When This Life Ends A New Life Begins

 

Dear Bloggers,

Just before springtime comes and every now and then there’s a little ray of sunshine that brightens up the dark days of the wintertime. Even if live life to the fullest and you are still making loads of plans. But somehow your sickness is kicking in and slowly but surely the body has to give up bit by bit. And at a certain moment your days are counted.

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“Life starts and it ends with a breath, in between these two breaths lays a story; a child is born and explores the world; the child smiles and cries; the child lives and becomes a man; the man learns that life is neither good or bad, just beautiful the way it is.

Life ends on this earth by letting go of the first breath, because the man knows that letting go is the path that leads to freedom; and then life begins again purer than ever.”

Think about the flowers. Life is just a bunch of pretty pictures. All this is supposed to do is force you beyond the mind, when you realize that you can't figure it out.

People often wonder what they should say to a person who is dying. It is understandable that you might feel confused – what you feel might be so complex that it is hard to find the right words, or any words at all. It is natural to worry about saying the wrong thing. You may want to offer something that will help them cope but don’t know what that is. It is usually better to say something than to pretend nothing is wrong.

Most times, someone who is dying will find comfort in you being there, and appreciate knowing that family and friends are thinking of them. Even if you feel you’re not doing anything, just being there sends the message that you care.

It isn't clear how long a person who is dying retains awareness of what is going on around them, but research suggests that some degree of awareness may remain even after the person slips from unconsciousness.

Often, people will lapse into a coma before they die—a deep state of unconsciousness and unresponsiveness. People in a coma may still hear people talking even when they can no longer respond. Because of this, the health department suggests that caregivers, family, and physicians should behave as if the dying person is aware of what is going on and is able to hear and understand voices.

 

A 2020 study that investigated hearing in palliative care patients who were close to death provides evidence that some people may still be able to hear while in an unresponsive state. (EEG) was used to measure the dying brain's response to sound. The findings suggest that telling a person you love them in their final may register with them.

Dying is a natural process that the body has to work at. Just as a woman in labor knows a baby is coming, a dying person may instinctively know death is near. Even if your loved one doesn't discuss their death, they most likely know it is coming.

In some cases, the person may come from a culture or a family in which death is simply not discussed. Furthermore, your loved one may sense that others feel uncomfortable recognizing the dying process so they don't want to bring it up.

 

Death can then become the elephant in the room. Everyone knows it's there but no one will acknowledge it. Family discussions may be awkward and superficial and never reach an intimate level.

Talking about death is rarely easy. Many of us feel uncomfortable even saying the words "death" or "dying." Talking about it with a loved one who has been diagnosed with a terminal illness can be especially awkward.

 

First, remember that you are talking to someone who is still living, and that talking about memories and shared experiences honors the dying person's life. Experiencing sadness with the loved one is appropriate; that's part of life, too.

If necessary, a therapist or a social worker with experience in this area can make these conversations easier.

 

The flowers will fade no matter what but the memories we made will never be lost.

The Old Sailor,

Maybe February is the time for endings

Dear Bloggers,

The bus company I work for has offered me a steady contract for 32 hours per week. I am happy and on the other hand I feel a bit sad. I have been living my life on the wild side if I may say so. I have never been a regular Joe if it comes to jobs. All the jobs that I have done in my past are not all the best paid ones in the world. At least I had fun and saw an awful lot of our planet. And now it’s the last day of February the last day as a Temp. Tomorrow it is the first of March and my contract is activated. It gives me the shivers.

Maybe February is the time for endings. Some of the worst things in my life have happened in February. No, that’s untrue- they just feel like they all happened in February.  Endings tend to have a similar quality: a slowness that’s not the same as a bleak, cold, February morning. 

Then your blood seems like it will never be warm again, sluggish through your veins, now, it just feels like it’s gone underground. It’s not the slackness feeling of a hot, humid, summer, with the sun merciless on your face, turning your skin from brown to a burning and glowing sensation, when you can’t make the effort to even reach out to that cool glass of beer that your wife has placed on your table. No, this is the hushed, sticky quality of the air before the rain suddenly falls in a sheet, and you’re soaked from head to toe; your umbrella dripping uselessly onto your shoes, as the “road” that you walked underneath turns to a muddy river in two minutes flat.

