Month: Jun 2023

Sitting with uncertainty

/ sarahlissyjenkins / 10 Comments

Thanks to everyone who is sending good thoughts and/or prayers to my mum, it’s very much appreciated. It’s difficult to say for sure but she thinks she’s improving compared to how she was when the infection started, but insofar as the effect on her heart failure goes, the outlook is very uncertain and remains likely to be for some time. It’s an added difficulty that my mum struggles to accept how she is, never mind tell others. She tends to tell people what she thinks they want to hear. A sibling who lives nearby has been to see her and I plan to go next week, which might give us some idea how she’s coping, but we have no idea of my mum’s prognosis. We know she will die of course, that much is certain. The chances are strong that the heart failure will take her. But we don’t know when. Isn’t that true for us all though? Life will do what it’s going to do and we each have to surrender to it.

It’s far from easy of course. I have days when panic seems to overtake me, like a wave (I see why they say ‘waves of panic’) and I feel like I’m floundering. Other days I’m more present in the moment, focussed either on work, some book I’m reading or the simple beauty of nature when I’m out with my dog. Still other times I’m considering dreams I’ve had, which have been beyond weird lately, lots of intense spiritual energy coupled with an unusual amount of fear of said energy. I suppose that makes sense. Death, and the pondering of it, is an intense spiritual event. Passing over and leaving one’s body is the most natural experience in the world. It’s a transition of energy, regardless of whether we believe that energy becomes a new conscious state, or returns to the Earth. However, people rarely talk openly about it, particularly in the West, because it scares so many of us. It’s the only certainty we have, that we each will die, yet we reject it because it seems to mean a loss of who we are.

The fact is, there is little or no control over when or how it happens; it just will. The challenge for the person concerned, in this case my mum, is how to be with that reality and not flounder in the sea of uncertainty as we wait to see how her health is over the next few days and weeks, even months. I can’t speak for my mum as she will deal with it in her own way, but for me, the answer lies in radical acceptance of what IS right now. This means not just accepting my mum’s state of health, whatever that happens to be today, but my thoughts and emotions, exactly as they are. Fighting emotions is futile; they are what they are and they exist to tell us what’s going on with our thoughts and how we are responding to what is happening on the outside. It is natural to feel scared and sad and worried. I will continue to find productive ways to manage or reduce painful emotions, such as spending time in nature, meditating, journaling, talking, crying, watching inspirational videos etc, but all the while carrying an attitude of non-resistance.

All this takes a huge amount of surrender which is not easy at all. The human mind doesn’t want to accept anything! It tries to manage the fear by finding out what’s going to happen and preparing for it. When my mum was hospitalised for her cancer I spent hours – literally – looking up every single website I could find about what was wrong with her and what the prognosis was. It was like an addiction. I couldn’t stop myself. A little bit of knowledge is good and helpful, but this was my mind going completely crazy, desperate to find some titbit of information that would tell me exactly what was going on inside her body and when she would recover (or not). Other people will try to manage their fear by denying there’s even an issue. There is nothing inherently ‘wrong’ with any approach; they are all ways the mind tries to help us, but ultimately, the mind is not in control of life, and inner peace can be found when we surrender to all that’s going on within us and around us and trust the bigger picture that the mind simply cannot understand.

Practically, how does one practice acceptance and surrender? For me, it means being aware of how I’m feeling at a given moment and letting that be. It means being mindful of the temptation to start googling everything about heart failure and what a chest infection might mean (been there, done that, to be fair). It means realising when the panic is building again and taking active steps to support my system in the ways I listed above, or finding a ‘good’ distraction such as cooking a new recipe or finding something funny to watch on Tv. This isn’t about avoiding feelings but accepting them and helping them, seeing them as young children in need of attention. Moreover, it means being with my mum in the small achievements and preciousness of the moment without assuming the same for tomorrow. As I write this she just texted saying she managed to wash her hair and I was filled with joy! This doesn’t mean she’ll necessarily be able to tomorrow and/or she’s going to continue to improve, but today she managed it; she’s happy, and that’s a wonderful thing.

