Category: Aging

Love Is Us

Published on by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

beatles-abbey-roadOn September 26, 1969, the Beatles released perhaps their quintessential album, Abbey Road. The timing could not have come at a better time for me. My idealism was badly damaged from the events of the previous summer, a collection of weeks that quite literally changed me and my family in the most devastating ways. I was not yet twenty one and I felt like a forty year old. My mother had endured a crushing mental breakdown during July and August and I had reluctantly accepted the responsibility for her care and that of my brothers. I was shoved out of my naive and isolated world into the hellishness of reality as I struggled to keep everyone together and to make decisions that were foreign to my nature. I was a bride of less than a year who was being tested more than I thought I might bear. The Beatles came to my rescue with their innovative music that eased the beasts that were battling inside of me.

There would be many a time when I would listen to the songs that became so comforting to me, not so much because they were happy and lighthearted, which they were not, but because I marveled at the genius of the work that was unlike anything that the world had ever before heard. I was able to escape into the guitar rifts and poetry of the lyrics. Here Comes the Sun became my mantra. It gave me hope that somehow my little family would one day reclaim the happiness that had been so missing in the dark days of Mama’s illness. To this very day I can’t hear the strains of that tune without remembering both the pain that I was feeling and the tranquility that the music afforded me. 

I was still in a honeymoon period with my husband Mike with whom I was madly in love but I had no idea what an incredible man I had married until those trying times. He would rise to the occasion and never leave my side over the decades in which I struggled to keep my mother healthy. He was loving and understanding and the two of us listened to Abbey Road together sensing that its brilliance expressed the feelings that we shared. My story might have been quite different had it not been for Mike. He was my anchor and my strength. I listened to lyrics from the album like “Love is you” and understood totally what that meant with regard to my devoted spouse. We may have been two babies playing house but we had something quite magical happening and somehow the Beatles had captured every emotion that we were experiencing.

I had little idea that in only a few weeks I would learn that I was pregnant with my eldest daughter Maryellen. We had no plan as to how we were going to find the money to raise a child but we could not have been happier. It was like a blessed miracle to learn that something bright and beautiful was going to happen to take our mind away from the fear and anxiety that had been stalking us. When Maryellen was born the following July I often listened to Abbey Road when I fed her in the middle of the night. It was one of the only ways I was able to keep myself awake when I was so sleep deprived. I loved the line “one sweet dream came true today” because that was exactly the way I was feeling. The contentment that I enjoyed with the birth of my little girl filled my heart. It erased the despair that I had known only a year before and replaced it with a feeling that we were all going to be okay.

The years would go by. Mike and I only grew closer as we raised our little girl and then added another girl child named Catherine. My mother would go in and out of emergencies with her mental illness. I never really became accustomed to the sadness that I felt whenever she had a psychotic break. I did my best in getting her the medical help that she needed but I always felt heartbroken that her problems were chronic. I so wanted her to mend and never be sick again but that was not to be.

Abbey Road would forever be an old standby for me, a favorite of which I never grew tired. I heard new words and musical innovation each time that I listened. It somehow came to remind me of the entire span of my life. All that I am is somehow encapsulated in the music.

Imagine how wonderful it was for me to receive a text from my grandson Andrew this week telling me that he had been listening to Abbey Road at college. We traded stories about the songs that we most love and I could tell that somehow the music had reached as deeply into his psyche as it had into mine. I found myself wondering what he might think if he knew that I had rocked his mother in my arms while listening to the same brilliant harmonics back when I was only a year older than he now is. I found it somehow ironically meaningful that his birthday is on September 26, the same date as when the album first became available to the public. I thought about the enormous influence the Beatles have had on so many souls and particularly on me, providing so much solace during the most difficult moments and the happiest ones as well.

