As a child I was always made responsible for things I could not
control. No matter if it was dark or if it was cold or if something hard had to be
accomplished, I was responsible. I
remember walking uptown to buy Christmas gifts with my younger sisters when we moved to the suburbs. I
remember thinking how dark it was even as we got uptown. We had to cross the railroad tracks, we had
to go to the Ben Franklin. We each had our money. I had to get my gifts but I
also had to make sure everyone else got theirs. I was very young. I remember being scared. But Mom didn’t
drive. I had to swallow my fear to do what had to be done. I was proud of being responsible - of being able to swallow my feelings.
I always had to be the example. This phrase was a constant. Everything I
did. Grades, how I sat at Mass, whether
I rode my bike in the street. I doubt the others heard it as often, or took it
as seriously.
Fairly early I realized that my brothers and sisters didn’t
need my example – and in fact often hated me for trying to give it. But I thought it was my job. So I had this
terrible guilt at not being able to be what I was supposed to be. And nothing seemed good enough. But then, I was trying to fill a
job that wasn’t open. Frustrating. Failing. That line from Stevie Smith’s poem is always one that feels true. “I was much further away than you thought. And not waving, but drowning.”
As my brothers and sisters moved ahead of me, going to
college, getting married and buying homes and having kids, I hit a crisis point
of jealousy and anger at what they had accomplished and I hadn’t. And I made a
conscious decision. To admire them. To
be happy for them. To celebrate their successes. And not to be jealous for one more minute. I might
be a failure, but that wasn’t their fault. They had done well and I would
choose to be happy for them.
I did. I am proud of
that. No matter what I had or didn’t
have, I was (and still am) happy for and celebrate each of my brother’s and
sister’s successes. I never tried to tear them down or make them feel less.
So when I say “I was the oldest” that is what I am talking
about. That somehow I took on all this weight of feeling responsible for my brothers and
sisters and that got mixed up with love. That if something happened to one of
them it would be partly my fault. I was the oldest. It was a weight I carried
all the time. I was old before I stopped being young. And now, that no one
needs me, and I failed at this job that was never really open, they don’t
understand what I am going on about. They didn’t know I was carrying them. And to be fair, I don’t think that they think I failed them at all. And I don’t think Mom and Dad think that. It is just me. I took the craziness on, and I failed. I am the one who has the guilt and the weight still. I struggle even now to put it down.
So here I am at 60. Growing
older is harder when you feel so strongly that you have missed the boat. But it’s
not helpful to regret growing older. Bemoaning the day’s end distracts you from the beauty and opportunity it brings.
Twilight is such a beautiful time. The day grows from morning’s dimness to full power and then begins winding away to dark. Somewhere
around mid-afternoon the light begins to change, to shift. Suddenly you are
looking back to see what you haven’t accomplished, what will be left for the
next day, and what is planned for the night.
The bright afternoon slips into a glorious deepening. Slowly the light
show of sunset, the shadows, the clouds all contribute to a prayer of praise
and a release of the day. The night doesn’t seem to grow but to hover. It holds all light captive but gives time for rest, for reflection. Of course, progress toward the new day is movement still, and as we close our eyes the world turns in the darkness to the morning.
There is no point in regretting the end of the day. Like any
other part of the day it has its gifts and its blessings. So it is now in my
life. The brilliant growing time is
past. I am moving towards a time to reflect and to rest. To mark what I have accomplished and still
desire to reach for. It is time to let go of the weight of expectations I have
carried since the early morning. I can’t reverse or alter the day’s actions
now.
I can learn to wish for exactly what I have, to learn to own
my life’s achievements and failures, and to celebrate twilight’s gifts.