Embodied kindness

AKA we wouldn’t be doing this if it weren’t for his “true nature.”

A story.

Our mom died in March of 2016 leaving her husband, our dad, of 52 years behind. Trevor, Clary, and I, in preparation for mom’s funeral, contacted various people (in addition to family, there was insurance, medicaid, pharmacies, doctors, the funeral home—the full bureaucracy of death), and in each and every interaction, at least when I was personally involved, something remarkable would happen. And it was THAT that has allowed Kristin and I to be willing to do what we are about to do.

Each and every interaction, as we would be intending to wrap up or resolve mom’s business, the people we would be communicating with would always, ALWAYS, inquire about dad and ask how he was doing. Then, and here’s the remarkable part, they would always share their admiration and love of dad and remark how utterly kind, gentle, and generous he was. And all this from virtual strangers to us (e.g. a local pharmacist, the SeaGalley manager and wait-staff, an insurance agent). Our rounds on mom’s behalf ended up turning into a community tour of Dad’s impact upon the lives of others—because of his innate kindness. “Your dad is SO wonderful! We love your Dad. He’s always so gentle and kind. Please tell him we are thinking and praying for him.” This became incredibly touching—how often do son’s have the chance to bear witness to their father’s humble impact upon others in the world? Dad never sought fame or recognition of any kind. Had he done so, it would have been very apparent—it would have been false. It wouldn’t have been authentic. And then he would not have ended up having the impact he did on others. Dad was always authentic—I don’t think he knew how to be otherwise.

It was ironic that mom’s death served to surface for us Dad’s largeness in the world—his innate kindness and generosity. He did this through the countless and ordinary acts of communion with others from his Being—picking up meds at the pharmacy, ordering dinner at SeaGalley, buying PVC glue at the hardware store, picking up something from Moxee Market, winning turkeys at the Holy Rosary Fall bizarre…and on, and on, and on.

And then to witness all those who approached, with love, our Dad at mom’s funeral. Wow. And…WOW! We, I, learned so much about, and from, Dad in those 10 days because of mom’s final hospitalization through to her funeral.

It is common in end-of-life care, in hospice, to observe actively dying people becoming someone whom they never had been previously in their lives. Many times, there is a surfacing of anger, regret, deep anxiety, fear, and even aggression. But also, for some others, kindness, joy, gratitude, and freedom. It seems that when one enters deeply into the throes of the end days, things relax. All the facades one has put up over the years fall away. There is no longer any energy to keep those masquerades, those masks, up. Putting and keeping up false fronts takes a LOT of energy. When you are dying, energy is best placed elsewhere. So, sometimes surprising and strong characteristics arise and surface—the energy to mask past and unresolved trauma, pain, victimization, abuse, and resentment, is set aside.

Darkness surfaces.

For some.

This isn’t their fault.

Now, I do believe love, spaciousness, grace, and boundless silence, even kindness, is more like everyone’s true nature. We just cover it with a whole lot of crap over the years to falsely protect us from something we think we need protection from. We expend a lot of energy doing so.

Back to Dad.

Kristin and I wouldn’t be inviting Dad into our home if he were an angry man. We would not have him here if he were aggressive, or physically or verbally abusive as can happen with many elders. Instead, to this day, to this moment, Dad remains incredibly gentle and kind. He ALWAYS thanks us for making dinner, or lunch, or breakfast, or chocolate chip cookies, or hazelnut lattes; or for bringing him CheezeIts or King Charley’s fish sandwiches (both of which will be changing because he’s going vegan with us!). He always waves and smiles at people he sees either out in public or in the halls of Brookdale. He will always try to connect with others through a smile and a twinkle in his eye.

Dad’s true nature is shining. And brightly. Here in the so-called adversity (at least as he sees and feels it—you wouldn’t know it from him; he wouldn’t allow you to see that) of his elderhood.

As I reflect upon him, through my youth, I don’t think he hid any of this—he was just always so humble. Which left it up to me, us, to see the example of embodied kindness he was living through his particular way of being in the world. It doesn’t appear he spent any energy fronting a false front. Like I said, Dad appears to have been authentic most if not all of his life—something remarkable in and of itself. When mom died though, something important in Dad DID arise that lay hidden from us. But more on that later.

Dad’s innate, embodied and humble kindness: his True Nature—what a lesson for us all.

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Start now y’all if you haven’t already done so. How we die is being determined right now by how we live; the choice is ours. Dad is proving this in every passing moment. Who were YOU kind to today?

As always, may we choose wisely.