Time seems to just barrel forward at this juncture in my life. I can barely remember a moment when I was anxiously awaiting an event which seemed like it might never come. Those frustrations were the emotions of my young self, never to return. Instead I’m trying to adapt to this speedy pace, to not just be going along for its often breakneck ride. I’d like some control. I want to live my days mindfully, to exercise intention, banishing drifting and being lazy to only those moments when I’m really tired. Good intentions for a new year, right?
For me, this latest new year arrived without much fanfare, other than changing a digit from 5 to 6. I’ve always thought New Year’s Eve was an overrated holiday, except for the fireworks from around the world, conveniently displayed by news outlets in order of time zone. And I’m not big on resolutions which historically, back when I made them, proved less than successful for me. Except for one life commitment. Some decades ago, I made and stuck with one of the hardest decisions I ever attempted, smoking that last cigarette before turning the calendar to a new year, quitting cold turkey, and never going back to that habit again. I’d been smoking a long time and in addition to being addicted, I really enjoyed it. I used to think there would never be a time when I wouldn’t crave a cigarette, especially during moments of stress. But I was wrong. I made it through all the years of Michael’s cancer, up to and including his death, without ever lighting one. I’m so grateful for the often-elusive discipline I found for that task.
With all my other personal challenges, though, I’ve recognized that the bad habits in myself I most wanted to adjust since I was young, are still with me. For the most part, I manage them more successfully now than back then, but those issues with which I struggle are as integral to my essence as they once were. My two main ones are food and money. Will I ever have a perfect diet or be a great financial wizard ? All the evidence suggests not. But I forgive myself for those imperfections which evidently are my price for being human. The good news is that my problems don’t appear to have a negative effect on anyone but me, at least so far, as I haven’t heard any complaints to the contrary.
But back to time. Sometimes the days seem to simply melt into each other. The relentless news cycle is a huge factor in how I spend my time, especially during this past year which has been so especially fraught, for me and many likeminded people, as a result of the current presidency. So many long-held norms and institutions, trashed in such a short time, have left the most recognizable guardrails of democracy in tatters. I find the autocratic trend terrifying. And it’s not like I haven’t spent portions of my past life disappointed, angry and protesting the wrongs in my country – it was far from perfect for me starting way back in my teens when women’s rights, civil rights and the Vietnam War were huge issues for me.
But truly, this time is like no other. Has there ever been a more unqualified government in my lifetime? No. The only requirement to serve this administration is to have blind loyalty and obeisance to the president. And if you don’t toe that minimal line, you can expect retribution. I can’t think of any other time since colonial days, when there was an actual king, when things were this bad. This past week, to top off the madness of invading Venezuela to capture its leader and then its oil, having to watch the rules on children’s vaccinations be tossed aside by a cabinet secretary who has no medical license, and to hear the president and his sycophants blithely discussing the next countries they plan to take over, I watched over and over, the videos of the murder of a young American woman by a masked immigration agent, dead for the crime of temporarily blocking a street. That travesty of justice was instantly backed up by outright lies and character assassination of that woman by this corrupt inhuman administration, whose supposed intent of deporting dangerous illegal immigrants, has devolved into a moments like this. Maybe even more astonishing to me, is recognizing that there are people who have watched that same footage, who see that shooting as justifiable, an act of self-defense. How is that possible? I am haunted by all of it.
The barrage of assaults on democracy in this country during the past year has been overwhelming to me. Educational institutions threatened with sanctions if they support teaching classes that are too “woke.” Removing historical reports at museums and national monuments which are now deemed incorrect by the ideologues redefining history and truth. Willfully ignoring civil rights and the Constitution every day. Where will it end? And at my age is this what I should be focused on, 24 hours a day? Yes, no one is forcing me to pay attention. I could look away to protect my mental health. But I’m not great at ignoring reality. The ways in which I’d like to spend my time seem so trivial and meaningless in the face of this wanton destruction. I’m really struggling to find balance.
My 75th birthday is a few months away. I still remember when I read the article excerpted below, back in 2014.
DR. EZEKIEL EMANUEL:
“Well, first of all, let’s clarify, I expect to be alive at 75, and I’m not going to kill myself. I don’t believe in legalized euthanasia or assisted suicide, but I am going to stop medical treatments.
And I look at 75, when I look at all the data on physical disability, dementia, Alzheimer’s disease, loss of creativity, slowing down of the mind and the body, and 75 seems like that, albeit somewhat arbitrary, moment where you get the maximum chance you’re still going to be vital and alive and vigorous.”
