing it in different forms. We make war with our pain. However, the pain is just a messenger. Is the best way to shoot it or at least shut it up? Will that deal with the cause of pain? No! Pain is the scream for love, either for yourself or people around you. Only love can transform pain, never hatred, never war. And how can you transform something that you are not willing to listen to, to accept?

The guilt is because of the belief that putting my mum in care home is like taking her to forest to die. For hundreds of years there have been places, special institutions for old people who are not able to take care of themselves anymore. In my culture they mostly were called ‘poor homes’ as only people who had no family to support them stayed there. Nowadays the situation has changed dramatically, of course. People in care homes get care they wouldn’t be able to get if they lived alone. They get everything – food, warm and clean bed, roof over the head, some entertainment, medical help when needed. Occasionally they get visitors – children, grandchildren, relatives.

What they don’t get is a feeling of being needed in this world, feeling of being appreciated for still living, feeling that they are still valued and valuable, loved and lovable. So when I dig deeper, it’s not even guilt I am feeling. I have dealt with the need to please other people and thought of what they think of me that I put my mum in care home. Deep down I have a longing to give my mum warmth, love and care; and help her in transition. Simply be with her in the moment in life which is as celebratory as birth. I want to be with her during her last days, hours and minutes on Earth; and I would feel honoured if she chose to die when I am there.