One More Try to Go Home
“Character consists of what you do on the third and fourth tries.”
– James A. Michener
One Last Try?
She has one chance left, as I see it.
On Monday, the surgeon will operate on her left eye. He’ll remove the cataract and clear up any other damage he can find.
This will be surgery #3 for my friend V.
- Surgery #1 in February proved that her eye problems were more complicated than the surgeon had planned for.
- Surgery #2 the next week with a specialist was successful in replacing her right lens, but unsuccessful in restoring her vision.
- Surgery #3 this Monday is what we’re counting on, that V will at least be able to see where she is, know if it’s morning or night, find her own way to the bathroom again.
V’s mental disability is challenging enough for her as is it—although I’m not sure she’s aware of such. Through the years she’s learned to adapt enough to get along.
But this new blindness has proved to be a formidable hurdle—although again, does she fully grasp it?
A Quieter Way to Walk
With V on my mind this morning, I put on my sunglasses, a jacket, and a cap. Then step out my front door.
I don’t put on headphones.
It’s quite the change.
When going for a solo walk through my neighborhood, I used to always stream something through my phone to listen to: a playlist of upbeat songs, a podcast episode in my queue, or an audiobook to take me to another place and time.
But the past several months I’ve been trying something different as I walk. Silence. It helps me lean into my one word of the year, Curiosity.
So as I think about my friend V, I begin another walk this morning leaving my front porch, my home base, heading into the known unknown of my street.
Part 1 – Touch
I mentally divide my walk into four sections each time. For the first section, I walk the road concentrating on touch: how my feet feel in my shoes (they hurt), how the air feels on my skin (cool this morning), how my leg muscles dig in deeper (breathe!) as the road ascends a small hill.
Focusing on sensory experiences helps me stay more in the here and now, this very moment that I am alive.
As I move forward, I think about how slowly V moves through life. When she began losing her vision a few months ago, she also started taking shorter steps. When we walk together, she constantly says, “I don’t want to fall.” I reply every time with, “I won’t let you fall,” but honestly, can I meet that promise?
Part 2 – Sight
On the second section of my walk, I concentrate on what I see, specifically watching for anything that moves. I need the reminder that life is impermanent, that things have changed before and that things will change again. I look at how the leaves have budded a little more since yesterday. I notice the birds flying from one tree to another. I see a leaf skating across the road as the the wind blows it along.
V sees none of these things now. Her combination of cataracts, glaucoma, and whatever else have created a perfect storm, aided by her inability to let anyone know as soon as it began. I wonder why she doesn’t ever ask: “What happened? Why can’t I see?” But she doesn’t. She accepts this as normal.
I continue to hope it’s not.
Part 3 – Sound
I reach the end of the road and turn around, heading back home on the third part of my walk. For this section, I pay attention to sounds. The traffic on the busy road now behind me. The noisy geese honking on the lake. The pounding of my feet on the asphalt.
Thankfully V still has great hearing. She’s 55, an age where many people begin to notice a decline. But not her. They say your other senses sometimes pick up the slack when one gets worse. Wives’ tale or not, I hope V’s hearing stays especially strong now.
Part 4 – Thoughts
For the final stretch home, I release any constraints on where to place my attention. I allow my thoughts to wander. But despite their release to think about whatever they want, I often find myself continuing to notice how my body feels, what I see moving across my path, and how gloriously noisy nature is.
Yet not so today. Today my mind stays on V. I wonder what is next for her if this surgery on Monday works.
And what could be next for her if it doesn’t.
Home Again
I reach my front porch. Home again. This is the place I rest. This is the place others can visit me. This is the place I recover to go out again. I love my home, my anchor.
V has been in her new home, a care facility, for over a month now. She will likely be there for at least another month, if not years (?) ahead. She often asks me, “Will you take me back home today?” I cringe every time. Whether she regains vision on Monday or not, I hope she’ll come to see this new place as a safer, healthier home than the one she came from.
But I don’t know what will happen.
I try to relax in the uncertainty of it all. I want answers for her, for me. But actually none of us know for sure where we’ll be a week from now. Which parts of our bodies might stop working properly. Who will take us by the hand and lead us to a doctor with a goal to help.
We just want all roads to lead us home.
* * *
Share your thoughts in the comments.
