Being Present

 

 My sister in law  Barb worked with Gretchen who passed away several years ago and  I knew Gretchen through her. She was a world traveler, teacher , lived in Long Beach , avid reader, life long learner, attended literary women with us. Through Gretchen I met her two daughters Paula (lives in Texas) and Maria (lives in Long Beach ). Both Paula and Maria have two grown children each. I’ve watched them grow up on Facebook and before that knew of them through Gretchen’s adoration of them. Maria, the older daughter  was diagnosed with brain cancer more than a decade ago and had gone through hard treatments and several remissions. She traveled to Italy last summer with her teen daughter then the cancer returned with a vengeance. Paula had come often to be with her sister and writes on Facebook the updates for friends. I send the updates to Barb as she is not on fb. I’m sending this to you all because we’ve all lost loved ones and have been on this path in some way that Paula is walking with her sister. What she says here is important and I know it soothed me in some ways as I still feel guilt about not doing more  for my loved ones now gone. I think what she says about our presence being enough and important is good to hear. I wanted to share this with all of you. Love barb

"I’m back at the airport. This visit was hard. Not solely because of Maria’s obvious progression, but also because I felt the need to do/say something profound or impactful, knowing this is likely the last time I’ll see her on this earth. When I wasn’t tending to her physical needs, we spent each day sitting mostly in silence, watching TV. It took a hot minute to realize I’m not “doing nothing.”

After some research (because that’s what I can control), I learned by sitting with her, even in silence, I’m regulating her nervous system. This is because I’m familiar and grounding to her, she knows I’ll advocate for her and I don’t need anything from her, my humor gives her a reprieve from her reality and a moment of normalcy, and I’m a safe, stabilizing comfort. Essentially, my presence is calming.

It’s ironic, because I just did a leadership presentation on the simple act of being present, and here I am questioning if my presence is enough. I actually referenced my sister as one of my real-world examples, telling an audience of Southwest leaders that in the last moments of life, when everything else is stripped away, the only meaningful currency we have left is our presence.

Yet I’ve still found myself asking questions like, “What if I haven’t shown her how much I love her?” “What if she doesn’t know how much she means to me, because I didn’t articulate it well enough or I didn’t show her by my actions?” “What if I regret not doing more?” I’ve learned what people regret most later is unintentionally overstimulating, pushing conversations, forcing meaning, or not letting the moment be quiet. Stillness is not emptiness here. It is respect.

So that’s how we spent the week as I slowly (and possibly begrudgingly) accepted the notion that my presence was the most complete form of love in that moment.