By Megan Tschannen-Moran
Adapted from a “From the Heart” talk at the April 7, 2019, worship service.
When Rev. Laura described this month’s theme of finding wholeness in the midst of life’s unexpected twists and turns, I thought “I can relate!” I’m sure that we all can, because life doesn’t always work out as planned.
Sometimes these unexpected turns are delightful. Growing up as the middle daughter of a single mom who struggled financially, I could never have dreamed the life that has emerged for me. All I knew was that I wanted to be a teacher. I loved working with children. Now, I am still a teacher, but my students are adults, themselves teachers and administrators. And I could never have dreamed that the books and articles I write would be read and used in far corners of the earth and that I would be invited to travel to some of those places to share my ideas and my research!
My life took an unexpected turn of an entirely different sort six and a half years ago, when Bob slept later than usual one morning, and got up feeling shaky and unsteady. A few minutes later, he had a massive seizure that sent him tumbling down an entire flight of stairs. This was the dramatic opening to a new chapter in our lives. Many of you know very well about this turn in our story because you loved us through it, through those first anxious days and weeks when the seizures kept coming and Bob had to be placed in a medically-induced coma to calm them down. We didn’t learn until later that at one point, Bob had no reflexes in his entire body except for the pupil of one eye. His life was literally hanging by a thread! Having come to the very brink of death and gazed into the abyss, we live now in resurrection time. Bonus material.
Life in this new phase differs in some significant ways from life before. Bob’s seizures are not completely controlled by medication, which means we live with a measure of uncertainty, never knowing when one might strike. Many of you know, because you’ve been on hand to help me catch him as he falls! It might be just a minute or two out of a day when his brain is seizing, but not knowing when those might be keeps us on our toes!
Bob also suffers from significant memory problems due to damage to his hippocampus from the encephalitis, which is a part of the brain that plays a key role in making and storing memories.
Despite these losses and challenges, we live in a spirit of gratitude and joy. We’re living together in time that was neither promised nor guaranteed.
A part of what sustains my joy is being a part of this loving community. We are not alone in facing the challenges of this new phase in life.
I went to a workshop on working with people living with disability, and they contrasted those people with the “currently abled.” That put a temporal spin on it, reminding us that sooner or later we all are likely to experience some period of infirmity or disability.
For those of us fortunate enough to be growing older, I see that old age is like adolescence in reverse. Instead of the excitement of gaining new capabilities and independence, we are losing capabilities and independence, sometimes gradually and sometimes all at once.
It is such a gift to come here each week and to be among kindhearted people who love us and accept us just as we are. People who stand ready to help catch Bob if he falls. People who know and don’t care that he won’t remember their names.
It sustains my joy to be in this intergenerational community, watching the children grow and find their voice. It helps put life in perspective, to be part of a community where for some us of capabilities are surging just as for others, where for others our capabilities are subsiding. There is a balance and a rhythm to life. It sustains me to come here each week and to be greeted in kindness and caring, and to be invited to consider once again the mysteries of life.