Read more:
- Want to Be More Human? Tap Into Your Five Senses
Enjoy being human by taking full advantage of your senses. My review is here of Gretchen Rubin’s book, Life in Five Senses. - Do You Want to See Better? Try Curiosity
She asks me the same questions. My answers aren’t clear. We both remain curious. - When You Need to Change the Channel
This isn’t the easy fix I’d wanted it to be. I need to focus my attention elsewhere. - At the Intersection of Curiosity and Energy
I feel overwhelmed. My friend’s needs outweigh my energy. I need to practice these energy hacks.
I sense in myself a deep fatigue, a result of all the information in/information out of my life right now. Silence is a discipline that seems inefficient, even wasteful, but I need more of it!
I agree with you, Michele. All the information available to us can feel so overwhelming. I need frequent breaks from it to rest my soul.
Praying for V. and for you, Lisa. Hang in there!
Thanks, Martha. I hope Monday will be the special day to give V some vision again.
I’m so sorry about your friend losing her eyesight. We have a friend who has very little of her eyesight left. Her husband is giving up his pastorate and they are moving south in order to be closer to her sons and grandchildren .
I like the way you divide up your walk into sections! I will have to keep that in mind.
I often wonder how I would respond to losing my vision. It feels like such a huge loss. I’m sorry that your friend is losing her eyesight. What a blessing that she has a spouse who can make those sacrifices and that they can move closer to their family.
Lisa, thanks for reminding us how closely silence and curiosity reside. And how much we need them to have a life that’s full, creative, and at peace.
May your weekend have some lovely hours filled in that life-giving way.
Yes, the more I dive into curiosity, the more connections I discover between it and, well, almost everything else! ha. My weekend has indeed been relaxing and full of love. Much needed. I hope you’ve received the same, Linda.
wow this practice really grounds you in the present doesn’t it? Great example for us to follow. Hopefully V will get some of her vision back.
Yes, this practice has been really helpful to anchor back to the present moment. I need all the tricks and hacks I can find to help me do this. 🙂
You are such a caring friend, Lisa, evidenced by your deep concern for V. I too pray she gains back her eyesight. / I love the way you spend your walk-time focused on your senses, one at a time. I can see such practice benefiting your spirit as the exercise benefits your body.
Thank you for your sweet compassion, Nancy. I am really hoping that Monday’s surgery will finally be a successful one. I’m concerned that my friend doesn’t have the capacity to mentally adapt to a remaining lifetime without seeing. 🙁 Having at least partial vision could make the world of difference for her!
Hoping and praying that V’s surgery goes well.
Walking in silence and allowing our senses to explore what we pass by is truly a mindful way to walk. Thanks for the inspiration, Lisa.
Thanks, Corinne. V’s surgery went well, but we haven’t seen the positive results from it that I wanted for her. I’m discouraged by it, but she doesn’t seem to be. I need to learn from her….
We just want all roads to lead us home is so fitting for me. I love this exercise you’ve worked into your WOTY. I pray V’s surgery goes well with thr hoped for outcome. WIll you share how she is after surgery?
Thanks for asking for an update on V’s surgery. The surgeon was able to do what he wanted, but unfortunately V still isn’t able to see. He seemed a little baffled by it himself. He had warned us it was a possibility that her glaucoma was too far gone. We didn’t get to speak with him much at her followup appointment (he was very rushed) so hopefully he’ll have more time to explain things to us at her next appointment with him.
My prayers are with V. Hoping all goes well.
Thank you, Steph. V didn’t have any trouble with the surgery, but her vision hasn’t improved AT ALL. It’s very sad to me that she still can’t see, but hopefully she can get some therapy now to help her adapt to blindness.
I’m very sorry to hear that she still can’t see. I hope that the therapy helps her adapt.
I love your version of a prayer walk. I may try it.
It’s been a very relaxing and meditative practice for me, Barb. It’s hard to resist the temptation to catch up on a podcast or listen to music, etc. (all good things!) when I take my walk, but I do those things at other times anyway. 🙂
Prayers for V! That must be so challenging. I love your thoughts here. I, too, have always walked while listening to something–so I can multitask, if we’re honest–but I know that I am not very good at being present, and this would be such a great way to do it. Visiting from the Sweet Tea & Friends linkup.
Lisa, I appreciate you sharing One More Try To Go Home, V’s story with Sweet Tea & Friends this month.