A group of parents of kids with special needs working together

I am lucky to be able to volunteer at our local zoo. Most of the volunteers are seniors, and we love being there. It is a place to be with animals, be with families and help them learn and enjoy, and feel a part of something. This particular zoo does a lot of conservation work, partners with organizations (like the Amboseli Elephant Foundation in Africa), and has a wonderful vet hospital where rescued animals are brought to heal and either then go back into the wild (condors with lead poisoning from ingesting prey that was killed with lead bullets) or help them find a new forever home, like the 3 young mountain lion cubs that were recently rescued. Their mother was killed in an accident, and the cubs will not be able to survive in the wild as they did not get enough time with their mother to learn those skills.

I am on the behavior observation team. That means I get to spend several hours each time observing and recording animal behaviors. The zoo uses data to keep learning about the animals as well as to be able to see how they are doing and if anything needs to be adjusted to provide them with a better life. It is a zoo, yes, so, it is far from perfect. But it also has a lot of love given to these (mostly rescue) animals and can be a place where children can be taught about the wild and about respecting nature and its creatures.

I feel so blessed to be able to be a part of this. As a retired senior, I can now spend my time where I feel nourished, as well as giving back in ways that I can.

However, in addition to observing the animals, as you can imagine, I also get to observe the guests. We humans are such an interesting species, yes?

I see parents spending loving time teaching their children, allowing them all the time that they want at any exhibit.

I see parents rushing their children through to be able to get in as many exhibits as they can. Keeping to a schedule becomes primary.

And I see, sadly, many parents glued to their cell phones while the children are watching the animals, not even looking up to their parents anymore as they know that their attention is on their phones. I do my best to make eye contact with these kids, smile and let them know that they can approach me, maybe even share something about the animal that they are watching. It is a delightful connection, and sometimes I even get their parents’ attention!

One day I got to observe a very special group of guests. They were clearly together, probably about a dozen of them or so. All the children had some special need. These parents were so attentive, loving, and present with their children and to what was going on around them. It was a delight to watch and take in. The parents would take time to explain things, as well as share the excitement with their children about what they were looking at. And, what I also noticed was how this group was so supportive of each other. All the parents were keeping an eye on all the kids. It was a group outing, and everyone was taking care of everyone. It functioned like one big family, one loving group, all committed to making this experience a wonderful and safe one for all. Each could take a break when needed, knowing that others would be there to take over while they caught their breath for a few moments.

What a lovely sight to observe. I think that we could all learn from this. We can learn to support each other, to come together, to share the joy and the pain, to hold each other’s hands. We all have different needs and need attention. Some are just less obvious and quieter about it. I don’t mean to diminish at all the extra attention and work that special needs parents have, although I do also get to observe what looks like extra joy as well, when I see the love so openly expressed all around.

But I also don’t want to diminish the needs that we all have, the need to be seen, to be heard, to be paid attention to. We need to know that we can rest for a moment and know that someone will be there to help. We need to have special times where we share something and really take joy in the experience of that present moment in time.

I think that being an elder makes me a bit more aware of this. Watching all the families and their differences helps me keep learning and growing. And with each year, I realize how precious certain moments can be.

Hopefully I can keep sharing what I observe to help us all along this path of life. There are lessons and gifts everywhere if we stop and take the time to look and listen.

Watching this special group of visitors gives me hope.

Maybe we can learn how to come back together again, how we really are one big family on this precious earth, how we can share the joys and pain along the way. And maybe, just maybe, we can remember the power of kindness and love.

What has happened to our country of welcome and opportunity?

I woke up in tears the other day. That has happened a lot lately. A lot. My heart feels heavy, the sadness and grief are a weighted blanket, but not one that brings comfort, rather one that weighs me down with such a sense of loss and pain that it can, at times, immobilize me, freeze me, imprison me. 

I don’t know what to do lately or which direction to turn in, so I will write. I will write to allow space for the tears and pain of my soul to come out and be heard, be seen, be cared about.

