A family aging
No one prepares you for the experience of watching your parents age.
The pain and sadness you feel when you see your parent's limitations. The very people who gave you life, who fill your memories with an abundance of energy, now sit in front of you as different people, starkly contrasting your childhood memories. My dad was always active. As a coach, he had a talent for all sports and would amaze us kids with his skills in baseball and basketball. Dad was ready for any adventure and seemed to create excitement within every moment. He seemed invincible, as many childhood dads do, and he always gave a sense of protection and all-knowing wisdom.
Now as I enter into my thirties I see my dad as an aging man. His hands are lined and worn from his years of living, his body is slower to respond, and he is no longer active even though he pretends to be. When I witness this my heart aches from the clash of my childhood beliefs and actual reality. In my fantasy, my parents are always there, living eternally in their forties. It's hard to reconcile the fantasy of my parent's immortality when I see and feel their time left in this world slowly ebbing away. And I stop and think "But wait, my parents have to be here to help me if I decide to have kids. My parents have to be here to support me when my life feels like its crumbling around me. My mom has to be here when I feel sick or defeated." I sigh at the realization that I don't hold this privilege. That human life has a beginning and an end. There is no time guarantee. If anything there is only the guarantee that their life will end and it will end too soon for my liking. That as their life ends, I will enter into unknown darkness and sadness. That I will feel lost without their presence in my life. That a part of me will also have ended. The anticipation of that known future hurts. It becomes hard to breathe and I paused in the thick space of the moment.
As my breath eases, I grab for the memories of my family and I am slowly washed with gratitude for the life I've been given. I cling to the small treasure of my parent's love for me, which was given freely in abundance. I reflect on the deep layers of that love, knowing it is in fact eternal. The love will guide me long after my parent's presence has left and the love will heal the brokenness of my grief.
No one prepared me for this part of adulthood, the tangled emotions of a family aging.
The pain and sadness you feel when you see your parent's limitations. The very people who gave you life, who fill your memories with an abundance of energy, now sit in front of you as different people, starkly contrasting your childhood memories. My dad was always active. As a coach, he had a talent for all sports and would amaze us kids with his skills in baseball and basketball. Dad was ready for any adventure and seemed to create excitement within every moment. He seemed invincible, as many childhood dads do, and he always gave a sense of protection and all-knowing wisdom.
Now as I enter into my thirties I see my dad as an aging man. His hands are lined and worn from his years of living, his body is slower to respond, and he is no longer active even though he pretends to be. When I witness this my heart aches from the clash of my childhood beliefs and actual reality. In my fantasy, my parents are always there, living eternally in their forties. It's hard to reconcile the fantasy of my parent's immortality when I see and feel their time left in this world slowly ebbing away. And I stop and think "But wait, my parents have to be here to help me if I decide to have kids. My parents have to be here to support me when my life feels like its crumbling around me. My mom has to be here when I feel sick or defeated." I sigh at the realization that I don't hold this privilege. That human life has a beginning and an end. There is no time guarantee. If anything there is only the guarantee that their life will end and it will end too soon for my liking. That as their life ends, I will enter into unknown darkness and sadness. That I will feel lost without their presence in my life. That a part of me will also have ended. The anticipation of that known future hurts. It becomes hard to breathe and I paused in the thick space of the moment.
As my breath eases, I grab for the memories of my family and I am slowly washed with gratitude for the life I've been given. I cling to the small treasure of my parent's love for me, which was given freely in abundance. I reflect on the deep layers of that love, knowing it is in fact eternal. The love will guide me long after my parent's presence has left and the love will heal the brokenness of my grief.
No one prepared me for this part of adulthood, the tangled emotions of a family aging.
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