Changes Every Three Years

My life is about to change, again. I recently realized that my life seems to be split up into three year segments. Nine years ago I decided to out a long-term secret and complete the bachelor’s degree I had not completed in 1976 as my parents and grandparents thought I did, though from later conversations, I realized they were not so dumb. They knew. Parents always know.

Six years ago my daughter’s middle school principal brow beat me into getting my teaching credential, three years later I began to teach. Two years in middle school and one year in high school. I was burned out and ready to leave and at the same time my father’s heath was seriously deteriorating. I decided to take a leave of absence that turned into quitting.

The past three years have been about parents dying, trusteeship, and getting used to not working to anyone else’s schedule. Except for the homework assigned for my masters program in spiritual psychology which gratefully saw me through the death of my father, and the early hospice days of my mother who doggedly stayed alive for the one year anniversary of her husband’s death, my graduation, my sister’s 25^th wedding anniversary, and my 40^th high school reunion.

After the initial expected shock and loss and the acquisition of responsibilities I never thought I would have, I was content and peaceful. Things went relatively smoothly, and six months after putting it on the market, my parent’s home sold for cash with a 30 day escrow. I tried to consign their belongings, but when I heard that my parent’s beautiful formal dining set could probably get $700, I realized that I was not consigning furniture; I was consigning memories. As I just could not put a price tag on memories, what my sisters and I didn’t take, we gave to friends and charities.

During my final two days in the Sacramento area, a place I had visited monthly since June of 2009, I lost my driver’s license, which caused me to lose two hours as I sat in the DMV waiting for a chance to plead my case and get a new one, lost a casino chit for around $20.00 while I was in the casino bathroom – it just flew away – probably into the hands of someone who felt they’d hit a minor jackpot, and pulled cash out of an ATM but then left both the card and cash in the machine. I thought these things were funny and recounted them a number of times until my attorney looked at me and said in her gentle Texas accent, “You realize that these are all signs of stress.”

Everything worked out fine, and everyone involved in my foibles was great, but I am aware that my mind is in other places a lot of the time, and it’s time to bring it back into my body and to the present. But I’m not really ready to look at the pain that I can occasionally see poking out. I will be ready when I feel like I have the time and space to close the door on the world and do the necessary inner work. It might be a five minute conversation with myself, or it could be days in bed crying with a bucket of ice cream. What I do know is that there are three years of grief inside and probably other things that are stuck to them like a cancer attached to a spinal cord. I didn’t think I had any grief, I just assumed that I had dealt with it all piecemeal, over time. I felt pretty much unscathed.

What I know is that I got off light with the driver’s license, lost chit, and ATM card. I think the universe is being kind, but only if I listen. If I don’t, I have a feeling the next round could a bolder on the head. At least it will never give up on me and I know that once again, my life is about to change. And I look forward with some excitement to what the next three years will bring forward.