Category Archives: Guest Blog

Yet another threshold

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Photo by Max Harlynking on Unsplash

Too many people see the years beyond 70 as a static period in which there is little change, just a slowing down. But in Anam Cara, John O’Donohue encourages us to “visualize the mind as a tower of windows”:

Sadly, many people remain trapped at the one window, looking out every day at the same scene in the same way. Real growth is experienced when you draw back from that one window, turn, and walk around the inner tower of the soul and see all the different windows that await your gaze. Through these different windows, you can see new vistas of possibility, presence, and creativity

I have had to look through a lot of windows recently, and ones that I would not have chosen. However, although the paths taken have not been easy, each was part of a different journey in which I learned something about myself. Recently, someone asserted that my life was “really hard.” My immediate internal response was intense irritation, but I politely noted that my life was not so hard—after all, bad things happen to everyone. I quickly realized that I was annoyed because the kindly offered words did not acknowledge that I was grateful for the many blessings that accompanied the view from each unchosen and unanticipated window.

Photo by Remy Penet on Unsplash

By now, you’re probably wondering who is this person. I am a social scientist who is always gathering data and extrapolating from those data. I am also a deeply spiritual person, so I have the tendency to infuse my experiences—which might, on the surface, look ordinary—with spiritual meaning to deepen my understanding of our lives during these challenging times.

As we age, many of us view our lives as a series of milestones and thresholds that are usually clothed in ritual. For some, a milestone marks the completion or culmination of something (e.g., college degree, wedding anniversary, retirement, death of a loved one, etc.), whereas a threshold signals the commencement or start of something (e.g., wedding, career or life transition, relocation, etc.). Crossing a new threshold is always a challenge and requires a certain amount of trust.

Nearly three years ago, for example, I said goodbye to my late husband, Jerry. This was not how the two of us had envisioned growing old together. Instead, I was called to do such difficult, intense, and sacred work as Jerry’s primary caregiver for seven years…and now that work was over—a major milestone for me. Shortly thereafter, I crossed a threshold and slowly embarked on a journey of grieving—a journey made more complicated by the COVID restrictions.

Fast-forward 15 months. My journey of more-or-less solitary grieving ended abruptly—a milestone for me—when a routine blood test revealed chronic leukemia. Even though I still had more grieving to do, the social scientist in me volunteered to participate in a 15-month clinical research trial—another threshold and a healing journey for me in the company of dedicated caregivers/researchers.

Photo by Marcelo Leal on Unsplash

Along the way, I encountered two unplanned pauses when nasty falls resulted in broken bones in both of my hands, my wrist, and later my kneecap. In each case, I was forced to slow down even more and give my body the time it still needed to heal. Because, on both occasions, I needed to be cared for more intensely, I joined a larger group of elderly people who were no longer able to live independently. This was, for me, a very new journey into vulnerability and community.

Gratefully, my disease is now in remission and my bones are healing—a milestone for me—and I can begin to allow myself to look through new windows at possible future thresholds. Unlike the thresholds of the last decade that I could not ignore, this time I get to decide which doors and thresholds I will open and cross.

John O’Dononue offers this blessing for “a new beginning”:

Awaken your spirit to adventure,

Hold nothing back, learn to find ease in risk;

Soon you will be home in a new rhythm,

For your soul senses the world that awaits you.

— To Bless the Space between Us

Although I’ve faced many (sometimes abrupt) beginnings in my life, I’m still not comfortable being vulnerable—or not knowing what comes next. Here are the questions that now consume my anticipated re-entry into a “new normal”: How can I take all that I’ve learned over these challenging years and choose among “all the different windows” that await my gaze? How can I make sure that the threshold I am about to cross will nurture my well-being and resilience? And, perhaps most critical, what might be holding me back?

Photo by Les Argonautes on Unsplash

I now can see that I will not have answers to these questions before it is time for me to step gingerly across yet another threshold as it appears in this wild journey called life. To avoid stasis and “just a slowing down,” I must be content to make a choice and, in the words of Jan Richardson, writer, artist, and ordained Methodist minister, “Let what comes, come.”