What just happened, you ask yourself, even as you sigh and think “February”. Snow has gone, Winter just packed it’s suitcases and springtime has not arrived yet. Afterward, you try to pick it apart: And loop the past on a scratchy rewind, like those tapes you played over and over until they became scratching, static bursts between the snatches of that so familiar love song. Where the hell  is it, you think, just that one moment, the turning point when it all started there were you found the right one, the moment that you found love is coming undone.

You’re looking for the sign, that one dark cloud in the distance, the flash of lightning, but sometimes all you’re left with is the clear sky ahead and the thickening air, that is taking your breath.

One morning I woke up and found a baby spider that  has crawled into the folds of my fading grey lounging set that sits outside the deck in our garden. It has been unexpectedly cold the last few nights and the little rascal had probably sought out the warmth of the couch cushion.

I flap my hands at the furry resinous intruder: unsurprisingly, it moves not an inch. “I’m giving you ten minutes while I brew the coffee for myself and the tea for my wife”, I tell it solemnly: “after that, you’re out”.  When I step out again, my hands slowly warmed by my steaming mug of coffee, it’s gone. I feel both smug and guilty; like I’ve won a battle and lost a more important war; like I’ve missed the forest for the trees, like I have once again, failed to read the signs.

How are you feeling, my wife asks me. “Okay”, I say and she accepts it for what it is: a barefaced lie. We are, neither of us, strangers to this; when all the stuff inside is so tangled that the only possible answer is just a simple “Okay”.

There’s a dissonance that leaves me tongue tied; the inexplicable chasm between what I know I should feel, and what I do feel; akin to letting yourself in with the key and just finding yourself in a stranger’s house. This is familiar territory, I remind myself. You’ve been here before, you know how this goes.

Endings are not an undiscovered land. And yet. I look up The 5 steps that I learned in the past years again; try to see what I’ve missed. Everything, it looks like; there is no progression, no gradual climb down. I’m just here. But there must be, I think, increasingly desperate for something, anything that feels familiar.  But no, this is the fun house mirror version of myself, everything in its place and just that bit distorted, rendered unrecognizable.

I imagine what a therapist would ask me: how are you sleeping, are you eating regularly, do you shower, do you make the bed, do you change your clothes, do you exercise? Answer: Well, yes, yes, yes, yes, no, but I never did, it’s not unusual. I still hate work for the usual amount, not more or less.

You should be happy mate, a colleague  tells me, I’m not saying who had some rough times in his past. I tell him a long and involved story about how I have lost many people on my way that kept me company. This is not a problem but having a contract is also having some obligations towards my job before it was easier to get a day off as there were no strings attached, to me life is like a friendly cow a huge white-and-black speckled beast. It moos at odd times and reminds me that life goes on; that February, in fact, can be great for some species: plentiful green grass, the fresh air that comes with some springtime smells; outside it’s getting more and more pleasant, of course with slightly unpredictable weather and cool nights.

I lie in bed and listen to the night sounds the squeaking of the roof, the occasional drunken song from two houses away, the rain showers that bash into the windows, a faint siren in the distance from a firetruck, some kind of chirping sound.

That gives me exactly that feeling that you’ve got during the long lazy summer nights. That moment your sitting at the kitchen table and a moth wanders in, flirts with the dazzling white light and then wanders out. It’s not hard to fall asleep on these days, when my thoughts seem to have no particular direction. When I wake up, I don’t remember my dreams.

Fact: time moves forward and I am getting old.

Fact: February seems to last forever.

It’s cold at night, during the day it shifts rapidly from sunny spells to bashing rain showers. Running around in winter jackets and sunglasses on. I’m doing my job for the last day as a Temp. Tomorrow I am one of the guys with a steady job. It feels like a new episode in my life, is this the final destination to my pension.

How are you feeling?, I used to ask others; and now I ask myself: How are you feeling?, the answer is that It feels pretty double and even a bit emotional. Although inside of me the salty blood is still flowing through my veins. I will be an Old Sailor forever.

The Old Sailor,

Growing older feels like time is catching up with me

Dear Bloggers,

I was sitting down tonight and my thoughts were about life again and how lucky I should consider myself, I have a great family and the girls are growing up faster as I thought. Even though I am enjoying every moment of all the situations that occur and the things they do discuss with us and the things that keep them busy. But also the music they are listening to (some of the songs I never heard before).