The day on which my mother died can only be described as beautiful. We all will eventually leave this earth and she knew that her end had come. She was ready and convinced that she would soon be in her heavenly home. Everyone who had ever loved her was gathered around on that day, including Andrew. Mama asked my Mike to take care of the family, an honor that he humbly agreed to accept. We said our prayers and our goodbyes. When she had breathed her last I once again thought of the Beatles and their prescient words that seemed almost to have been written especially for her and our family, “And in the end, the love you take is equal to the love you make.” We had overcome one problem after another hand in hand only to emerge with an ever stronger bond time and again. Through it all the Beatles have continuously been there as we have traveled down our long and winding road learning with each step that love is us. 

We Are Our Own Narrators

Published on by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

come-with-me-7-2011_1-1024x671There is a certain irony that my grandson Jack performed in his last musical with the varsity theater group at his school this past weekend and that the play was Into the Woods. The piece was wildly popular on Broadway in the nineteen eighties about the time that Jack’s mother was ending her own days in high school. It is a profound story of relationships and the consequences of the choices that we make. It is a study of the fine line between childhood and becoming a true adult. Nothing is as it really seems or as simple as we would like things to be.

Jack played both the narrator and the mysterious man, a rather fitting dual role whose significance for me he may not fully understand until I explain. I found myself enthralled by the brilliance of his performance and his ability to nuance the subtleties and complexities of the parts. All in all Jack and his co-actors ultimately moved me to both tears and reflection which is as the authors of the play no doubt intended. 

Jack is named for a man that he never met, my father who would have been his great grandfather. The two Jacks are far more alike than almost anyone might suspect. My grandson like his long dead ancestor is a kind of renaissance man, someone who is as comfortable in a world of mathematics and science as in the domain of artistry. Like my father he is a sensitive soul who often finds himself questioning the ways of the world. He has so many talents and interests that he might follow a variety of paths in life just as was the case with his namesake. Both are known for looking at the world from many different angles. At the same time they might both be described as having a kind of innocent boyishness and joy of living that has made them attractive to others.

My father Jack loved to read and he passed that hobby down to me beginning when I was very young. He purchased two volumes of fairytales that he read faithfully to me. Those stories created a secret bond between the two of us and kept his memory alive long after he had died.

At first my thoughts of my father were romantic and childish much like the first act of Into the Woods and the stories that he read to me. I missed him terribly and often found myself having foolish dreams that he would one day return to guide and comfort me. Sadly reality never really works like that as is so profoundly revealed the second act of Into the Woods. There comes a moment when we all realize that we must cross over from the fantasies of our childhood into the world of reality. We learn that each of the choices that we make have consequences not only for ourselves but also for the people around us. We can only rely on our parents for so long and then we must face the fact that as we make our own ways we will undoubtedly make mistakes just as they did.

My grandfather was a kind of narrator, just like Jack was in his school play. Grandpa was the father of my father Jack. He often told stories of his own childhood and related history as he had lived it. He gave me great comfort any time that I was feeling down. He was a living link to my own father. His stories were not as lovely as the fairytales of my youth. He spoke to me with honesty because I was an adult and he understood that I must face even dark stories. He admitted to overcoming alcoholism and enduring profound depression and loneliness before encountering my grandmother and starting a family of his own. Like the songs in Into the Woods he found ways of bringing humor to situations that were actually quite tragic. He had developed a wisdom that allowed him to realize that sometimes we laugh and cry at the same time. Sometimes we are both frightened and curious. He had lived long enough to see that no person or situation is usually all good or all bad. He taught me that life is complex and we can neither run away from it nor tackle it alone. Like the mysterious man that grandson Jack also portrayed in his play, my grandfather had faced up to his own demons and conveyed to me the wisdom that he had learned from those battles.

I suspect that my grandson Jack has little idea how much his musical affected me. I thought of all of the times when I wanted to run away from the very adult responsibility of caring for my mother that was thrust upon me even before I had begun to explore the world. I had believed that she was supposed to be my rock and foundation but instead our roles were often reversed. I found myself making silly wishes with regard to our difficult relationship when she was very sick. Time again I had to rely on the kindness of others to help me through the most trying situations. I learned that I was much stronger than I had ever imagined and that I really didn’t need a narrator to tell me how my story should go.

