The Joy and Sadness of Being Open to Others

 

Walking Dali and Oskar past the man-made lake in our neighborhood, I tip-toe around the annual goose-poop on the side walk. Every year since we moved here about seven years ago, I have enjoyed watching two geese return to their residency here, have their babies, raise their goslings, and then migrate to wherever they go in the fall.

I had to teach Dali and Oskar that we leave the geese alone. We would carefully pass Momma and Papa Goose and their fluffy, little babies who eventually grew until I could not distinguish them from their parents. If Papa Goose felt that we got too close, he would flap his wings, make a sound and come towards us. I learned to give them a wide berth.

One day I saw the goslings go up a boy, who was on his way to Middle School, and pull on his shorts with their beaks. I asked the young student whether they had done that before and he said “Yes.” I was so touched at the connection the boy had made not only with the baby geese, but also Momma and Papa Goose. The parents trusted the boy enough to let their children go and make contact with him.

A few days after I had welcomed the geese’s return, I saw one of the them by him or herself. And a day or two after that, I noted he or she was sitting on the dock, his or her head buried in his or her feathers. I sensed a deep mourning and realized that one of the geese must have died. I shared this news with my husband and cried out of empathy for the goose, as well as grief for my own loss.

I learned that sometimes we don’t realize we are attached to someone until we lose the connection. We can experience loss about many different things: a loved one, a job, moving, loss of our hopes and dreams, the ending of a friendship, finishing a project, and a goose.

I also was reminded of my husband’s kindness. He honored my sadness and comforted me, even though he didn’t share my experience.

The next time I passed by the lake, the goose was again sitting on the dock with his head buried in his feathers (for simplicity, I’ll refer to the surviving goose as male because my sense is it is Papa Goose). I paused and told him that I saw him there, that I knew he was grieving, that I was sad too, that I hoped his companion passed away peacefully, and that I wished him a lessening of his pain over time. I felt better after I shared my sentiments with this other living being and I hoped that my acknowledgement of him helped him feel a little better.

I returned from my walk hours later and saw the goose swimming in the lake. His glides, although solitary, were beautiful and I felt some peace that he was enjoying the water.

 

(professional website:  http://www.bethlevinecounseling.com)

 

Advertisements

Learning to Say “I Don’t Have it to Give Now”

c38b455e-8a66-11e3-9f52-12313b06a873-medium

I take my responsibility as a guardian to Dali and Oskar seriously. I know that I decide when they go for a walk, how long they walk, when they eat, what they eat, how much they eat, if they go to the vets, when they go to the vets. I decide most things in their life. Although this isn’t completely true particularly for Oskar because he is very fast at finding what I call “bad garbage” and eating it while looking up at me to make sure I am seeing him and daring me to try to take it out of the steel grip of his jaw. But, still, you get my point. Because I am aware that they have limited choices in their lives, I try my very best to make their life fulfilling. I am happy to do this and see this as part of my responsibility as their guardian and I have learned an important lesson about setting my own limits too.

I take Dali and Oskar for long walks – about 1 ½ hours in the morning. When I’m working, I have a dog walker come and take them out so they don’t have to spend long periods of time sleeping alone in the house. I take them to different places because I get bored walking the same route and I figure Dali and Oskar are stimulated by different routes and the different smells on those routes too. I take them, when I can, into different stores when I have to do errands. I play games with them so they exercise their brains.

I like making them happy, but sometimes doing so conflicts with my needs. They could walk and sunbathe, when the weather allows, all day. I do enjoy our time in the outdoors and I also have other things I like and need to do. When I extend myself beyond my limit, I typically get frustrated. This, of course, negatively impacts my relationship with Dali and Oskar.

After many years, I have learned that recognizing and honoring my limit and needs is better for Dali and Oskar and our relationship than pushing myself beyond what I have to give. I tell them that I am very sorry, that I wish I could run with them all day, but this is all I can do right now. This alleviates my own guilt and they seem to understand the sincerity in my voice and give in to me – mostly.

I can better understand times when my mother would get angry with me, which hurt my feelings. I can see that she was torn between wanting to give to me and having limits of her own. I would have liked it better if she would have been able to let me know that she loved me, but just couldn’t talk anymore. Having her model that for me might have helped me, too, to learn to listen to my own needs and set appropriate limits.

Luckily, I continue to learn and Dali and Oskar are forgiving of my mistakes and accepting of my imperfections. And that is a wonderful gift they give me.

 

(professional website:  http://www.bethlevinecounseling.com)