Winter seems to be the time of year we’re all worn from the mere
act of survival. We feel like worn out human popsicles as we’ve
rediscovered the very acts of staying warm and moving around seem too
much to expect. Maybe those bears that hibernate have the right idea. It
would be sweet to go to sleep and wake up when it’s spring but alas,
it’s not to be for us mere humans. We are imbibed with the tasks of
survival, family responsibilities and dragging ourselves along for the
ride. I think most of us feel we used to be more appreciative of winter,
you know BEFORE. That would be before pain arrived in our lives.
We recall once frolicking in the snow, breaking off icicles to suck and
being unafraid to climb a flight of icy stairs. Those were the days.
Now our enjoyment is from film, photos and the view from a tightly
closed window. The beauty of winter is still there; it is we who have
changed.
I was at our son-in-law’s lumber yard/hardware store a few days ago
and the street front was filled with flats of new, incoming blooms.
Strange, the effect that one single sign of spring had on me. I had to
ask for a large box and fill it with hope in the form of blossoming
plants and herbs. It was as if a package I was waiting for had arrived.
Pastel pansies both large and small in lavenders, yellows and purples;
tiny violas and white trailing blooms and a gallon pot of poppies filled
my box. I had to satisfy the practical side of my nature and also
purchase a pot of cilantro and one of Italian parsley. Now the box full
of promise sits on the front porch, semi-protected from the elements,
serving as a constant reminder spring is on the way. I watered them this
morning while uttering, “Hang on. It won’t be long now.”
As we go through these rough years for many of us with chronic pain,
beauty becomes more important than ever. It is such a close cousin of
joy and inspiration and we crave all three. Beauty, they tell us is in
the eye of the beholder making it relative to our taste, our customs and
our needs. Beauty can be many things. It is a black horse, it is a
gorgeous day, it is a newborn child and one poet pointed out, truth is
beauty. Let me share just a few lines from John Keats.
ODE ON A GRECIAN URN
Beauty is truth, truth beauty, that is all
Ye know on earth, and all ye need to know.
There are days I feel like a Grecian urn but do not feel like beauty
personified. I feel much too used up and worn to be beautiful so I look
for beauty in others, in other places and in beautiful things. Some days
I feel as if I belong in the urn; would like to throw the urn or maybe
just sell it at a swap meet. Unlike the urn which remains in most part,
unchanged, we humans have to mark our time here by showing our wear and
tear of life. Some of us are struck early, others late but most will
know pain of one form or another. I see very little beauty in the pain
that surrounds me and you. I do however see truth and if truth is
beauty, then count me in.
It’s a heavy burden, living with constant pain. It is made so much
lighter if we are truthful with ourselves, with our families and with
our physicians. Truth sounds so simple, as I paraphrase Mark Twain who
said we should always tell the truth because it’s easier to remember
than a lie.
I have often seen patients, friends and family members who always
found it so much more interesting to elaborate, fudge, fib or out and
out lie about many things. I have never understood that stance. I know
we can each have our version of the truth but basically, it remains
sound and unchanged. We’re only human and if we don’t want to tell our
age or our weight to someone else, we fudge a bit. On the larger issues
of life, where do so many folks find the time and energy to play the
game that lying involves. How do they keep it all straight? I had a
relative who lied so often she forgot the truth. Oh well, to her the
story had to be interesting, whether true or not.
As a nurse I always found it tragic when a blurry eyed fellow or a
slurry tongued woman claimed they did not have too much to drink or
indeed, with pupils popping, did not take too many drugs, legal or
otherwise. Truth spills out of each of us whether we want it to or not. I
guess it’s up to us to make that truth beauty.
We have a debt to ourselves to be truthful with our medical
caregivers or we will confuse the issues and jeopardize our own health. I
can see the beauty in that because not only is honesty safer but it is
more noble, isn’t it? Trust grows out of honesty and that is also
beautiful.
I love looking for beauty in this life I’ve been given and recommend
it highly. Physical beauty wears as we age and become more ill but the
beauty from within, born of truth, honor and love, that is amazingly
beautiful to behold. Sometimes when I unlock my front door and walk into
my home to be greeted by two little dogs, who are jumping and yelping
as if I’d been off to the wars, I look at my home with fresh eyes and
say to myself, “Someone happy lives here.”
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