Present In The Presence, Part I

Growing up my father and mother did not allow distractions at the dinner table. We all sat together and shared in conversation, exchanged a "how was your day," our thoughts, ideas, laughter, etc. With a distraction that now fits perfectly on our person, I will venture to say courtesies are now exchanged  out of politeness or in hope of holding on to a time when one could be present in conversation; not constantly engaged in a world that demands instant communication with little communal aspect. I have yet to sit in a restaurant and observe others seated that have not once glanced at a bright screen (guilty as charged, but ever so cautious of the negative effects it can have on the time spent with the person opposite the table).

These are not thoughts to bash social media, cell phones, or the like; but thoughts of being actively present. I find myself thinking back over the past three weeks as a family member endured a sickness and how present she was (understandably more present in the earlier days of her sickness). One afternoon as I was driving to visit with her, I thought to myself how tired I was and the list of to-do's that would have to be postponed for a few hours thus making the day even longer. Those thoughts separated me from being present in the presence I was about to experience. I walked into her room, with color restored to her face and a smile, she beamed, "I am so tired of laying in this bed, but am so happy to see your beautiful smile."

I have never been punched in the stomach, but at that moment I felt what every boxer must each time a blow is delivered to their abdomen. Pangs of guilt and sadness washed over me as I fought back tears of frustration with myself for ever thinking I was "tired." Sure, I was in a physical sense, but she was exhausted physically, mentally and emotionally . She was weary of fighting a battle she had not willingly enlisted in. She was drained of being confined to a place of silence and thoughts that flooded her memory of years past and the hope that she would be able to someday breathe the fresh air and watch the birds on the back patio, or take an exquisite dinner from the oven- things she loved best. But she was present.

Being present is not always comfortable. To be present is to be engaged, to accept what is happening, and to participate regardless. A person may show up and able to be seen, but not always present. She was present in her situation. She could not flee from the cancer (physical) or her thoughts (emotional), she faced them and understood that she had to be present in the presence; to enjoy the time she had left. The presence that surrounds us is ever changing; the batteries of a clock may die, but time continues to pass. Moments dispel quicker than the wind and as we all know, time can never be added to, but can be subtracted from. We are given three months, but somehow they become three weeks.

Each human is given time, some more than others. However, each day we are given a new morning, a new chance to be present. To live in those last weeks as we would a thousand more months, to make a profound impact by living in the present, even if living is simply breathing and listening. She did not just hear, she was present in the presence and listened even until she drew her final breath. We cannot evade the present, for as you are reading this, the present is becoming the past and our presence on earth dwindles with each tick of the second hand. But what we can elude is aloofness and being lackadaisical in the way one engages in life- to simply be present in the presence, no matter how uncomfortable it may be.

"Life is all memory, except for the one present moment that goes by you so quickly you hardly catch it going." -Tennessee Williams