The Paradox of “This too shall pass.”
Like everything else–it’s complicated.
Life isn’t fair, yet my limited teenage experiences told me otherwise. Sheltered by my upper middle class upbringing, I would engage in some magical thinking, borne from the luck of my circumstance. I’d unconsciously believe that yes, bad things happened, but that eventually things would go back to normal or even better than normal. I could bet money on it.
Any sadness or disappointment I felt back then was merely a passing dark cloud over the sunshine of my life. There might be a storm or two, but eventually a technicolor rainbow would appear and all would be well.
When my crush liked someone else or some big party happened without me, I would be heartbroken. “This too shall pass.” That’s what my Dad would remind me anyway, while he awkwardly stood in the kitchen, uncomfortably patting my shoulder as I sobbed. In matters of my adolescence, he was right. There would come a time when a boy did like me back and I did go to the parties that everyone talked about Monday morning. So I clung to my Dad’s platitude as a way to understand my world.
And now I spend my days caring for Jack, my teenage son with high needs. He’s dependent on Mike and me for his very survival. Not to mention his physical comfort.
The easy times are when we peek inside his bedroom to make sure he’s ok for the night before we ourselves collapse. Sometimes he’s rolled up in a tight ball — he shivers as the sheets lay in a pile on the floor. He kicked them off, but lacks the motor planning skills to pull them back onto himself. So that is our job. We fix the sheets, kiss his forehead and stealthily creep to our bedroom. Mission accomplished.
Or there’s been the more stressful times such as when he’s gotten a nosebleed in the middle of the night while we slumber unawares. We discover a crime scene the next morning because he can’t wipe his nose. Dried blood covers his face, his hands, the bed, the floor, the walls. We rush to clean him and his room up. And feel guilty for our brief loosening of vigilance.
When I’m in a bad mood and feeling overwhelmed, if my Dad were to try and remind me that “This too shall pass,” I’d undoubtedly want to scream. After all, Jack’s challenges won’t pass.
In the dark place my mind might visit on an especially trying day, I’d conjure up many examples of parenting situations that did NOT pass. And I’d think about those elderly parents I’d occasionally see at mass. They bookend their middle-aged son with Downs Syndrome in the same pew located towards the front. Obviously their son’s challenges didn’t pass either.
It’s enough to make me rage against “This too shall pass.” In bleak moments, I can be forgiven for thinking that the only way this situation will pass for me is either by my death, or a tragedy involving the untimely passing of my son. But both options are repellent.
However, in my calmer moments, I can see the promise in “This too shall pass”. Yet not in the way I viewed it as a self-absorbed teenager. While my situation as a whole may not pass for (hopefully) many decades from now, my individual daily struggles do in fact pass. They disappear into the fog of my middle aged mind, vaguely remembered, but without the intensity.
And you know what? Sometimes I even learn something from the struggles and develop a tiny bit more resilience. Experience acting as the crucible that reduces the insurmountable to the merely difficult. I see countless examples of that as well.
My perception of those parents in the church pew has changed from when I first noticed them years ago. I don’t focus on their lined faces, stooped shoulders, and careworn bodies. I see two parents and their beloved son radiating peace, dignity and acceptance. They exhort me by their presence to notice the love bound up in the pain, even during those endless dark times we hope will pass soon.