A bit of my background

My parents were both immigrants. They took huge risks and a leap of faith coming to a new country, to make a better life for themselves and me. 

It was hard. My mother, the only of 5 daughters that was not yet married, was the only one that came with her parents to America when my grandfather was able to apply for them to come. She knew no one, spoke no English, left the rest of her sisters, (including her twin sister), her friends and family behind. 

My father came separately (my parents met and married in the U.S.). He worked hard to learn a trade so that he could make a living, learning plastering and bricklaying. He worked so hard. I remember him slowly walking in the door at the end of his work day, exhausted. He would clean up, eat dinner, try and watch some news, sometimes falling asleep in front of the tv, and go to bed to sleep so that he could start the same routine all over again the next day. This would be 6 days a week, sometimes 7. 

I was an only child. My mother had several miscarriages, they wanted more children, but had only one, so their love and protection was fierce, so fierce that I sometimes felt suffocated. As an elder, I understand that now. They were holding on tightly to what they had, as they had lost so very much.

The courage of immigrants

They endured hatred, name-calling (there were many insults to Italians and especially to Sicilians, who were all branded with the title of “mafia”.) And they persevered, taught me to be so proud of this country as well as my heritage. My father would make sure to take me to the 4th of July parade and fireworks, my mom would make sure to cook turkey (along with traditional Italian food) for Thanksgiving. They were grateful to this country for what it had given them. Voting was a sacred honor. 

I felt their pride and their pain and sacrifice. I am grateful for everything that they endured, what they gave me, for my life here. 

And here we are today, with mass deportations. Families, children, people who risked so much to try and get a better life and provide a better life for their families are being sent away. I am not talking about the criminals, which, I believe, are not most of the immigrants.

These immigrants are often so hard working, vulnerable, eager to do what is needed, grateful for work that others might not take, grateful for any opportunities provided, loving their families and doing their best. A woman who used to clean my home would bring me her culture’s traditional food during the holidays. My gardener/handyman would bring me a plate that his wife prepared for me on Christmas Day. The warmth and open heart of these people would touch me deeply, reaching out to me and including me. making me feel seen and cared for. 

We are a country of immigrants

Most of us come from ancestors who immigrated here. Mine are more recent, but part of that group that makes up our country. I have felt such pride in the past calling myself an American, being part of a country that welcomes others.

Yes, there is also much shame and sorrow about what has been done to those that have labeled as other in the past, what was done to the Native Americans, black people, other ethnicities and groups that were feared for their differences. It has not been a perfect history, by any means. But, we were beginning to see more and more of what our nation did to others, and trying to repair that, at least in part. The past cannot be repaired, nor should it be forgotten, as we need to learn from it. 

But our intention can be to do better, to be better. Race, gender, ethnicity, customs, love in all of its forms…we can try to learn, to include, to accept, to understand better. We have a long way to go, but we can have an intention and path before us.

And here we are now. Here we are. My heart is aching for all the people. My soul aches about the inhumanity, the division, the hatred, the pain on all sides.

The Statue of Liberty must be weeping these days. 

Our country has been a world leader, trying to work with all nations, and again, very imperfectly. And now we are building walls of exclusion. Exclusion can be done physically, financially, and a host of other ways, exclusion from common humanity, from cooperation, empathy and kindness. It seems that money and power have become the new gods, for some leaders at least. 

Grief and hope

I am deep in grief. I will let myself feel this grief, let it wash over me and through me. I am older now, and even though I hang onto hope that this too shall pass and that love will triumph, I don’t know if it will happen in whatever time I have left on this precious earth. I may not get to see the other side, but inside, I still hold hope for the future and generations to come. I feel hope when I see people protesting, resisting, judges showing courage to try and slow down this attempted coup that we are witnessing. 

