Commentary

By Bill Baer

Corvallis Gazette-Times

Why did I recently need a friendly push toward mountains and Lady Slippers?

Read on.

A couple weeks ago, I drove to Roseburg to see my Aunt. She's 91, and the last of my parents' generation. She's clear thinking, self-sufficient and has been the "rock" in our lives for many years; a very sweet, understanding rock. Unfortunately, that's all about to change.

It's been a long winter for my Aunt, filled with an abnormally lingering cold and a mysterious pain - growing continually more severe - which destroyed sleep, and sometimes her ability to shop for food, as well as daily things an extremely independent person living alone must do. Sometimes, she found it necessary to depend on friends for shopping and transportation. Hard things for someone habitually self-reliant to accept.

Finally, a diagnosis: Pancreatic cancer. Terminal in weeks, or a few months; increasing pain, requiring ever stronger medication which would make her incapable of functioning or thinking normally. Actually, she's fine with it - though none of the rest of us are - and says, "I'm ready. I've been full circle, and have no regrets. Can't change the outcome, so I'd rather it was sooner than later. I'm not looking forward to the pain or the drugs and I'm curious about the next step.' "

She and I needed to attend to some things - and visit - while she was mentally clear. So, I headed south after making arrangements to spend a night or two with an old friend/classmate who lives up the North Umpqua, above Glide.

Why?

"My spare bed is too short for you," my aunt said. "The pain will hit after three or four hours of activity; I'm not much fun after the medication, and I really wouldn't be me all night."

Day one. By 3 p.m. I could see she wasn't doing well. "Want me to leave for the day?"

"Not really, but I think it would be best until morning."

Though you can, logically, accept the fact that a person is fine with an impending end of their life, when they mean a great deal to you, it can create some inner turmoil. I was a bit more than stressed during my drive because I'd made sure I acted as I knew my aunt would want: Calm, accepting, logical, competent - Barker genetics, like her - and caring. Harder to do when feelings run deep.

John's, "My door is always open," wasn't. But he arrived shortly.

"Let's get these groceries unloaded, then I have an itinerary to sooth your mind."

John is amazingly astute, and caring, after many years of dealing with seniors and their families; aware of the inner turmoil end-of-life issues can generate.

We soon headed up the Umpqua. Stopping at a pullout, we got out to bathe in large river-sound and follow current patterns.

"Look, John! A fish."

Yup, there were several undulating salmon-shadows, moving almost as though they were spawning. We peered for quite a while, immersed in the beginning - and ending - of a cycle of nature. We then, with me more relaxed, continued along the river past Steamboat.

Shortly after Dry Creek store, Eagle Rock appeared. John took the road up Copeland Creek.

"Thought a stroll through you and your dad's old haunts around Big Camas might be in order. May even see an animal or two."

A few miles later, "Look! There are the deer."

"Nice doe, and a yearling with her," I said. "Now we need some elk; maybe down in the meadow."

Nope. Right by the turn to the old ranger station, two elk walked in front of us.

Salmon spawning; huge firs surrounding a greening meadow; skunk cabbages blooming; Lady Slippers tinting mossy ground pink; strawberry blooms; croaking frogs; spring calls of robins piercing a warm, fir-scented breeze. These beginnings of natural cycles of life and death reminded me of the knowledge - temporarily hidden by emotions - that we are all part of the workings of the world. There is tranquility in the acceptance of reality, like it or not.

Thanks to John, I can recapture the calmness by gazing on fish-shapes undulating within the currents of my mind.

Bill Barker can be reached at billbarker@comcast.net.