This week has been a practice in detachment. In Buddhism, which I am fairly immersed in as I attend a Buddhist University, detachment is considered one of the keys to happiness. All suffering can be traced back to one root: grasping attachment. As humans we cling to what we love, and that very clinging can lead into desperate pain. Jealousy, anger, grief- these all stem from clinging to what we cannot control. Lately, in my Counseling Skills class, we have been discussing the idea that even clinging to our self-image, our biography, can cause suffering, because we are always changing and therefore do not always match our ideal versions of ourselves.
Confusing? It can be, particularly because Buddha was not saying that we should not love. Quite the contrary, he believed that by eliminating attachment, we could actually love deeper, better, and more.
On Monday I worked with one of my clients, a very old woman with rapidly progressing dementia. At 97 years old she is almost always a little lost. The combination of age, confusion, and interacting medications means she swings rapidly between good days of jokes and smiles, to bad days where she barely eats. So when I arrived on Monday to help her with breakfast, she would hardly even swallow the chocolate Boost she had been so enthusiastic about the week before, let alone eat a piece of toast.
As I struggled to convince her to take even a tiny drink I could feel myself growing impatient. No, not impatient: desperate. In her situation, it really is fully possible that she will die in the next few months. Obviously, if she refuses to eat, that could happen much sooner. I wanted so badly to help, to be able to miraculously get her to drink her full Boost and more, because I know how precarious her health is. I was clinging with all of my might to my desire to make her eat, and only becoming more and more frustrated in the process.
Finally, after nearly twenty minutes of unsuccessful convincing and coaxing, I just stopped. I looked at her: sitting with her eyes closed, shaking her head, wan and sad. She was so uncomfortable, so unhappy, and at that moment, eating would only have made her that much more miserable. I realized that by actually detaching from my own desire to make her eat and listening to the wisdom of her body, not my desperation, I was loving her more. At that moment, it was more helpful to her for me to let go, stop trying, and just sit with her. Even though I wanted so badly for her to eat, because I want her to live, I recognized that by letting her go, I was loving better and from a less selfish place. I managed to get one more swallow of Boost down, and left it at that.
When I returned on Wednesday, her everchanging body was back in sync, and she able to eat again. I am grateful for that. Yet I know, eventually, I will have to let go again. I will have to let go of my attachment and grasping in order to love her in the best way she deserves.
Confusing? It can be, particularly because Buddha was not saying that we should not love. Quite the contrary, he believed that by eliminating attachment, we could actually love deeper, better, and more.
On Monday I worked with one of my clients, a very old woman with rapidly progressing dementia. At 97 years old she is almost always a little lost. The combination of age, confusion, and interacting medications means she swings rapidly between good days of jokes and smiles, to bad days where she barely eats. So when I arrived on Monday to help her with breakfast, she would hardly even swallow the chocolate Boost she had been so enthusiastic about the week before, let alone eat a piece of toast.
As I struggled to convince her to take even a tiny drink I could feel myself growing impatient. No, not impatient: desperate. In her situation, it really is fully possible that she will die in the next few months. Obviously, if she refuses to eat, that could happen much sooner. I wanted so badly to help, to be able to miraculously get her to drink her full Boost and more, because I know how precarious her health is. I was clinging with all of my might to my desire to make her eat, and only becoming more and more frustrated in the process.
Finally, after nearly twenty minutes of unsuccessful convincing and coaxing, I just stopped. I looked at her: sitting with her eyes closed, shaking her head, wan and sad. She was so uncomfortable, so unhappy, and at that moment, eating would only have made her that much more miserable. I realized that by actually detaching from my own desire to make her eat and listening to the wisdom of her body, not my desperation, I was loving her more. At that moment, it was more helpful to her for me to let go, stop trying, and just sit with her. Even though I wanted so badly for her to eat, because I want her to live, I recognized that by letting her go, I was loving better and from a less selfish place. I managed to get one more swallow of Boost down, and left it at that.
When I returned on Wednesday, her everchanging body was back in sync, and she able to eat again. I am grateful for that. Yet I know, eventually, I will have to let go again. I will have to let go of my attachment and grasping in order to love her in the best way she deserves.
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