That article, (which, by the way, really didn’t mean that the author wanted to die at age 75), had a profound impact on me. At the time I first read it, I was 63 and my husband Michael was 65. Michael, who’d been diagnosed with a rare, incurable cancer in 2012, had already been through a minor and a major surgery, 30 radiation treatments and 18 rounds of a powerful chemotherapy cocktail. Only a few months after his last infusion, his cancer had popped up again on three bones. We were waiting to see if he might be eligible for a clinical trial, as he’d already exhausted all the protocols for his particular disease.
I read Emanuel’s stark predictions of life from age 75 forward. For the majority of people, the body was likely to begin deteriorating in multiple ways, weakening at the very least. Treatments like chemotherapy and radiation are debilitating, even for the young and healthy. Would the suffering and indignities that were almost inevitable consequences of such therapies worth it to prolong life, often for only a short term? What about the quality of life remaining? Big questions. Back in 2014, Michael was still in his 60’s. So every effort to prolong his life seemed worth it to him and for our whole family. And indeed we did get some excellent time during the next two and a half years. But the hard times were definitely pretty grueling. His cancer was briefly quelled, only to return. Each attempt to induce remission took a greater toll in his body. I was with Michael at every moment, as he went through that time before late May, 2017, when ultimately he died at age 67. I came away from that cumulative experience with what have been unchanging ideas about how I want to live the rest of my life. Seventy-five is fast approaching. That Emanuel article stayed with me. So my most essential idea is that I don’t see myself pursuing the same punishing therapies which Michael chose, right up to his death. They took too much away from him, leaving him too exhausted to do almost anything. But the second most essential idea about how I want to go forward, is to always recognize the value in each healthy day I have, when I have no physical issues interfering with my ability to, as the saying goes, lead my best life. I always think about what each good day meant to Michael, and for months they were few and far between. I honor his memory by being conscious of my good fortune and try to proceed accordingly. But I need a reset, a fix to get back on track to making the most out of my days.
Sometimes I feel that my small life concerns are so trivial compared to what’s going on in the big world. I can protest. I can call my representatives. I can make my donations to the organizations which are benefiting the greater good, at least as I see it. I try being a supportive friend, especially to those people in crisis during these harsh times, those who are grieving, those who are coping with family illnesses or emotional strife. And I’m good about getting exercise, making sure I read books, and usually keeping current with the chores of daily life. But I have lots of projects that I’ve set aside while in my loop of pursuing news for too many hours in my day. This has to change. So rather than making resolutions which I might abandon, I’m going with good intentions instead. For example, during the past year, I’ve stopped taking classes which have been part of my goal of lifelong learning. I can fix that by signing up again this month.
I’ve started baking after not doing much of it for a long time. I still periodically cook old favorite meals for my family, but I want my grandchildren to have memories of me bringing them special homemade treats. My mom left all that nurturing behind when my dad died. I missed that, as did my kids.
And I have some digging to do into my past history, before my research skills diminish. For a very long time, I’ve wanted to explore the early years of my life, from my infancy through age seven in Sioux City, Iowa. I’d like to fill in the blank spaces before my parents relocated our family back to Chicago, where they’d lived all their lives and where I was born. I feel urgency about that as my parents and two older siblings are dead.
These are not earth-shattering or momentous goals. But they are meaningful for me and very concrete, certainly better choices than anxiously following the latest political events over which I exercise virtually no control.
When spring arrives, I can turn my energy toward continuing to develop my pollinators’ garden, ridding my yard of useless grass, except for a small patch for my dog, who likes to roll around in it. The garden is solid work for me, in addition to creating an environment that benefits threatened species.
So these are my intentions for 2026. The politics are a still a dark space until the midterms come, which I hope will bring some relief from the autocratic nightmare playing out right now. But that is an open question and a scary one from which I’m seeking some relief.
I miss Michael, who provided me with the space to lay down my mental load for at least a short time. I can hardly comprehend that he’s been gone for 3149 days. What a mindboggling number that feels like for me. Our relationship began as a special friendship during which we spent countless hours talking, late into the nights, about everything. And without a doubt, I talked much more than he did, as my thoughts and ideas have been tripping over each other for escape from my brain for as long as I can remember. But eventually, with Michael listening, I could get done with them. And I could relax. I’ve found other ways to slow down my brain during these years that he’s been gone, but this last one has been even harder than the early ones of adjusting to his absence. And I’d so appreciate his perspective and the broad knowledge he’d developed as a U.S. history teacher during his career. Forty five years was a long time to have such a wonder. But now, in this part of my life, the best intentions will have to do.
