Goodbye to a challenging year

One year. 12 months. 52 weeks. 365 days. 8760 hours. 525,600 minutes. 31,536,000 seconds. How many heartbeats? How many breaths?

I find myself astonished that another year has passed. One calendar slides from the wall while another takes its place. 2006 to replace 2005 -- a new number to mark the entries in my daily journal.

This year gifted me with a wild array of challenging situations. One son’s behavior and actions tore a hole in the fabric of my life. Alone, he has had to confront his demons. Together, we learn to see each other’s vulnerable spaces as the tool to heal what was broken.

My mother’s house rushed down the Bluebird slope while she ate breakfast -- and she never again went home. Her house, like others, has become part of a distant landfill; the spot where she once lived is covered with cranes, steel beams and mounds of dirt.

My husband injured his neck just days after the slide, and his rehabilitation has been frustratingly slow. He gets a bit cranky when he doesn’t quite feel like himself, but he puts on a good face.

My father turned 80 -- how can that be? -- and we celebrated with a house full of family and friends who dearly adore him. My sister and her husband flew from Idaho for the occasion and stayed with me for a couple of weeks.

Dad’s birthday was actually the last time I saw my brother, Gly, alive. He died unexpectedly a few weeks after the party. His loss created an odd gap between my sister and me. We are still trying to figure out who we are to one other without the guy in the middle.

Within the events of the year’s highlights, tremendous opportunities presented themselves to explore the meaning of life. What to make of my own heartbeats? How to measure the depth of my breath? Over and over I remind myself to slow the motion. To take each step as if it is my first, and to walk in constant appreciation of all that surrounds me.

The message in loss seems so clear -- to discover ways to be fully present in each moment. A reminder, clearly, of life itself. Stretch time. Drink of this cup of consciousness.

Pause to see the sunset. Wake to see the sunrise. Tune my ear to the song of the Townsend warbler. Mingle with the sea lions near the green jetty in Dana Point. Meander the hillsides with rabbit and coyote. Dine and drink and laugh with my friends. Wrap myself in the love of my family.

Resolutions are just around the corner, and what was declared last January needs evaluation. I think, in a moment of irrationality, that I embraced “challenges” as a way to tackle the 2005 year. Gee whiz! Remind me to go easy on myself with this year’s affirmations.

Besides the obvious catastrophes, what challenges have I embraced? Start with prejudice. For a woman who usually feels herself open and accepting, I ran smack dab into preconceived ideas I had held for a long number of years. I’ve had to open my heart when it stubbornly begged to stay shut. I’ve had to see the “me” in others -- others that walked different paths -- but we have many things in common. I’ve had to let go of being right, so that I could learn more.

Superwoman had to stop. As one who continually takes things on, it was with great surprise I found I had little left to give. I had to let go of doing so that I could once again learn to be effective for my own cause. Without a strong center, I am not much good to anyone. As the trees shed their leaves, I shed volunteer positions, and the nakedness of winter, both for bough and for Catharine, has brought a healing stillness.

And so the year comes to an end. I can honestly say, I reach for 2006 like a tonic. It’s as if I believe that turning the calendar pages can truly make a difference. I’ll stretch my breaths. I’ll listen to my heartbeats. I’ll remember to dance on the seashore, paint when it feels right, and finish my novel.

Welcome 2006. I know we’ll have many surprises.

* Catharine Cooper chases the wild inside each of us. She can be reached at ccooper@cooperdesign.net or (949) 497-5081.

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