I want to share my thoughts about his play and his role in it with my grandson Jack. I want to tell him the tale of his family thus far and how we all worked together and with an odd assortment of friends in reaching this day and time. I want him to know that we have seen triumph and tragedy, jubilation and bitter disappointment. Ours has been a very imperfect family but somehow we have managed to keeping traveling in and out of the woods, overcoming giants and wolves. We have been as human as the characters in the musical in which Jack had a starring role.

Hopefully my grandson will have learned more from his acting experience than just his lines and the melodies that he performed. If he reflects carefully he will see that there is an important message for each of us contained in the wittiness of the words and songs that he and his friends executed so very well. I wish for him to reach the depth of wisdom that is to be found in this musical that is not so much for children as for the child that lives inside all adults.

I suspect that Jack does indeed understand. He would not have been as convincing in his acting if he had not realized the power of the message that he was conveying through his expressions and the tenor of his voice. It is a good way for him to step out of the world of children and onto the pathway that will lead him into the adventure that he will one day call his life. I hope he knows now that he and only he is the teller of his story. How it proceeds and where it ultimately ends is up to him. It is an exciting journey that will not be without its misdirection and loss but will also bring him the realization of some of the most wonderful wishes that enter his head in the quiet of night. Along the way he will have unexpected encounters with people who will both help and hinder him. If he has truly learned his lessons well he will be ready for whatever comes. He will realize that all of us have a once upon a time that is only as lovely as we work to make it be. The magic is not in witches or beans or potions but within our own minds.

A Girl Who Can’t Say “No”

Published on by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

stress-2.jpgI’ve always been what people might call a “good girl.” People pleasing is in my DNA. I work hard to make everyone that I encounter feel good. I rarely make waves even when it is apparent that someone is taking advantage of my good nature. I smile and ignore slights and continue to behave the way that I always have. I like the way I am. It feels nice to do for others rather than for myself.

The trouble is that now again I realize all too well that I am being used and abused in certain situations. Not everyone operates from good intentions. Of that I am all too aware and yet I often fall into such devious webs without saying a thing. I quietly fulfill the obligations that I so meekly accepted and then move on, wiser but still unwilling to say that one word that comes so reluctantly to my lips, “No!”

My mother was much like me. I suppose that I am the way I am because of her influence. She was an obedient and giving soul who would not hesitate to give someone in need her last dime. She exhausted her energy and bank account taking care of others. Then she experienced her first mental breakdown. Her symptoms were quite frightening to most people and only those who were exceptional human beings and the inner circle of people who loved her unconditionally were willing to remain steadfastly by her side.

Our home had always been a mecca for individuals who wanted to feel the warm touch of comfort that my mom was so good at providing. Our door was as open as her heart. She always made time for anyone who sought her counsel or a quick loan that would never be repaid. After Mama’s mind was attacked by bipolar disorder most of the hangers on and acquaintances were never to be seen again, even when she generously invited them for a visit. She rarely mentioned the abandonment that was so obvious nor the way people often avoided her, but she knew that it was happening. She felt lonely and hurt now and again and once even insisted that I was spending too much time emulating her old persona which had proved to be ridiculously naive. She suggested that I instead determine who would be my steadfast friends if I were to suddenly become a pariah to society. “Those are the people and causes that deserve your time. Just say no to everyone else” she advised.

Unfortunately I had already been programed to be the first to volunteer. I actually enjoy the feelings that come from sacrificing my own needs. There is a kind of selfish gain in doing for others. Of late, however, my energy is not as ramped up as it has always been. I am in my sixty eighth year of life and I have more and more limits on what I am able to give. I tire more easily and my income is fixed. I understand that I must be more selective in my generosity lest I reach a point when I am no longer able to share my bounty. I think of things that my mother told me in her days of madness and realize that there was often great wisdom in her words. I can’t be all things to all people and so I must choose my causes well.

