In Focus

Ayn Rand said, "Words are a lens to focus one's mind."
I realized something this morning. When one struggles with writing as a noun, one should turn it on it's head and think of writing as a verb, and just write.

When my father in law passed, two and a half months ago, I feel I officially joined the empty nesters club. I felt myself being prepared for the start of losing parents a couple years ago, but in truth, you're never really prepared. Not for hip bone loss. I've lost a number of family members from that next generation. The number of living aunts and uncles, I knew in girlhood, are now far less, and it feels strange.

I'm trying to figure out this new stage of life. While I thought loss would be just another transformation, a change to adjust to, I never knew how loss could make one disjointed, confused, and even lost feeling. No matter how much faith you have or how strong you think you are, loss is hard.  Because it's so hard, my physician gave me added medication to my Midlife Welcome gift pack. I now laugh when I think back remembering telling my husband, "I don't mind the idea of growing old one day. When I do, I'll do so naturally and gracefully." I'd always been a Donna Reed fan. Everything is beautiful, organized, naturally lovely, right? In home and family, I fast learned the Donna Reed image was unreachable fiction. So how about aging? The romantics of two people growing old together has to be real, right?  Secretly, I wondered how and when the transformation occurred, while I admired and looked up to my seasoned lady friends. My grandmother donned white locks. I'm now a grandmother so how and when does hair go white; at 70? 80? Scientifically, I found the question fascinating.

New medications tainted my equilibrium, they also left me nearly sedated, and though it brought me to caring about very little, I cared that I couldn't think and barely functioned. The medication was shelved by my doctor. Loss still tampered with my blood pressure and we worked to balance out new meds, while doing a study to learn if the change in my health is stress related (so many deaths and life change at once, and that being too much) or life-stress related, where these kinds of stresses don't change because it's mid-life happenings and this is now the new normal. Medication balanced, and BP back in the 120's with "complete rest and withdraw from activity" I had my brain back. At one point during my nighttime routine, I glanced up into my reflection and saw white.

Dad Ries once told me, "Aging is not for the faint of heart."
People don't age gracefully. I'm convinced that in having a small taste of how people age, they must dig in their heels and raise their mitts like me. No one welcomes the kind of loss that breaks you. No one welcomes meds that slow your ability and thinking. No one welcomes the frustration of feeling twenty inside, but being told you can't work out and have to slow down to take care of your vital organs. No one had ever said that to me before and I hated it. Add "low salt diet" to those words and in a matter of days you feel you've aged twenty years. Again, I hated it. But there you are: mid-life empty nester like so many before you.
You try to figure out what that means and what this new normal will be like, and how you'll break free of the shackling you feel. You know something is different and don't know what is happening to you, or know how it happened to you, or when that change occurred, but you feel it in your bones and you just want it to go away and have your energy and vigor returned. And as soon as the doctor says go, you move, and you get active because you don't ever want your doctor to tell you that you have to stop moving again. And last, you ask yourself what personal progress means for you now, and ponder what is next, grateful for it all.

Marie Curie once said, "I was taught the way of progress is neither swift nor easy."
Aging is not for the faint of heart because of the fight; a fight for youth, for health, and for fullness of life.

When I was told by my doctor that I couldn't work out, I was told I could punch a punching bag.
Though I'm just returning to my weights, That punching bag continues to feel good.

A woman I sincerely admire is Eleanor Roosevelt. "A woman is like a tea bag----you can't tell how strong she is until you put her in hot water."
That about sums it up. Life isn't all easy street. Were that so, we'd have no purpose in being here. We're given trials, that we might overcome. Strength is the outcome, much like muscles broken down in a challenging workout to ultimately grow. We have power in prayer, in scripture, and in faith. But sometimes trial means you have to be personally strong, too.
When the physical war is on, women know how to fight.
The white is hidden beneath bold blonde.