Dying Wiser #13: “Fair sands”

Wisdom through Poetry; Eldering through Dad. But you’re gonna help this time.

A bonus post for the week. Thanks for reading.

This from Langston Hughes:

Wave of sorrow,
Do not drown me now:

I see the island
Still ahead somehow.

I see the island
And its sands are fair:

Wave of sorrow,
Take me there. 

I met a couple of past colleagues of mine last week for coffee while Dad was settled-in and comfortable (Kristin and Sammy were here continuing the care!)—two great teachers from my past who remain dear friends. It’s always a deep pleasure and energizing moment to be in the presence of people whom you know have committed their lives to kids—and have done so with skill, compassion, and excellence. Those particular species of humans, these two among them, are a special breed—and yes, they do have reserved for them a special place in the future paradises of their longing.

When teachers get together, it is inevitable we will aways “talk shop.” Can’t be helped. Even if spouses, significant others, or any other non-teacher is present. And we don’t apologize for doing so because it cannot be helped. So we talked about what each are doing now to support the students they have—that little check-in served well my need to “stay in touch” with school and the states of our schools. And we talked about the similarities and differences in what they are doing now to grow young minds, with what I am doing now to support one mind that is at the polar opposite of that spectrum. “The work” of both experiences isn’t all that different. Because we also talked about mental health.

Mental health issues have ALWAYS impacted our schools and classrooms. Educators know this because we’ve lived it every moment of our time within the school’s walls. It is only recently that mental health issues have gained such traction in the imagination of our culture due mainly to the impact the pandemic shutdowns had on the mental health of everyone connected to schools: students, parents, the family as a dynamic system, and educators. And also, sadly, EVERY time a school shooting occurs. But teachers have always had to become knowledgeable in mental health concerns—our students are little humans after all; with their own young and developing brains, and nary a wise Elder in sight, teachers and schools inevitably become their sanctuary. And thank god for that!

Okay, onward now. Sorry. “You can take the principal out of the school but it’s hard to take the school out of the principal” sometimes.

This post IS about Dad.

And about Langston Hughes.

The exquisite poem above by Hughes is titled: “Island [1].”

I’ve debated about how much to write in connecting this poem with Dad’s lived example as an Elder. All of the “Dying Wiser” posts thus far have connected good literature and poetry with Dad’s Eldering—or rather, vice versa. Sometimes when things are obvious, a risk is taken to “restate the obvious” and thus waste a reader’s time because, “duh, knew that already!” Or worse, make readers feel insulted for thinking they can’t see the connections all on their own. Every author runs this risk—but the risk is really minimal. A good and engaged reader will ALWAYS make of “the writing” what they will anyway. This I trust is what happens with you as you read these posted offerings.

So I don’t want to do that with this post today—waste your time or risk insult. And I apologize if I’ve done that in the past. You remain here as a reader of Dad’s elderhood. And I do want you to stay—‘cuz right now, there is no greater sense of pride you can give a son than to honor and stay interested in his Dad.

When I read this poem, I immediately connected with it on a very personal level. I think most would, or do, provided they have led an active, “lived” life (ie: gotten ‘into’ the waves of life) rather than coasted through (ie: just passively rode on top—did you know, you can never get anywhere if all you do is float on the top of a wave?).

So, do you connect with this poem?

“Island [1]” is so accessible—and every time I read it, I get more from it (it’s worth reading multiple times and because of its brevity, could also be committed to memory—I think everyone should have a few poems committed to memory). With each reading, I access more of the sorrow that has been in my life and can see how my own islands of sanctuary have appeared. It makes me appreciate more my own fair sands that have saved me.

Does it surface gratitude in your own life? Or deeper, has it surfaced gratitude for all the sorrows that have become a part of your life? That’s the harder ask. Through what waves have you swam? And what have been your islands? Did you notice that it was the waves themselves that delivered you to your own fair sands? Do you see how?After all, you are here now.

Or…

Or do you feel you are, right now, below a heavy wave of sorrow with a held breath that is smothering? Maybe this is the case for you and if so, I am sorry. And you are loved. Know you are not alone; there is land just ahead; “somehow”, that is always true. And once you arrive there, because maybe you’ve done this before, might you be able to see how the waves are necessary in life; how they, too, save you? Please may this be true for you, always.

And can you also see, even though there is more than a tinge of sadness and melancholy in the poem, that there is also great faith? And an appreciation for, and trust in, even the dark times to deliver us to a new and better place?

“…still ahead somehow.”

Appreciating and trusting the sorrow. Hmm…

These are the questions and reflections that have connected, for me, this poem with Dad and his Elderings. This is why I started the post with two friends at coffee…and with a treatise and soapbox on mental health. I don’t mean to imply the presence of sorrow in one’s life is linked in any strong way with mental health issues. No. There is sorrow in our lives because we are human—full stop.

But dementia IS a mental health and brain disorder. And therefore, Dad.

Tell you what…why don’t I do this now: I think I’m going to do this now: allow me to do this now:

I’m going to end this post now and trust you will continue on with it in reflection upon how this poem offers YOU an Eldering lesson. What life lesson does it offer you? If you’ve been reading about my Dad through these posts, or have your own elder/older in your life whom you may see in this poem, how might it apply to them? How might those loved ones of yours find deep gratitude through eight lines of exquisite and poignant poetry? How would YOU Elder this poem to those who look to you for Eldering?

Instead of articulating how I think Dad would Elder us through this poem, each line so relevant to his way of being now and his way of Eldering now, I’ll hand the metaphorical pen, or keyboard, over to you. And please, continue. If you want and are so bold, add a comment after your reflection—I’m certain there is more you can teach me.

May you swim well and keep your head above water. All the better to see the islands of fair sands ahead.

Or maybe better yet, learn how to surf!

T plus 220 days…and counting. Fair sands exist here in Lake Stevens, and not just on its shores. ‘Scuse me now, I’ve got a wave to catch.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Today’s post was inspired by a substack post from one of my cherished soul friends, the poet Padraig O’Tuama who writes the “Poetry Unbound” component of “On-Being.” (No, we’ve never met but that doesn’t stop us from being friends…anam caras!…even when he doesn’t even know I exist). If interested, you can read the post that inspired me by clicking here.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~