It’s all we can ever do, really: be in the moment and accept what IS. It’s easy to take life for granted because we think we have forever in this world. It’s painful to accept that we don’t and people will die. The prospect of losing my mum is utterly devastating because it’s been the most important and intense relationship I’ve had. I feel as though my entire self will disappear without her. Maybe that’s another avenue of spiritual growth I’ve yet to walk down, this time without the person who birthed me into this world, yet knowing I continue to be.

My mother is sick

/ sarahlissyjenkins / 13 Comments

The hot sunny days have come to a (hopefully temporary) halt, bringing clouds, wind and news of my mother’s worsening health. She’s had what she thinks is a chest infection for the last 6 days which is never good news when struggling with stage 4 heart failure. She has started taking antibiotics today and neither of us want to voice the fear that maybe it isn’t an infection after all and she’s simply getting worse, or that it is an infection and the antibiotics won’t help. My mum never wants to discuss such things because she is a practical, stoic and no-fuss woman who doesn’t ‘do’ emotions. As such, I have learnt to be strong and practical around her and not voice my fears. It’s how we are most comfortable with each other. But it can feel very lonely. I don’t have other family to discuss emotions with either. My siblings are caught up in their own lives and we’ve never been close. I have friends but I don’t feel comfortable sharing my fears about my mum because really….what can they say? Plus most of them have their own stuff going on.

I know my mum will die. No one gets out of here alive. And yet I can’t envisage a world without my mum in it. She seems almost literally larger than life. She recovered from cancer three times, including a very rare type that had a low chance of survival. She is very old school and will keep going through the worst of circumstances with cast iron grit. The downside is that you never really know how bad things are because she will insist everything is fine even when it blatantly isn’t. I’ll never forget the time she called me from her mobile (cell) in A+E when she collapsed in the midst of chemotherapy treatment, just to inform me that she was ‘fine’ and not to panic. She loves me very much in her own unique way.

The next two days will be very telling. If is she no better, her doctor may recommend going to hospital. My mum has significant fluid on her lungs and water tablets aren’t helping as much as they were before. Of course, a chest infection wouldn’t be helping, so we’re hoping it IS that and some of the fluid will then dissipate. If nothing helps my mum will need assistance as she is very breathless even with the help of oxygen and she has been much worse in the last week or so. She overdid it trying to go out on Tuesday – typical my mum, thinking she can carry on and do what she’s always done, not wanting to give in.

Recently we visited a relative’s grave and I was faced with the extremely uncomfortable reality that my mum would be buried there when her time comes. We know that for a fact because it was discussed with my relative before she died. Now I’m wondering if that time will come sooner than I thought. I just don’t know. It could be tomorrow, it could be in five years time. I’ve spent the last 12 or 13 years preparing for my mum’s death. With each cancer I thought ‘this is it.’ It never was. Now I’ve trained myself to assume she’ll be fine and keep going no matter what life throws at her. I know in my head that’s not true. But somehow I can’t accept that my mum is mortal like everyone else.

If you’re so inclined, please pray or send healing for my mum if you will. Despite our difficult relationship, I don’t want her to go. I cannot imagine life without her. I would be lost without her text every morning announcing what the weather is doing, her safe way of connecting with me. If it has to be, I just hope she doesn’t suffer anymore than is necessary, and her doctors keep her comfortable and relaxed with all the means they have.

It’s magic, you know

/ sarahlissyjenkins / 3 Comments

“It’s magic, you know. Never believe it’s not so.”

For the third time recently I have woken up in the morning with these lyrics in my head. I never ‘hear’ the rest of the song which is just as beautiful, but that simple message, which I hear loud and clear.

Life is magic.

See past the conditioning of our minds, the ‘ordinariness’ we perceive by the limitations of our human brains, and know that beyond all illusion lies a Divine Mystery that we cannot grasp but can tap into when we surrender to the known and trust the veil of the unknown…

The band’s name ‘Pilot’ is a symbol of our incredible ability to throw off our chains and reach for the skies, experiencing freedom, joy and a higher perspective on life. I often wonder how the first people who landed on the Moon felt when they looked back at Earth, our home, a precious blue crystal in the midst of infinity.