Although it is a widely accepted that, "The older you get, the faster time seems to go." But why should aging have this effect? After all, there is the parallel that says, "Time flies when you are having fun." But as we age, time flies whether we are having fun or not.

Question is of course, what's going on?
I have recently been trying to understand this question, because for the past several years many of my days have been extremely long, yet the years still seem to be accelerating.

To tackle the problem, I did an Internet search to see what others were saying on the subject. Nearly all the returns had to do with parenting. "Oh, they grow up so fast. The days are long, but the years are short." This is perhaps a partial explanation; however, since the questioning started, I figured out that it occurs just as well to people who have no children, it cannot be the whole answer.

Some other comments had to do with getting religion. "I found God at the age of 30 and every day since I have been waiting to go to His kingdom. I am now in my 80s. Oh, the days have been so long, but the years have been so short." Again perhaps a partial explanation; Hmmm....the same things I hear with non believers as believers, it cannot be the whole answer either.

Many comments were also philosophical. They said simply to accept the facts and live each day to the full. Good advice I think, but again no advance in understanding.
 

I then turned to science. I typed in the search words "psychology of time". This turned up hundreds of articles, most of which were very technical, dealing with brain structure and functions, neurotransmitters and the like. To narrow the search, I typed in both "psychology of time" and "days are long". And got nothing at all!

Finally, I decided to sit down somewhere quietly and analyse the matter myself. This turned about to be a wise decision, because I think I found the solution. It's really quite simple. It all has to do with "anticipation" and "retrospection".

Whatever the nature of our individual lives, we all anticipate things that are important to us. Then after they happen, we look back at them. For example, most school children look forward to the long summer vacation, which always seems to be an eternity away. Finally, it arrives. Then, almost before they blink an eye, it's over and they are back in school again.

Progressing from primary school to secondary school is another excruciating anticipation for a youngster, especially if the move is perceived as being an important step away from childhood into adulthood.

And so it goes on and on. When anticipated, each new significant event seems to be extremely far away. However, after the event, we regularly look back and yell out: "Did it really happen that long ago?"

Our first love, our first heartbreak, driving a car, getting a job, marriage, etc. When we look forward, all these milestones seem impossibly far in the future. However once achieved, how quickly they fade away into the past.

The older we get, the more milestones we have to look back on. So the farther and faster they appear to fade away. So if sometimes the clock may seem to have stopped, the calendar always continues racing ahead.

For me, the high point of my life was joining the army and serving as a soldier for my country was teaching me that life was not always fun. And they thought me to be disciplined. I applied for a peace keeping force post early in my career and was trained for special peace tasks. Processing the application took only about three months -- perhaps the longest three months of my life. It seemed more like three years. I was accepted but not sent abroad as the Dutch government decided differently. 

After a while I realized that I should consider myself lucky as I met guys who came back from these scattered countries – I still help some of them with getting their life on track and help them with a listening ear and lend them a hand when they have to make a new start again. the easiest way of living my life, because I am having so much fun.

I of course have had many other milestones in my life, which are all rapidly hurtling away from me. Even the most recent ones already seem to be covered in dust. I am now 46. I don't feel old, but somehow I just can't get my mind around the fact that many of these things already look like ancient history.

If accumulating milestones is truly the secret of the accelerating years, what do we do about it? Basically nothing; we just have to accept it. However, this is not necessarily a negative. True, the good things are coursing away faster and faster into the past. But so are also the not-so-good things.

Whether positive or negative, nothing in life lasts forever, even if it sometimes feels as if it will. We are certain of this because we know even life itself doesn't last forever. We are all born to die. What happens after that is the subject of considerable controversy. But whatever it is, we are certain it is going to happen, and that it will almost certainly be different from whatever we know today.

Since I am now in my fourth decade (I am 46), for me this inevitability will probably occur sometime within the next 30-40 years, and almost certainly within the next 50 years. This seems like a very long time. However, the years are accelerating, so when it does occur my most probable reaction will be: "What! Already!" On the other hand I have done so many fun things in my life. If I would drop dead tomorrow I would call it bad luck for the rest of my family.

Enjoy every day you've got left, you never know what might happen.