I love this country, what is has been and tried to be, for most of my life. I believe in what the Statue of Liberty stood, and still stands, for. I appreciate this country in what I believe is the unique way that children of immigrants can. I pray for her soul to survive. May my tears of an immigrant’s daughter join with the tears of all who are grieving, mourning, and still hoping and fighting. May all our tears form an ocean of compassion, love, strength, endurance, resistance, resilience, and result in the final triumph of love. 

Boundaries can allow love to flow more freely

I was looking at the above photo the other day. This photo was taken the evening that the zookeepers and volunteers had gathered to spend time with Osh before he was to travel to the elephant sanctuary in Tennessee. (I had been volunteering with the elephants at the local zoo for over 11 years.) Things had happened and Osh ended up being alone at the zoo. It was time for him to be around other elephants. This photo captured a special moment between Osh and me. There was love across the fences, safe enough to allow it to flow freely and openly toward each other.

This got me thinking about boundaries and love. Here was yet another lesson learned at the zoo that I can apply to all of life.

This zoo has a policy of “protected contact.” For the safety of all, there is always a boundary between the staff and the elephants. And training is always done with positive reinforcement and food. (Training is needed so that the zookeepers can train the elephants to move into certain positions for any medical or caregiving procedures, like daily pedicures.)

I thought about the term “protected contact.” I think there is wisdom in this, more than I had ever thought about.

At the zoo, we were taught to respect that these animals were still wild and deserved to be respected as such, and thus fences/heavy gates are used for the protection of all.

I thought about my own history of relationships. These patterns of mine may not be true for everyone, as we all have our own histories and issues that we bring into our relationships. Now, as an elder, looking back, I can see that I tended to look to relationships for everything. I wanted to finally feel the love that I craved, the acceptance I was longing for. This was too much pressure to put on anyone, as well as unfair and impossible if I hadn’t learned to love myself. In essence, I was asking someone else to give me what I could not give myself, to heal my childhood wounds.

I would jump in, try to be whatever I thought my partner wanted me to be, and also then want them to be everything to me. I would eventually stop paying attention to my own needs, thoughts, feelings, and voice, after which I would eventually blame them for not being what I needed. That’s a setup for failure.

What I needed first was me. Me.

I need to remember that there are parts of me I must own and protect. Protect not as a way to distance myself, but paradoxically, as a way to be able to truly open up to another, because I’m sure of what the depth of me contains. This depth helps me be sure of who I am, what I feel, what I need, what I can accept, and what will absolutely not work for me.

This is some of the wisdom that age can help bring, the wisdom to finally come home to ourselves, the realization that we need and deserve boundaries and limits, and can learn to embrace the beauty and strength of the word “no”.

I’ve learned that I can love, but I need significant periods of solitude to regather myself, to check in and hear my voice. Knowing this, I won’t then have to get upset that my partner is crowding me. I can tune into myself to know when I need some time, so I can then more fully come back to the relationship. Boundaries help people feel safe. They know where your edges are. They can trust your “yes” because they know that you will say “no” when you need to.

I’ve learned that there are certain words, behaviors, and issues that are below the belt for me and that I don’t want used against me in any disagreement. That’s a boundary. That’s a fence.

I’ve learned that I bring myself as a separate person into any relationship with friends from my past that I want to keep. And time with them is important, time with just them. It keeps me balanced, whole, and less easily seduced into giving myself away to another person, so much so that I forget who I am. And I need to give a partner this same respect and space.

I know that I deeply need to be seen and heard. Not perfectly, but I need someone to be willing to try to learn how to hear and see me, and I will offer them the same.

It seems that we can learn from this idea of protected contact.

I can protect parts of me that are sensitive and vulnerable, take my time revealing parts of me, and be discerning as to whom I reveal things. I can remember to protect those parts of me that belong to only me, that are my treasures, my place of protected contact, and my sacred wildness.

All this isn’t about avoiding intimacy. It is about being intimate with myself first, honoring those sacred places in me, and loving those parts of myself first.

When we do this, when we honor our wildness and practice protected contact, we make it safer to love more deeply and give ourselves and others the sacred gift of boundaries.