The ability to feel the magic is open to all of us. We don’t have to fly to the Moon or anywhere else, all we need is a willingness to see beyond what our physical senses are telling us and we’ll find magic right here, around us and inside us. It takes some practice and determination but it’s our birth right. We are made from stardust. We are surrounded by Consciousness in an infinite array of forms and colours. And when we look really deeply at everything, we sense the energy that underlies it all. Shamans call this ‘the shimmering.’

Now when I see trees, especially against the backdrop of sky, I really look. I feel an infinity with them. I know they’re not ‘just trees’ because that is my limited mind’s perspective. I’ve seen trees my entire life, how boring. No, go beyond those thoughts, and see that tree for the first time. Know it is sacred, a work of infinite art, a life giving magical force, cared for by energies we cannot yet see but can sense and appreciate, and it deserve the utmost respect and gratitude.

Living this way reminds us of the magical web of Consciousness of which we are part.

Learning from past mistakes

/ sarahlissyjenkins / 3 Comments

Recently my mind keeps slipping back to a girl I knew at school, called Angela. I find it difficult to think about her because doing so involves some guilt, but I know I need to acknowledge this to try and put it to rest. Maybe it is a reminder that nearly everyone has done something they are ashamed about.

I didn’t have many friends at school mainly because of a traumatic house move at age ten which meant going to a different primary school in the final year before starting secondary (high) school. I was shy, traumatised and withdrawn, so I didn’t make any friends before moving to the ‘big’ school. In addition, I’m a socially awkward introvert at the best of times, never fitting into any of the cliques, so I was a prime target for bullies. Over the first year, however, I made a friend who I will call Samantha (not her real name, but I’m still in touch with her so I wouldn’t want her to recognise herself). Samantha didn’t fit into a clique either, but she was confident, happy and intelligent, so she drew friends to her. She largely spent her lunch breaks teaching other pupils recorder or piano, so I didn’t always see her, but I was desperate to be liked by her.

I think it was the second year I noticed Angela. She always hung around with her best friend Claire, and the two seemed to exist in their own bubble, not paying attention to anyone else beyond what was necessary. Somehow, not sure how, I became friends with them. I’ve blocked out a lot from those years as they were so lonely, but I must have caught their attention because I spent most of my lunch breaks alone, with Samantha either with other friends or teaching in the music room. Claire lived down the same street as me and I think it was this which led to the three of us walking to school on occasions. All of us were solitary kids; Claire lived with her mother and looking back she had clear mental health issues, albeit it wasn’t recognised then of course. She may also have been autistic. Angela was more outspoken; she was a lonely, only child, who absolutely hated that she had no siblings. She also hated her name, thinking it was like ‘gel.’ I wish I’d told her that it was like ‘angel’ and it was beautiful.

One day Claire moved to a different local school. She hadn’t been happy although I don’t know the exact details of this, just that the decision was made and she was gone. Angela had lost her best friend. As a result, she started spending more time with me, both at school during breaks and around her house (never mine as I couldn’t have friends around my family). Angela had two dogs, Muffin and Jodie, and I used to bring my mum’s terrier with me and we’d walk over nearby fields. We had some deep conversations. I still remember Angela saying ‘It’s so weird to think we’re on a ball in space.’ Looking back, she was very much on my wavelength, but I didn’t appreciate it then.

Samantha didn’t like Angela. I don’t know why. I guess they were just two different people. Samantha had no intention of liking her. She had her group of friends and that was that. I was conflicted. I wanted to be part of Samantha’s ‘group’ but I was Angela’s only friend. If Samantha was around one lunch break I’d head over to her and leave Angela alone, sat on the wall outside the school library, eating crisps from her lunch box. I’d feel a pang of guilt but I didn’t dwell on it.

One afternoon I was supposed to meet Angela to walk home after school. Samantha wanted me to go with her to the music room for something. Of course I went with Samantha. The next day Angela came to me, eyes blazing, saying ‘so you had to hold little Samantha’s hand did you.’ I knew she was hurt but I didn’t have the emotional capacity to respond. I don’t know how our friendship recovered from that but somehow it did.

One year we bought each other Christmas presents. It was near the end of term and unthinking I’d mentioned this to Samantha. Samantha asked if I really wanted to be friends with her. Shockingly, I said ‘well not really’ and Samantha marched over to Angela to inform her that we didn’t want to be friends. I still think about the hurt Angela must have felt and the horrific sense of betrayal.