Learning how to say “no” is a difficult task at my age. I mentioned in a Facebook post that I was going to try to do so and I found out that I am not alone in my quest to bring more balance into my life. I received a barrage of “likes” and confessions of the guilt that often comes with the simple act of refusal. One of the acquaintances that I most admire reminded me that “no” is a complete statement and requires no further explanation. She is one of the most giving people that I know and yet she fully understands that we are under no obligation to respond to every plea that we receive. In fact, if we attempt to do so our efforts will be far less effective or meaningful than if we carefully consider which causes are most important.

My sudden insight into developing a healthier attitude came about the time that my cousin was dying. I was so busy with a number of responsibilities that I had accepted that I never quite found the right moment to visit him. I assumed that there would be plenty of time to do so once my self imposed duties calmed down. Of course the scenario did not play out the way that I hoped it would. He died before I was able to wish him godspeed. It was a heartbreaking and illuminating moment for me.

I had been chasing my tail working for a woman who demanded more and more of my time without showing even a tiny bit of gratitude. When I missed a deadline during the week of my cousin’s funeral she became exasperated with me and insinuated that I had been out having a good time while she was holding down the fort. When I tried to explain the situation to her, she was unmoved. After many sleepless nights during which my anxiety level peaked at the thought of returning to work for her after the holidays, I found the answer. It was as if my mother was speaking from the grave. I knew that I had to stand up for myself and leave the situation that was rewarding in the work that I did but painful in the way I was being treated. I took a deep breath and resigned.

Of course I still feel the pangs of guilt and wonder if I should have set aside my concerns. I am a novice in the game of asserting myself. I keep wondering if I acted in haste and yet I have slept soundly since finding the courage to eliminate a worry that I never needed. I feel as though a gigantic weight has been lifted from my chest. I am quite excited about returning to a tutoring gig at South Houston Intermediate where the students and teachers treat me with dignity and appreciation. I am looking forward to having more time for my grandchildren and godson. I plan to make the calls and visits to shut ins that I have heretofore only spoken of doing. I will now be able to give more quality time to my father-in-law who has expressed more of a desire to see me as he becomes older and less able to get about.

We humans often lose our way by trying to do too much. There are limits for all of us and those become ever more apparent as we age or lose our health. We have a tendency to put ourselves in last place, forgetting that if we wear ourselves down we become less and less useful and happy. Our bodies and our minds constantly send us cues as to what we need. It is in our best interest to listen to the voices in our heads that make us anxious. They are the sentinels designed to warn us when we have taken on more than we can bear. Taking charge of our lives is not a matter of recrimination. It is a must. It’s time that we taught ourselves to stand tall and utter the most powerful word of healing that we possess, “No!”

A Time for Everything

Published on by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

maxresdefaultI have experienced sixty eight revolutions around the sun. This week I begin the sixty-ninth. I remember most of the yearlong journeys and what I have learned from them is that change is inevitable and that I should never take anything or anyone for granted.

I have witnessed the birth of inventions that most of us now consider to be commonplace but were once deemed miraculous. I have seen a man walking on the moon and been able to write and publish my thoughts on a daily basis because a computer allows me to type and quickly correct the mistakes that my fingers make. I have a vacuum cleaner that operates without my help and a mechanism that follows my voice commands to turn on lights and play music. The temperature in my home is neither too hot nor too cold with adjustments being made regularly to keep me comfortable. I carry a phone in my purse that allows me to talk with friends who live hundreds of miles away and even see them if I wish. I can order virtually anything from the recliner in my bedroom and it will arrive on my doorstep in only a few days, often without postage being required. I have hundreds of shows, movies and books from which to choose for my entertainment and I need not leave my living room to acquire them. I daily inject a medication that is rebuilding my bones. I have had a surgery performed by a doctor guiding a robot that left only four tiny holes in my body. The marvels that have come into my life abound and I have yet to take any of them for granted because I have witnessed the past when such things were only dreams.