The ache of grief, the price of overflowing love

It is the end of another year. I have, as so many have, had losses this year. Losses seem to come more frequently as we age…losses of family and friends, both human and animal. 

I have written before about my love for elephants. I volunteered at our local zoo observing the amazing elephants for over 11 years. During those 11 years, I came to quietly know these majestic creatures, who taught me much about breathing in each moment, being themselves, and feeling connections beyond words. I am so grateful.

As with any love, there have been losses. We lost one of our female elephants, M’Dunda, in 2019. It was sudden and a shock to us all. It turns out she had a brain condition that affected her balance. She fell, and when she fell, she cut off her air supply due to the way that she fell, and she died quickly. I sobbed when I got the news, with an ache so raw and deep. This elephant was a gentle creature who had endured so much in her life before she was rescued. I came to love her. 

Moving forward, another of our females, Lisa, got sick to the point where she was euthanized (approximately 2 years ago). Again, I felt the ache of losing yet another beautiful creature that I had come to know and love. Lisa was feisty, and we enjoyed and appreciated that about her. One time when one of the zookeepers was blowing bubbles as part of a zoo event and Lisa happened to be close by (although of course on the other side of the heavy fence), she let him know that she was not pleased with his behavior, in her own unique way, by getting a trunkful of water and completely drenching him. All the laughter was delightful. The guests at the zoo thought that we had planned this stunt. No, this was Lisa being her feisty self!

Lisa had been close friends with Donna, another of our elephants. They slept touching each other at night, and would often be in the same area together most of the day. When Lisa died, the keepers knew that Donna needed to be around other females soon. Female elephants need to be part of a herd much more quickly than males need this. So, the decision was made to move Donna to the beautiful elephant sanctuary in Tennessee. It took much training to get her used to being in the trailer that would carry her to Tennessee, a 46-hour drive with the zookeepers, a vet, and an elephant transport specialist all following to make sure that she was ok. We were all relieved when she made it there. 

That left our only elephant, Osh, a male, by himself at the zoo. Males can often be alone in the wild, but Osh did need to be around other elephants eventually. The zoo tried to see what options were available. There were no other elephants that would be available to move to our zoo for several years, which was too long for Osh to be alone. So, the decision was made to move him to the same sanctuary that Donna was sent to, in the hopes that they could reconnect, once Osh acclimated to his new home. 

We all kept trying to remember that what was done was in the best interest of the elephants, in hopes of them having the best life possible, which is what we wanted for them. But we missed them terribly. Osh had lived at the zoo for 20 years, and the rest of the elephants even longer than that. .

On Christmas Eve day, the staff at the sanctuary noticed that Donna had seemed to be a bit different that morning. They were watching her and took some blood samples to try to figure out what was going on, as she had been eating and seemed to be herself prior to that. 

A short time later that morning, with the staff still around her watching her, Donna walked into the area where she usually slept, lay down, and quietly passed away.

I was in shock when I got the news from our dear zookeepers, who had to make these calls amid their own shock and grief. I couldn’t quite wrap my brain around the fact that Donna was gone. I am heartbroken, as are all who got to know her. More tears, more loss, and more grief wash over me, being ever more present companions on this journey of aging. 

And I notice that my heart, in addition to the deep grief, is overflowing with the love that I came to feel for all of these beautiful animals. I was on the behavior observation team, so I got to spend hours simply watching them and recording their behavior so we could see how they were doing, if anything changed, and if we needed to do anything more for them to give them the best life that we could.

Zoos are not perfect, by any means. And I think that having elephants in sanctuaries where they can just be elephants is the best option. 

But that doesn’t negate the bonds, the love between animals and humans, the connection, the deep knowing of another being without the need for words, that can happen in zoos as well as everywhere in our lives.

The zookeepers provided such loving care and did all that they could for each elephant. I was honored to watch the love with which they worked to care for our elephants, the bonds that were so tangible, the unspoken connections.