After that, Angela spent breaks on her own, eating her lunch. She made no other friends. I still spent a lot of time on my own since Samantha was often busy. Eventually the loneliness got too much and Angela left the school to join the same one Claire went to.

It’s been over two decades since I left school and I still think about Angela. I have no idea what happened to her. I’ve tried looking her up on Facebook but the chances are she’s married and changed her name. I wish I could apologise for the terrible way I treated her. I wasn’t strong enough to stand up to Samantha and say that I liked being friends with Angela, that she was actually a lovely person. I worried so much about losing Samantha’s friendship that I sacrificed Angela’s. And really, thinking back, it was Angela who gave me so much more. Neither of us fitted in but we found each other. I let her down badly.

As I grow in consciousness I can see that I wasn’t to ‘blame’ as such; I was a child who didn’t know how to be any better. I had a conscience at the time but not the resources or skills to act on it. All I can do now is look back with wisdom and compassion and realise that almost all of us, at one time or other, has treated someone in a way that is less than they deserve. I can’t turn back time and make it different. I can only understand what the lesson is and apply it to my adult life. I have the right to form friendships with who I wish to. I don’t need to conform to what a more popular, outgoing person expects of me because I have learnt to be at peace with myself and what I represent. It is an ongoing process but I hope I would never sacrifice myself or hurt anyone for the sake of trying to fit in to someone else’s views.

Most of all, I hope Angela is out there somewhere living the life that she deserves. I wish her so much peace and a lifetime of love and friendship. I feel truly sorry for her experiences at school. I wouldn’t wish them on anyone. I know what it’s like to be lonely and isolated. I doubt I will ever hear from Angela again since I have no idea where she is, but loving thoughts go out to her and what we shared.

My father’s legacy

/ sarahlissyjenkins / 6 Comments

Despite the odds stacked against our relationship – in the form of my mother mainly – I loved my father.

He was a very humble man who never had a bad word to say about anyone, even though he was horribly abused by his own father, and experienced the loss of his beloved mother at age ten.

He struggled with responsibility and emotional connection due to his experiences, causing my mother’s resentment to grow and grow, and ultimately she took the form of a critical parent towards him.

She not only resented him, but felt everyone else should too, including me.

She got upset if I so much as spoke to him, even though we all lived in the same house!!

To love him….God no, my mother would have cut all ties with me, and as much as I loved my father, I knew my mother was the stronger one.

All that said, my father never shy away from his responsibility to provide for his wife/family, as he worked as a civil servant until his retirement. Even after that he took on temp work, mainly driving/delivery related. We never had much money on the whole, but he didn’t sit around doing nothing. Despite this, my mother was pertetually disappointed in him. I imagine she had reasons I never knew about, but her attitude had a profound negative affect on my childhood.

As adults, me and my father slowly rebuilt our connection, especially after my son (his only biological grandchild) was born.

He never escaped the wrath of my mother as their lives were deeply entwined despite a divorce, but over time my mother accepted that as an adult I could talk to who I wanted. We still spoke with some inhibitions, but things were better, freer.

My father visited me often, bringing gifts from charity shops he stopped at on the way. Books and CDs were his thing. He didn’t understand modern technology. But he learnt. In 2005 there was a massive sense of achievement when, while sitting in the audience waiting for a show to start, I taught him how to write and send a text.

He came to my son’s Sport’s Day, a very cherished day as it was when my autistic son first said ‘Mummy’ at age 7.

He took us on lovely holidays, all in the UK as he didn’t like flying, but truly beautiful places such as Powys in North Wales.

Recently we scattered my father’s ashes in a beautiful rural area not far from where another relative is buried.

I miss my dad in so many ways. I can still hear his voice, the way he always spoke when leaving a message or I picked up the phone: “Oh hi Sarah, it’s Dad here.”. It’s been eight years since his death. I can hardly believe it.