She Wants to Put Me in a Box

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By Guest Blogger Katharine Malaga

This week we’ve invited Katharine Malaga as our guest blogger. Katherine is a retired RN, ESL teacher, and Spanish interpreter and lives in Minneapolis, Minnesota. She is writing a memoir about the multilayered aspects of caregiving after her husband’s stroke and dementia.

Katharine’s husband, Ross, had a massive stroke several years ago, which drastically changed their lives of travel and adventure. Ross is now facing dementia. One interesting thing about Ross is his uncanny ability to use words in a way that seems slightly off but is incredibly insightful. We wanted to post this because many of us have similar struggles or may have them in the future. Thanks, Katharine!

Here are some of the unique ways he has relearned to use language:

  1. “He’s unhelpful,” he said of his dangling right arm.
  2.  “Who’s coming tomorrow?” he asked one Wednesday evening.

             “Rachel,”  I said. “Your favorite.”

             He looked down and moved his jaw back and forth while gathering his words.

             “I would like a degree of freedom.”

3. “Hee..loo,” Ross said.

             A  loud bang thundered in the background. Maybe a truck backfiring.

             “Where are you?” 

             “ I…I…am… at the… apogee… of my walk.” 

“She wants to put me in a box,” Ross said one day.  He had overheard me discussing memory care options on the phone.

I don’t want to put him in a “box,” but he needs more care.  His doctors are recommending 24-hour supervision because of his decreasing memory, judgment, and poor balance. 

I am home twenty-four hours on most days. But sometimes I take the bus to a grocery store or to get a haircut. Today I had an appointment with a retina specialist and Ross was alone from 8:15 to 10:00. Last week I saw another eye doctor and a physical therapist. I have a mammogram on the 28th. I could take him with me, but that would be hard for him.  I text him when I arrive somewhere and he texts back. I come and go as fast as I can. He worries about me as much as I worry about him.   

My efforts to find home health care have not been successful. Between the pandemic issues and the shortage of home health aides, agencies cannot find workers.  (Minnesota is reporting a need for 15,000 home health aides.) “We hear that all the time,” his doctors tell us.

I put him on a waiting list for the Veterans Administration Home (VA) last June. They told me there was a two-year wait for veterans with  “immediate needs.”  I was surprised when they called last week and said he was getting close to the “top of the list.”  

I spent about thirty hours filling out their thick packet: tax forms, one year of bank statements, insurance forms, health records, marriage and divorce degrees, rental agreements, and more. 

The facility is on the Mississippi River and sits on 53-acres of woods.  Every resident has a large private room and bath that meet disability needs. They have a medical, dental, and podiatry clinic in the building and provide transportation to the nearby VA hospital and clinics. I take Ross to those appointments at Hennepin County Medical Center (HCMC) now, but it is getting more difficult for him to get into cars. They also have a barber shop which after COVID has been very difficult to schedule.

“I like it,” he said. I was impressed, too.  There are a lot of patios and gardens for walking, as well as decks on each floor.  They can accommodate a vegetarian diet.  They have mass on Saturdays on the first floor. It is on the bus and light rail lines. All visitors must wear an N95 or surgical mask, plus a face shield in the skilled nursing area. They must mask in the hallways.

If not for the price, $11,000/month, I would be making plans for his move there.  (The community  standard for skilled nursing/memory care is $10,000 to 12,000 per month.)  He has long term care insurance that would pay about a third of that, but so far they have denied him coverage.  We are applying for the sliding scale payment plan, based on income.  I still have more paperwork to fill out. The VA is doing a background check and getting his medical records from HCMC.  (Unlike assisted living, he must prove medical needs.) It may take a month or two before we can make a decision.

We don’t know if it will work out, but we are looking into the possibility.  These are not easy decisions, not what we planned, at least this early in our lives.  But, we have to try to meet his ever increasing needs for care.  

It’s not a “box,” but it is a more restrictive way of life for both of us.  This is what so many face with age and disease.  

