Changes - by Bonnie Shetler
For years my husband and I took an annual excursion with my brother, Ron, and his wife Barb. Everywhere from the top of Mount Kilimanjaro to the bottom of the Grand Canyon. Although our families have lived entirely separate lives - theirs in rural Wisconsin, ours here in the foothills of Colorado – those amazing trips together reminded my brother and me how connected we still were no matter the geographical distance between us.
Then, a few years ago Barb, strong, bright, ever alert, began showing signs of what turned into an incredibly deep, dark, and disabling dementia. As of this writing she is tended at home by her husband, her twin sister, and hospice. She is barely conscious, unable to communicate, and slowly dying. My communication with my brother is via Zoom from the room where she lies, still and unresponsive.
Married life can change on a dime at any age, but as we move into old age change becomes a looming certainty. While the two of us deal with new aches, declining stamina, and names that are slow to recall, we are both still in relatively good physical health. For this I am grateful. But I no longer take for granted that my life and my relationships today look like the ones I will accommodate tomorrow.
I must say this sense of imminent but unpredictable change forces me to be more present in my life, more grateful for its personal gifts - present and past - and more resigned to its reshaping into whatever it is to become. Really, what else can you do?
Bonnie Shetler lives in the foothills west of Fort Collins where she works and volunteers remotely, sometimes writes, often bikes, hikes, reads, and idly considers the vastness of time and space. She and her husband both enjoy exploring and camping in the back country.