He didn’t celebrate Father’s day. Due to his religion he didn’t celebrate a lot of things. While it was sad as an adult not having my birthday acknowledged (as a child it was just part of the fabric of our non-relationship) I didn’t judge. His religion was a great comfort to him. He derived purpose and belonging from it, which he never got elsewhere. And his stance on birthdays did not prevent him from buying me gifts, which he frequently did, just never on the day.

So Father’s day always feels a bit weird for me. It was never acknowledged, never celebrated. But the fact I had a father should always be celebrated. He deserved that. I deserve that. He grew up in a horrible environment yet despite that he left a legacy of peace and gentleness that I hope I have inherited.

I was with him when he died. He has often expressed that he wasn’t a very good father to me. Near the end I told him that he always did the best he could and that was all I could ever ask for.

He did. He truly did.

Love you Dad. RIP.

Look for the teaching

/ sarahlissyjenkins / 8 Comments

If I tried to write out what happened yesterday I don’t think anyone would actually believe it. It’s one of those crazy situations that would never occur in any other time, in any other way, if it wasn’t for the actions of one single person who delights in causing as much chaos as possible for everyone else. Moreover, we have no idea whether a situation will take place tomorrow that will affect my son, so currently just hoping not and that it will be sorted out on Monday.

I am trying to see it as a test. A test of faith.

In Chris Luttichau’s book ‘Calling Us Home’ he talks about the ‘third attention’ (out of four attentions that enable us to live a mindful life) which he calls ‘look for the teaching.’ When life brings something unpleasant it is very easy to latch onto it and feel victimised. A victim identity may be a comfort when all else seems to fail. The stories we tell ourselves can solidify the latest happening into our mind as the latest in a whole string of examples of how awful life is.

This does not mean our emotional responses are wrong of course. Emotions are important messengers for us. They tell us how we are thinking and responding and what needs healing. They let us know when our boundaries are pushed. Emotions do not have an identity; they simply are. We wouldn’t be human if we didn’t feel pain in certain situations.

But the mind can tell a story and create more emotion and suffering than would otherwise exist. This is the outer mind talking. The inner mind, or the soul, sees things from a much higher perspective. Taking the latter approach, we can remind ourselves to look for the teaching, because one is always there, even if it’s not immediately obvious. We can ask what we need to learn from this specific situation or circumstance? Is it about having belief in oneself? Remembering that love is stronger than fear? Having faith that the right people will step in and do what is needed? Or it could be something simple as remembering that this too shall pass and inner peace is always available to us. Life will always bring challenges; it doesn’t mean it’s out to get you, though it sure as hell can feel like it.

Life can be viewed as a teacher, in which case our thoughts can be redirected more positively into remembering that there is a lesson in what happens. It doesn’t mean that we caused or it attracted it; life goes the way it goes for a multitude of reasons that cannot be fully understood, but there is always something useful to take away from the most difficult or frustrating situation. And I truly believe that once we begin to direct our energy into seeing things from the wisdom of our soul, all that is Divine intervenes to help us. That’s when the magic happens.

The mighty stag and its symbolism

/ sarahlissyjenkins / 2 Comments

We are having a nice run of hot weather in the UK at the moment and being someone who loves the summer Sun I’ve been outside enjoying it as much as I’m able to. My dog always joins me but sensibly sticks to the shade, unlike her mum! I put her towel down so she can lay in comfort in a cool spot and she loves it.

This morning, however, my dog was joined by an uninvited guest: a stag beetle! I can’t remember the last time I saw one. It has been many years. I feel some sadness for stag beetles because they are endangered like many other creatures now, plus they are often treated horribly due to their creepy appearance. As a teenager at university I remember someone stepping on one and the sound of the crunch as it died, and how badly that affected me afterwards. It frightened us but that didn’t take away its right to live. And then there’s inquisitive children who often poke and prod a stag beetle with sticks, causing it to wave its pincers around in fear and stress, delighting them more.

I am afraid of stag beetles, particularly as I’m not an insect person at all, to be honest. But I hate to see anything suffering, even if it’s not intended; it literally hurts my heart. However, on my spiritual path I have learnt to look beyond my fear and sadness and see the teaching, because I believe any unexpected visitor to my path has a message for me, particularly if I have not encountered it for many years, as in this case. I am currently reading a book on shamanism (Calling Us Home by Chris Luttichau) and he explores this whole premise in depth; every living thing, whether animal, insect, plant, element or anything else, is a messenger because it is all part of the huge interconnected web of consciousness. Each encounter is a mirror for what is going on inside us.

