Distance Learning: TCC, Caregiving & Love, by Pete Gregory (August 2015)

This month marks the beginning of my seventh year as a live-in caregiver for my parents. My 89-year-old mother is faring well, with a brief illness here and there, less walking, fewer projects, etc. I still consider her an energizer bunny, but I also know she isn’t getting any younger.

My 91-year-old father is a different story. The first year he walked with a cane, drove to the grocery store, cooked half the meals, barely napped. Fast-forward to the present. The man is in loud, chronic pain, failing to thrive, often unable to walk, sleeping 16 to 20 hours a day, mostly dependent on Mom and me to accomplish the basics required for daily living.

In between, there have been two stints in nursing homes, 20-plus falls, 200-plus near falls, accidents, sleepwalking, other midnight mischief and more. For me, it’s been 2000 days and nights of moving from vigilance to hyper-vigilance to vigils and back again. My own slow-motion rodeo.

Justin stressed the importance of practicing T’ai Chi Chih daily, especially when we don’t feel like it. The first few years this reminder was a saving grace. It wasn’t maybe the deepest practice, often interrupted, but I managed to move and derive benefit. Nowadays, less so. With a kaleidoscope of butterflies, a racing pulse, disrupted sleep and mini-crises de jour, the sharpest tool in my box was beginning to lose its edge. But I’m grateful for my few ongoing TCC classes and good weather days that serve as both a whetstone and a welcome re-immersion into the Flow.

The larger goal of steady practice is to embody TCC principles the other 23 hours of a day. What has evolved is a recognition of the movements as descriptors for situations and mindsets I deal with in caring for Pop. The other 23 hours embody the practice. How do you spell bizarro? Allow me to enumerate.

The antithesis of a rodeo ride is Rocking Motion. Instead of being thrown up and over and down, and up and over and back, I sink and rise, come down and prepare to rise again. There’s a need to spread my own wings – to step away from the tension and sadness, even if it’s only to ride around and around in my car blasting some fun music, only to return home. There’s the daily, weekly, yearly orbit of being on call. There’s the redundant, lowlight monotony between red alerts – and more precious, knowing how and when to respond to an alert and when to put it down. There’s the periodic beating my own drum, venting, whining and crying for help.

Going to the mountaintop and praying for mercy, coupled with going within and digging up resilience. Carrying an issue round and round with doctors and insurance, often ending up where we started. Pushing out the remains of the day, being open and ready to accept tomorrow. Tuning it all out to energize my batteries.

I can feel when I am moving through sticky dilemmas, weighing pros and cons of new medications or possible treatments. Having the courage to step forward and present my diagnosis to a doctor, anchored in my intimate monitoring of his status. Making plans for myself, over and over, only to get pulled down into another sticky dilemma. Watching over him, one thing perpetually followed by another, and the Groundhog Day quality of it.

I watch helplessly as his pulley goes from a rope to threads, from to a thread to a strand. Going from thinking hard and coming up with creative solutions, to wanting to pull my hair out. Inhaling as I bend down so I can safely lift him off the floor with one heave-ho. Remembering to suffer the leaves to fall, that this too shall pass. Reconciling that while his organs remain vital, his Chi becomes more faint, barely audible.

I continue this role so that when he passes I can stand tall, calmly, and without too many regrets. I will slowly release my hold, ground, pay my respects to the whole experience. And move on.

Justin taught us that “Awareness is the root … love energy is the fruit.” I marvel at how much love radiates from the core of TCC. Be it the practice, the heartfelt support I get from long distance teachers, or the perspective it provides as I stumble through the day-to-day of helping my folks age in place.

Being a TCC student, instructor and member of a larger community is no silver bullet. It ain’t foolproof; just ask this fool. But it is proof that Chi and Love and Loving Chi are everywhere. And that Joy is like the sun, sometimes obscured, yet omnipresent.

And as if that weren’t enough, this spring delivered yet another marvel: a connection with a fellow TCC teacher and caregiver. It’s 2091 miles from her house to mine, but every day another mile falls away.