My heart is aching. My heart is also overflowing, as it is now holding 3 elephants who have died, as well as Osh, who seems to be doing well at the sanctuary, thankfully. He is reaching out to other elephants and slowly making contact. I have hope that he will do well there. I miss him, and I am happy for him.

I grieve, and I love. 

I think that aging is teaching me even more how we humans can hold so many feelings inside of our hearts at the same time. I think that we can learn from grief to cherish what and who is around us, how we can remember to love freely and spread kindness, how fragile our lives are and how we only have this moment. We love, we grieve, and we keep loving, grateful for having had the opportunity to love those that we have lost, and grateful for those that are still on the earth with us. 

We humans are capable of great love. And this is what I shall hold onto in the new year, and what I will choose to believe in and focus on. This is what will help sustain me and give me hope for the future. My vow for this new year and for the rest of my life shall be to continue to grow in being my authentic self. My tools include kindness wherever and whenever possible, as well as setting boundaries when needed. 

Thus it goes with our lives. We will love, so we will feel loss. We will grieve and feel the depth of our love. We will die, so we must live and love right now, while we can, and fully use these amazing hearts of ours that can contain so much. 

Are you kidding? My lips are where I get thin?

Ok, very funny, goddess of aging. Very funny.

I get wrinkles. Ok, I am getting used to that.

I get a thicker middle, saggy skin, bruise more easily, and mind you, the bruises are not soft pastel colors, but vivid hues that stand out. I get achy and squeaky joints, breasts that are moving south for the winter, a body that is becoming a caricature of what it once was, a face that I don’t recognize in the mirror sometimes. Ok, ok, one by one I am trying to get used to the new normal.

 But my lips? No one warned me about this. I looked in the mirror and to my horror, I see my lower lip slowly disappearing into my mouth, as if is is rolling back. Where did it go? Where the hell do I put lipstick? If I put it where my lips used to be, I will end up looking like a clown. But it hardly seems worth it to put it on the smaller version of what used to be a normal sized lower lip. I guess I will save money on lipstick, as it won’t take as much at all. 

WTF? What a cruel sense of humor that aging has… gaining weight, losing my waist, getting thinner hair, sprouting odd hairs where they don’t belong, getting thinner skin, and now …thin lips. Will they disappear completely? That would look quite odd. 

My memory is not as good as it once was. My eyes don’t see as well. I wear a hearing aid. My feet have issues, and this affects how much I can walk right now. My knees creak and sometimes hurt. These are all parts of this journey. 

And now the lips. 

I don’t think that I will ask what is next, as I always seem to get an answer, and usually not a welcome one. 

Well, I guess it’s best to keep laughing. We might as well. I cannot argue with reality, nor change what time will bring. So let me laugh and keep learning what I can along the way. 

I do, think, though, that my insides are also changing, but in a good way.

There is a softness, a deeper realization of the beauty that life can bring (along with the sorrow …all part of the package), a greater sense of the sacredness of each moment that we get to breathe and live, a growing appreciation of the depth that our love can reach for each other, for all beings on this earth, for the earth itself. 

There is a beauty growing within as I am forced to let go of any outside definitions of myself and come to know the insides better, come to express those parts more openly and genuinely as I get to come home to the self that I have been all along but that got distracted by things along the way. 

 My body may not be what it once was, but the spirit it houses grows more each day and grows more into itself each year. I may not see as well with my eyes, but I see you with my heart. I may not hear you as well with my ears, but I hear you with all my being, hear what you say and what you don’t say, hear what you say with your body, your face, your expressions, your tone. I may not walk as fast, but I can walk slowly beside you and keep you company when you are feeling low and sad. My grip may not be as strong, but my touch is from my core.

And I can still smile, with these little lips, and with my eyes. And I can connect with you, have the time for you, and see and hear you deeply. I am still here, and even more so as I know that my time is limited on this earth. 

So, aging, keep it coming. After all, if you are still here and giving me all these gifts, that means that I am still alive to experience it all. And that is a good thing, thin lips and all!