Taking this view, I believe the stag beetle visited me today to remind me of my inner strength and fortitude as I walk through life. Being a creature who feeds on decaying matter and transforms it, this insect is a symbol of death and renewal, an epitome for the cycle of life and our eternal spirit. I don’t think it’s a co-incidence that it appeared soon after I wrote about letting go of the way my son is, or that I am reading about shamanism. Nothing happens by chance. My heart invited in the mighty stag and its endurance and courage in the face of adversity, to remind me that while suffering is part of life, the beautiful spirit that illuminates everything can never be destroyed.

Parenting and letting go

/ sarahlissyjenkins / 7 Comments

The hardest thing about parenting any sort of severely disabled person, aside from the challenging behaviour and stress, is that you never really know what’s going on inside their head. You just have to guess. And with that comes another kind of letting go. Perhaps the ultimate letting go, because they live in their bubble that no matter how hard you try, you simply can’t break. Eventually you reach a point of realising that to all intents and purposes your job is done. All you can do is show up, announce your existence once more, hope it makes a difference, and leave.

I have never parented a neurotypical child so in all honestly I have no idea what letting go would look like in such circumstances. I imagine it would involve far more negotiation and interaction that I could ever have with my son. It may also be more complicated. Or perhaps it’s more similar than I think, especially if the parent ends up feeling alienated from their child without understanding why. Eventually the child reaches their own kind of independence, which is different for each individual. Some move far away and rarely see their parents, others live around the corner and pop in all the time.

My son is moving soon, hopefully this month. It will be a permanent assisted living provision that we hope (and pray!) will be more suitable for him than last year’s disaster. He will have his own annexe with a separate lounge, bathroom and bedroom, and a shared kitchen between a few annexes. There is a main house with a dining hall should he want company, along with a sensory room and a swimming pool, and plenty of gym activities on site, including trampolining. It’s the best place we could find and the building work is just being completed.

He won’t be too far away, only around 45 minutes drive, but due to disability I currently don’t have a car and rely on public transport, which in the past was very difficult to navigate when I had no idea how long my son would want to see me for, or whether he would be in the mood to see me at all. Today, in his temporary provision, he spent most of the time in the bathroom during my visit; his ‘safe place’ when he feels overwhelmed and wants privacy. He took the flashing light toy I’d bought for him, along with some Haribos, and disappeared behind the closed door until it was time for me to go. When I said goodbye he barely threw me a glance, instead reaching for the hand of his male carer, whom he loves. In the past this would have hurt me a lot, but today I felt at peace. I have let go. It’s been a very difficult journey of doing so and perhaps there is more to come depending on how my son’s transition to the new provision goes, but I no longer deeply grieve the child I didn’t have. I feel a twinge of sadness which probably won’t leave me, but ultimately, I see him for who he is; my adult child for whom I’ve done my best and sent into the world to achieve what independence he can with those who care for him. Isn’t that the definition of unconditional love when all’s said and done?

All that remains to give him is my presence, which may or may not make a difference, but for as long as I can show up in some form to show him he is loved, and to provide some consistency, then I will. It’s about him, not what I do not receive. Of course I hope that he wants to see me and it still hurts when he says ‘goodbye’ five minutes after I arrive, but ultimately, I hope he gets something from seeing me. I will never really know. But I have let go. I do what I can and it is enough.

Enjoy the little things

/ sarahlissyjenkins / 3 Comments

For me it’s feeling the summer sun on my skin, smelling the freshly mowed lawn, hearing my son laugh, sitting on the floor in my mum’s bedroom while we both watch the latest crime drama, seeing a text come through from a loved one, hearing the sparrows chatter in the trees as I walk through the wood, feeling the grass under my feet, sharing a funny story with a friend, enjoying the latest book from my favourite author, submerging in a hot bubble bath.

These moments are magic. Take in the sacred joy of knowing they are precious, fleeting, a gift for all who experience them, because no matter how many times we do, one day there will be no more.