“Dedicate your life to something bigger, higher, better than yourself.”

These days I am again contemplating my caregiving years. Which were also my grieving years. Which were also full of joy, plenty of delight, and deep fulfillment. Meaningful, life affirming, infused with a profound sense of belonging and purpose. Here is part 2 of On Living and Leaving, from 2012. About the last years of taking care of my husband – 25 years my senior – with his health in slow decline with kidney disease, he died at home in October 2016. (You can find part 1, on the August 17 entry.)

And then there is ordinary life, such as home repairs, and the rats that have entered the laundry room again. One adventurous visitor has nibbled on an apple in the bowl on the dining table. I put it in a different spot to test the creature, and sure enough next day the half eaten apple is gone. Intelligent being. It must have entered through the heating vent nearby. Garland from Rat Patrol is setting more traps.

“What did you do last night? You were up?” I noticed that Bob’s sturdy green ceramic cup in the sink has a ginger tea bag at the bottom. The tag says: ‘Dedicate your life to something bigger, higher, better than yourself.’

”I got up for a little bit,” he admits. Well, he is now resting, dozing most of the day. I am not worried, just checking in, doing my subtle or not so subtle detective work. “I guess you did not talk to the rat, or scare her away?”

“No, did not see him,” he murmurs, knowing his wife imbues all things and beings with voices of their own. Especially animals, real and invented – be it raccoons, squirrels, elephants, beavers, owls. And of course rats.

“Oh, you would not see her, she would hear you well before you come close, and call off the party she was just about to have in the living room. ‘Let’s get out of here,’ she said and they all quit.”

“Sure,” he agrees with a raspy tone in his voice, barely hiding his amusement, alas tired.

 I take the trash down the stairs to the street, and pick up the newspapers. I am still smiling, imagining my rats, especially her, the one. It’s a she. For Bob it’s a he. But sometimes I make it into a “he,” too. Depending on the day. The air is cool, fresh, with sunny skies. Light-blue light. January. The dryness this winter is disconcerting, but it also makes for great enjoyment. What easy living without the rainstorms, down pours, and flooding. But I am sure we will pay for this in one way or the other. Drought and fires. Intense fog in the summer, cold. Time of imbalances. And how do I keep my balance?

Death, birth, the young black men in my film project, teaching, planting vegetables, weeding, pruning. Discipline. I will need someone to help with chores, shopping, doctor’s visits, sometimes cooking when I am too exhausted, keeping schedules coordinated. Worlds are whirling in my head – juggling and keeping even keel. Can I do it?

Reflecting back to 2012, I wonder: how did I do it all? I was just starting a new film – Finding the Gold Within – that turned into a big documentary project of six years including the national outreach phase. My spirit knew that I needed it all: the unique world of Alchemy’s Black leaders, following the mentored youth through their college years, developing deep friendships, the young assistants coming daily to my home office, later even helping to take care of Bob when I was traveling to Akron, Ohio, for filming. Thank you, Hannah. Thank you, Maya. It’s a miracle that it all worked out. In those years – despite their toughness – we were all protected and connected by the magic of over-arching meaning. It was the years of “dedicate your life to something bigger, higher, better than yourself.” Just as the teabag message had prophesied.