Some who once accompanied me on my twelve month adventures have gone. I still long for them and find myself recalling the wonderful times that we shared. I didn’t always appreciate them as much as I should have. In my youth I felt immortal and did not think that I would be touched by death, not even after my father was taken far too soon. I now realize the importance of expressing feelings of love and appreciation at every opportunity. I understand that we must focus on the beautiful moments as they are playing out in our lives and embrace them fully, for the opportunities to do so may never come again. Life is riddled with uncertainties and even though I know that to be true I am surprised again and again.

I have developed traditions that I follow while I can. At the dawn of each new year I celebrate both the past and the future. I try to approach the coming months with optimism and a sense that I have yet another possibility of improving and focusing on the people and labors that will make a positive difference. I prepare split pea soup for luck. I learned how to do so from my mother-in-law who inherited the recipe from her mother. I have never cared much for black eyed peas, my mother’s preferred lucky charm, but I loved split pea soup from the first time that I tasted it. I go to the Airline Farmer’s Market each December specifically to purchase dried yellow split peas because the green ones are not nearly as tasty. I serve a ham on Christmas Day and use its bone to cook the peas. I place them in a heavy pot along with the bone and an onion, covering the ingredients with water. I cook the concoction slowly, adding more water as the peas become thick. Once they have softened and blended with the water I remove the ham bone and begin adding a bit of milk to make the mixture creamy. After several hours my soups is smooth and has a delicious blend of flavors. I always make it on New Year’s Eve and serve it for lunch on the first day of the year. It seems to have done it’s work in bringing me health, prosperity and happiness for I have had a good life in spite of bumps along the way.

I worry a bit as I grow older, a habit that I inherited from my paternal grandmother that haunts me more than it should. I don’t like losing friends or family members but the numbers of those who have passed before me grows with each year. I find myself wondering who among my circle will be afflicted with difficulties and wish that there were some way that I might forestall their problems. I tell myself that instead of spending fruitless moments in a state of anxiety I should instead reach out to my loved ones to let them know how much I care. I know that it is important to cherish every minute of every day.

I grew healthier last year because I worked at being so. I plan to continue with the improved habits that I developed. I am determined to publish my book no matter how much time and effort it takes to get that done. I want to keep my promises to meet with friends that I have not seen for far too long. I will try to be more relaxed about unimportant matters. I am a perfectionist at heart even though life has taught me that being so is ridiculous. I want to hear nature’s music and find joy in the pleasures that I sometimes ignore because I am so busy doing tasks that matter little. I desire to place more of my trust in the Lord without always asking Him why He does things the way He does. I saw from my late cousin how beautiful great faith can be.

I have come a long way and seen many wonders. I look forward to enjoying as many more as I am allowed, taking the glory of each day as it comes without holding on to hurts or fears. The sun rises and sets, the earth travels around the sun creating the seasons of our lives. In some miraculous way I have been part of sixty eight transitions from one year to the next. I have witnessed history, the best and the worst of the human experience and still I travel on with my fellow man. I have learned that the words of Ecclesiastes are so very wise.

There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under the heavens: a time to be born and a time to die, a time to plant and a time to uproot, a time to kill and a time to heal, a time to tear down and a time to build, a time to weep and a time to laugh, a time to mourn and a time to dance, a time to scatter stones and a time to gather them, a time to embrace and a time to refrain from embracing, a time to search and a time to give up, a time to keep and a time to throw away, a time to tear and a time to mend, a time to be silent and a time to speak, a time to love and a time to hate, a time for war and a time for peace.

Every day is beautiful, even when we are carrying our human burdens. There is nothing better than to be happy and and to do good while we live. That is my ultimate resolution as I set out on another adventurous year.

