The Messy Miracle

"I never used to do this, dwelling on things and getting myself all worked up, but every single part of my life is delicate now. I feel a sudden fondness for the old man in the mirror. It's not bloody easy, being human."

The old man in the book, recalling earlier days, earlier selves, mumbled these words to himself. It’s such a heartbreaking scene. The poignancy lies in the fact that, if you reach a certain age, you are likely to mumble the same thing. I’m not that age (yet). Every single part of my life is not delicate (yet).

I love the idea that the old man feels a sudden fondness for the old guy in the mirror. There’s more than acceptance there. It’s as if he is saying, “Well, hey, old man, you managed, you pulled off a life. You have almost nothing but memories now. But wow! there are grand memories among those recollections.” I’ve come to care for this old man. I’m glad he has the memories. He reminds me to look in the mirror sometimes. On rare occasions, I can even do that and feel a sudden fondness for the face peering back at me. It helps if she is smiling. 😎

He is right though. It’s not bloody easy, being human. But we get by, right? We experience wonder, beauty, connection, laughter, and the chance to grow. We find ways to make meaning out of our experiences. We create art. We treasure relationships. We build resilience and community out of our struggle. That’s what makes the human circus, the messy miracle, so extraordinary.

The book is When the Cranes Fly South by Lisa Ridzén.

Here is the text of my brief review on Goodreads:

This novel captured my attention from the very first page. The power in the story lies in the emotions that it evokes. Bo, the narrator, is an old man who has lost much of what he had as a younger man. His wife suffers from dementia and had to move to an assisted care facility. His son is busy, busy, busy, and his beloved granddaughter is off in the world somewhere. Bo has lost a lot of his mobility and can't really leave his property unless someone drives him and even that is an ordeal. He used to be active in work and community engagements but not any more. Now he is mostly alone with daily visits from caregivers and occasional visits from neighbors. His life, which was once open and alive, is now small and still.

He has two things that make a difference in his life. He has a long time friend Ture with whom he can talk on the phone. Ture is also old and depends as well on professional care givers to come by his house and help with meals and other life necessities. Ture matters. Bo also has Sixten, his cherished and loyal dog. Sixten is there for Bo and is the one love that is physically present for him. Sadly, Bo's son Hans believes that Sixten should be placed now with a family. Hans is worried about Bo falling when he takes Sixten out on walks. He also thinks that Sixten needs more exercise and would be more happy with a family than he is in the company of an old man.

Lisa Ridzen has crafted a tender story that illustrates how hard it can be to either live as a very old person or to walk beside a very old person as all that was theirs in life falls away. The reader is invited into Bo's mind and memories as he spends his last months reflecting on what was and wondering about what is. This is not a plot driven book but rather a raw and mostly aching portrayal of life's ending. The images and characters are genuine and thoughtful. And even as Bo was taking stock of his life, I found myself taking stock of my own life. His regrets reminded me of my regrets. His connections to Sixten, Hans, Ture, and the caregivers felt like my own connections in life.

If you want a reflective read that will make you feel, look no further. It might be a good idea to have a box of tissues nearby when you start the book.