The Old Sailor,

Growing Older

Dear Bloggers,


When I was young, 21 was the official age of adulthood. Yes, you could get married before then and young men had to join the military when they reached the age of 18, but that 21st birthday was when the world accepted and recognized you as a grownup.

And I desperately wanted to be a grownup. As I've mentioned here in the past, I was deeply disappointed when I woke on my 21st birthday in 1989, and did not suddenly know the answers to all life's existential questions.
Equally discouraging that day was that I felt no more like an adult than I had the day before.

Although I'd had my own banking account for four years by then, I was angry with myself for still being secretly proud that I knew how to write a check and balance the account each month. By then, I thought, I should be so practiced that it would be no more a big deal than dialing a telephone number.

And even though I had been working all those same four years, I was unhappy that I was afraid of my boss as I had been terrified of my dad all of my younger life. I know that haven't been the sweetest young lad. Grownups didn't feel that way, at least that was what I believed then.

At about that time, when I was buying several drinks one day because having a party was still fun at that age, the cashier held up the vodka I had selected and said, “Honey, you are way too young for this.”

I could feel myself blush, embarrassed because I so wanted to be a grownup and a real grownup had called me out. I still believed then that grownups were always right and I ached for it to be my turn to be right.

It irritated me that whenever I accomplished something new, something real adults seemed to do as a matter of course, my pride in myself overflowed. Booking an airplane trip the first time. Getting my first credit card (very hard for regular “folks” in those days). Registering to vote and then not having a clue what to vote for on election day.

It shouldn't be that way, I thought. I should be as comfortable with myself now, as an adult, as I was with being a child. I never thought then that I was faking being a kid; I just was.

But even getting married when I was 29 seem too grownup for how I felt yet - that I was still pretending to be grown up. But by the time I left my wife for going to sea again a few years later, believe me, I felt plenty grown up.
And that is my point. However much I wished to be an adult at a certain age, it doesn't happen that way. The transition from teenager to adult takes growing into over a period of time.

And now I'm pretty sure that at the other end of life, time is required again to become comfortable in one's old age.
Even if we accept that we've reached the beginning of old age, by 60 or so, many of us are not able anymore to make the internal transition to it than the days we felt like grownups at 21.

I became 45 last year when I first realized I was decades older than everyone, I worked with and translated that into knowing that yes, I really do get old, in fact I already am doing so. And I wondered what it would feel like just as 25 or 30 years earlier I had wondered what being a grownup felt like.

It's taken people around me that have retired nearly 20 years to settle into old age and I'll do it with as many fits and starts as growing into adulthood.
What I first noticed, in the youth of my old age, was that people treated me differently. It probably wasn't but it seemed sudden that at work, I was no longer automatically included when groups of colleagues, all younger now went out for drinks at the end of the day. They somehow forgot to invite the “old”guy.

I knew it was something age-related as, I could no longer keep up with the youngsters. At about the same time, a friend arranged for me to meet a certain women that I admired during the days that I was also single. I was surprised when I talked to her how old he looked; But she was only three years older than me.

More and more frequently, I was happy to stay home on Friday and Saturday evenings. It hadn't been so long before then that I had thought of myself as a social failure without a party on a weekend.



And as I was so angry at age 21 to feel a secret pride in little accomplishments that I believed adults handled with aplomb, now I was annoyed with myself for feeling superior to a couple of older men in my neighborhood who “behaved” much older than I did even though we were born within two or three years of one another. But they had trouble with handling things on a computer. Nowadays I'll ask my daughter to help me with the unknown worlds behind facebook and smart phones.

Curious about what was happening to me and how my life would be different as I got older, I began researching aging. Back then, before the boomers began turning 60, there was almost no popular media about aging that was positive. Mostly they ignored everything about life after 55 or 60.

The amount of information about old age has improved since then (although not necessarily the negative attitudes) I've settled into being older in a way that is similar to having gradually grown into adulthood so long ago.
It took me a very long time to understand that it's a journey getting to old age just as it was getting from childhood to adulthood.

A piece of Shakespeare's play, The Tempest, can never be analyzed because

”...for every time it is read it speaks with a different voice to each individual reader. Indeed, on that same reader it's impact changes with each new reading – and particularly at different phases of his growth into maturity and old age.

“This of course is true only for those who continue to grow old and do not merely sink into the aging process or attempt to delay it.”

I'm working on it, I'm trying.

The Old Sailor,