Christmas Magic

Published on by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

04d8762c-e9ff-48b4-800b-25850e9c6e80_37gzwyg.jpgIt is two days before Christmas and my head is filled with many random thoughts. I was thinking about the live trees that everyone used to have back when I was a child. They were so much fun but invariably half of my family would be ill by Christmas Eve. Little did we realize that we were actually allergic to the lovely natural aroma of pine or fir that filled the air. Once the artificial varieties became available there was no turning back for us. We finally found out what it was like to feel good for the holidays.

In an effort to reproduce the feeling of my childhood days I purchased a scented wax chunk in Colorado when I visited there in the fall. I thought it might be fun to have the illusion of having a real tree with the essence of pine wafting through the air. I decided to burn it this past weekend and within about thirty minutes my head was aching and my throat had begun to close. My nose was running and my eyes were watering. I suppose that I’m just not going to create a forest-like atmosphere in my home ever again. It was sad to realize that my body won’t tolerate that wonderful smell of a Christmas forest.

During the brief moments when my house felt more like my younger days I began to reminisce. I suspect that there is always that one special Christmas gift that remains magical even sixty years later. For me it was finding a bicycle in front of the Christmas tree when I was seven years old. Santa got everything right about that bike from the basket mounted on the handlebars to the color. It was love at first sight and I could hardly wait to change out of my pajamas and get outside to give it a test drive. I felt very grown up because it didn’t come with training wheels. Santa assumed that I would be able to learn how to balance and pedal without any problems. It made me happy that he had so much confidence in me.

My father was my official coach. He held the bicycle up while I climbed on and ran along  beside me until I had picked up enough speed to stay upright. The first few times I crashed almost immediately and even skinned my knee. I was beginning to wonder if I would ever be able to master the art of riding but I was too embarrassed to admit defeat so I kept climbing right back onto the seat and trying again and again. Daddy encouraged me and gave me tips about how to improve. Just when I thought that I was never going to overcome my cycling inadequacies my father let go and I kept going. I even turned around and headed back to him. I suspect that I had one of the biggest grins of my lifetime. I can’t remember another time that I felt so proud of my accomplishments.

That bike would become my constant companion. It took me on adventures and saved me from boredom. I eventually learned how to perform tricks like standing on the seat while holding one leg in the air or letting go of the handlebars while still moving forward. I’m not sure what ultimately became of it. I suppose that I simply outgrew it one day and my mother no doubt sent it to wherever old bikes go.

There really is nothing quite like those childhood days when Santa comes in the middle of the night while children sleep. It is so breathtaking to find the wondrous toys waiting in the morning. I can still see the roller skates and the dolls in the glow of the multi-colored lights. I envision the oranges and nuts that were invariably hiding inside my stocking. There is a part of my brain that will stay forever young with those magical images of Christmases past.

Santa still visits our house. My grandchildren come to stay with me from San Antonio and somehow Old St. Nick manages to find them. They are growing older so he may soon quit coming just as he does with all of us once we are no longer children but we never forget how wonderful he made us feel and we vicariously enjoy his magic in the eyes of the young. It will be sad when my grandchildren too have outgrown him.

I’ve worked hard for the past several weeks preparing a feast for my extended family that I will serve on Christmas Day. I am expecting around thirty two adults and kids to join us this year. It is a riotous time filled with laughter and lots of love. There will be children running up and down the hallways and adults hugging and catching up on all that has happened since last we saw one another. We’ll devour mountains of food and by the end of the evening the house will resemble the Griswold’s home in Christmas Vacation after a squirrel runs amuck.

I always sit in the light of the tree on Christmas night wondering how the celebrations went by so quickly. I’ll think of how fortunate I have been throughout my lifetime. I’ll remember all of the people and the traditions that I have enjoyed over the years and I know I will feel quite content. Somehow the spirit of Christmas finds its way into my heart over and over again regardless of what may have happened in the months that came before.

Merry Christmas to everyone. May this holiday find you feeling that magic of the season and sharing love with those who mean the most to you. I hope that Santa is as good to you as he always seems to be to me.