Last week, I performed my last duty with my dementia gentleman for he has now been placed into his new care home.
My last day with him went like any other Monday I spend with him. There were no grand gestures, no speeches, no farewells. He wouldn't have understood anyway. I made sure I kept the few tears that unexpectedly escaped from my eyes discreet. Due to the degree of his condition, he had no sense of the big changes he had ahead of him. The last two years in my role as one of his carers have been enriching and fulfilling ones. The bond we formed was based on mutual respect and our communication was certainly imaginative due to the usual conventional way of interacting was often a challenge, and so gestures and facial expressions often took over where words couldn't.
Whilst the impending changes were being organised, I had initially been in haste to accept new offers of work, anxious to compensate for the loss of income. But it soon came apparent that I am not ready yet for extra responsibilities. I hadn't appreciated the emotional impact caring for someone has on ones heart and even though I treat my roles in care work professionally, to work so closely with such characters as my gentleman really affects matters of the heart and even more so when family members are also involved and one can't help but grow attached.
I am reminded of a verse in the Bible. 'A time to weep, and a time to laugh. A time to mourn and a time to dance'.
And so with these words in mind, rather than chase after the next project, I have been giving myself permission to not only create space by holding back on new job opportunities, but also accepting the consequences of allowing the space in time. And what I am finding, is that sadness once again touches my soul. If I hadn't paused to take stock on the last two years, I believe I probably would have carried on with business. Many of us in the Western world seem to have developed a habit of filling every minute and every second of our time with 'stuff'. So often we forget to live in the present, too busy fretting about the future and we don't allow ourselves time to decompress or process our emotions so they get hidden away deep in our vaults, only for them to appear usually unannounced and out of the blue when we least expect it.
So here I am, acknowledging the grief, accepting it for what it is, not comparing, not disallowing or ridiculing or belittling it, knowing that this too will pass.
I am in a fortunate position where I do not have to panic about where my next wage packet is coming from. My gardening job, not only provides a regular source of income, but it also brings me the therapeutic attributes of being outside. I will of course need to supplement my income at some point, but for now, I can kick off my boots and breathe deeply into the space I have in front of me and despite feeling sad I have also been able to get into my new studio and create art. What a joy this brings!
I have plenty of ideas, but for now, I won't put pressure on myself. Art for me is a way of processing change and the world around me.
Speaking of change, a lot has happened since my last post. I have officially moved home and my old one has its interior completely demolished. I thought I would find it hard to see it gone, but standing inside as I occasionally do to follow its process, all I see is an empty building. What it used to contain, have morphed into memories that are embedded in my heart.
I love my new home, this has become my safe and peaceful sanctuary. It is also much warmer to boot!
And should I forget my own advice, I have a reminder written on my wall in the studio. -
'Everyday I expand my awareness and trust in the joy of life unfolding'.
