Deadheaded the peonies yesterday. Their big, bountiful blooms had faded and it was time to tell them not to set seed, just to stay in place.
One of the big losses about being dead is that the days run together. They are spent waiting to do what my mother decides needs to be done, helping my father do what he needs to take care of her. Since I don’t really exist, I don’t really experience anything.
I notice that loss when the natural milestones come. The peonies have come and gone and I haven’t really experienced them, haven’t felt change touch my skin.
That nice Rabbi Schmuley was on again last night in Shalom In The Home. It was a family where joy had fled and drudgery dragged everyone down. Schmuley got people to see how they had given up, taken to nagging rather then inspiring, lost their own joy and gratitude, turning life to a grind rather than an ecstatic dance.
For a dead person, that’s hard to see. It reminds me of what I have lost; not the actuality of being loose and free and dancing though life, because I have always had to carry much & stay hidden, but rather the hope that someday there would be space for that before I was too old.
The peonies are gone. Time mushes by, and I just worry about how to endure the losses that are coming. You can’t stop loss in life — the only thing you can do is make some wins, create some successes, follow some bliss, dance some ectasy, share some joy, create and laugh, so that life is always reinvigorated with shared and uplifting energy.
But that’s not where I can find it, and so I deadhead the peonies and miss the time they bloomed while I was just dead.