We were standing in the lobby of Boston’s Wang Theater waiting for family to arrive when Michael, glancing at the angels perched above us, asked: “Do you remember when we took your parents to see Phantom of the Opera here?”

Yes, I said, smiling at the memory of how deeply they were both affected by the show.

I remember Mom crying at the end, unable to leave her seat, I told him. She asked us to let her be until she could collect herself. Michael nodded at the memory. What made her so upset? I asked him. I forget.

Michael thought for a long moment, then admitted he couldn’t remember either. That’s when I felt a subtle panic rise in my chest. I turned to Michael, tears filling my eyes. It was such a significant moment and I don’t know why she was so upset. How can I not remember that? I realized I sounded slightly desperate. And how will I ever know? I can’t ask her. I hate that there are so many things I can’t ask her!

Michael put his arm around me and pulled me close as I tried to squeeze back tears. Having lost his Dad two months after losing Mom, he knew the territory and the blistering pain of forgotten memories.

Later that evening, while driving home, I thought about the cliché that we all have such limited time with each other so we need to say all that needs to be said (and ask all that needs to be asked). And while this advice is important, I was more preoccupied with a different kind of reality – one that shows up often in our wisdom years.

There will always be loose ends when loved ones pass (and when we pass, too). There will be things we forget to say, memories we can’t recall, forgotten stories, and questions left hanging that never get answered. There will be messy basements for others to deal with, letters half-written, and plans made with good intentions that get canceled by fate. How do we deal with this?

These are the midlife conversations we tend to avoid until reality comes knocking. But here’s the thing. When we’re willing to have hard conversations about topics that are scary, uncomfortable, or threatening, we create an intimate atmosphere that not only draws us closer to one another, it makes us emotionally stronger and better able to handle life’s uncertainties. My vulnerability welcomes your vulnerability. My willingness to be tentative and tender lets you know it’s okay for you to explore and express your own softer side. My choice to share the truth of what goes on in my head in the middle of the night helps us both find the honesty of our humanity in each other. And that’s where the aliveness we long for lives.

This is what I’m thinking about today as I sit here writing, and I’d love to continue the conversation with you. What truths do we avoid talking about in the Wisdom Years, and how do we handle them when we do?

Let’s meet on Zoom this week at a new time for those who have been asking for more options. We’ll gather on Tuesday, January 20^th at 9pm ET/6pm PT.  If you’ve joined us before, you’ll automatically get an invite. If not, you can sign up here. Also, last week’s gathering with Dr. Andrew Hahn from Life Centered Therapy is up on the site. You can find it here.

Love,

Cheryl