“Don’t sell Microsoft!,” he said. “OK, Daddy, but do you understand what is going on? This virus is crushing the market and Microsoft is taking a big hit.,” I said. He said, “Jule, it will come back. Be patient.” That was my last phone call with him. It was typical of our conversations, short and not always that sweet, but tactful and I’m ok with that. He was telling me to chill out, this too shall pass.
This virus. The stock market. The good. The bad. Life. This moment. A lack of toilet paper. Whatever it is, all of it, is fleeting and impermanent. The gift of impermanence isn’t this too shall pass. A gift implies a silver lining, a treat, a positive outcome. This too shall pass is the heart wrenching mantra reminding us even the good times pass and to be careful not to wish away everything, good or bad.
The last time I saw my Dad was a month ago. I remember the last evening with him very well as I sat there and just took it all in: his labored breathing, the sounds of MSNBC blaring, the peaceful way he looked as he rested, the uneaten food on his tray, his gnarly feet. I knew this moment was fleeting, as they all are and I decided to just be present with it, with him. I knew I wouldn’t see him this way, ever again. So I took it all in, the good and bad, knowing this too shall pass. With its permanence, death is the harshest lesson in impermanence. I’ve said before, “Pain is a fact, suffering is a choice.” No life event challenges this saying more than death. I ask myself, when will this pain pass?
As I listen to people cancel their vacations, wonder about childcare, worry about their adult children, close their small businesses, complain about the out-of-staters coming up and buying all the toilet paper in our small town stores (yes, this is happening), I try to not judge and simply watch this unfold. Maybe because this week is the first of many weeks where everything feels surreal. It happened when my Mom died too. I wondered why the world didn’t stop after she passed? How could anything be more important than everyone stopping what they were doing and acknowledging she was gone? This time though everyone does feel the surreality of our reality, just not for the same reasons I do.
And while this virus will come and go, along with the uncertainty and anxiety that comes with the unknown, there is a hidden gift here and I’m trying desperately to honor it. Presence is the gift of impermanence. Sit back, look around, take it in. The good and the bad. Yes people will disappoint you but they will also impress you. Just like the hospital room my last night with my Dad; there was the good (his peaceful rest) and the bad (those feet!), both equally important. This too shall pass but don’t let it pass without noticing. It’s going to be ok. Presence is the gift of impermanence and the lucky ones are those who recognize this. Those who do will be moved by deeply human experiences, have far less anxiety and their lives will be richer for it. I know mine is. I will never forget that night. I never even want to forget those feet.