Retirement During a Pandemic

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Garden in July

In the middle of July 2019 I announced my intent to retire at the end of June 2020; nearly one year in advance.  Some people thought that time frame a little excessive.  Would I not be considered a lame duck for the entire year?  What would this mean for my ability to lead?  Yet I know my boss, the Superintendent of Schools, appreciated the long lead time.  I was a department Director for a school district and sat on the Superintendent’s cabinet.  This gave him plenty of time to find a replacement. 

I had a plan for winding down my time in the school district.  Get as many projects as I could completed (or at least underway) before I left.  And start helping my husband with his business.  Things were moving along nicely.  I was very productive at my job while also helping my husband deliver in-person workshops around the state on weekends.  I was a little overwhelmed but feeling good. 

Then came March 15, 2020.  That was the day the Governor of Minnesota announced that, due to the COVID-19 pandemic, the state was going into lockdown and school districts would start planning for distance learning.  Students’ last day of in-person school would be March 17.

That changed everything. For everybody.

For me, as a school district employee, that meant stopping everything I was doing and refocusing on distance online learning and childcare for essential workers.  It meant many daily meetings (virtual, from home), onslaughts of emails, sifting through pages and pages of Department of Health and Department of Education guidance that changed daily, checking in with my staff, checking in with others in my field, all while still trying to move some projects forward with the hope that school would reopen in the fall.  It also meant that my husband’s in-person workshops (and therefore his business) came to an abrupt halt.  Not that I would have been able to do them anyway – I had to work on weekends as well. 

This went on for three and a half months – right up to June 30.  Then on the morning of July 1, I woke up to – nothing.  It was jarring to say the least.  Don’t get me wrong – the weight of the stress lifted from my shoulders made me feel I was floating on air. I was happy to shed that weight.  Yet I pride myself on being productive and I didn’t have any idea what to do. 

Do – it’s a small word with a huge amount of baggage attached to it – at least for me. Does gardening count as doing? Does reading a book count as doing? Does cooking meals count as doing? Does going for walks count as doing? Does sitting and contemplating my life count as doing? Does it count as doing if I’m not earning money?

That last question gets to the heart of my dilemma.  I have been a consistent earner since I got my first job at age 15, nearly 47 years ago. I took only four weeks off for each of my kids. I’ve never been laid off.  I work; I earn money. That’s how I see myself. That’s been by design.  My dad died leaving my mom a widow at age 53.  She had not worked for pay since she was pregnant with me. Even though he left her with enough money to take care of herself, it hit me that it might not have been that way. What if he hadn’t left anything, and she had not been able to take care of herself?  I vowed that I would ALWAYS be able to financially take care of myself and my family.  I was 23 years old.  And I fulfilled that promise to myself.  The problem is I didn’t make any promises for what I would do in retirement.

It’s taken me nearly three months to start cutting myself a little slack.  After all —we are in COVID times. The retirement life I visualized is not viable —at least for now.  It’s time to start visualizing something different and, possibly even better. We are in a period of flux where things are changing for everyone. I can use this time to my benefit.

The concept is called liminal space. “The word “liminal” comes from the Latin root, limen, which means “threshold.” The liminal space is the “crossing over” space – a space where you have left something behind, yet you are not yet fully in something else. It’s a transition space.”  (Alan Seale, Center for Transformational Presence)  This time of pandemic could be considered a very long liminal space for me, and for everyone else.

It’s time to leave behind the idea that I need to earn money for money’s sake. Financially, my husband and I are in a good place.  Between my pension, his Social Security and our savings, we can take care of our basic needs and then some.  (Although I will admit that we need to earn money if we want to live an exciting life of travel – when we’re able to travel again.)

It’s time to explore what it would look like if I were truly doing something I loved to do.  That means trying new things and further exploring familiar things. And it means shedding old ideas of what it really means to be productive and unpacking the word “do.”

When I was 23, I didn’t think to make a promise to myself for what my life would look like when I retired.  And why would I?  It was so far into the future.  Now the future is here. One of my favorite sayings is “When is the best time to plant a tree?  20 years ago.  When is the second best time?  Today.”  So today I make a promise that I will open my mind to the possibilities of what an actualized life really means for me.