I'm in Ct, in my friend's room, in her bed. She is in the guest room, hopefully sleeping. She has cancer. Her husband just lost his job, their insurance. He is in another state, not by her side right now. Her father is dying. We wait for the call from hospice. She is hopeful, funny, unique. Hurting. But surviving. I am here, wanting to offer comfort, support. Strength. Humor. Hope. I adore her, in a girl admiration kind of way. What am I, just a player in this horrific play, wishing for a happy ending, a validation of her spirit. The first time I visited here after Burning Man was a fantasy, a crazy, wild nite of drunken silliness. It will never be that again...but I don't care about that. This is so much more real, genuine and has its own beauty. Her pain and endurance make me feel like we (all of us!!!!!) can get through anything. And come out the other side, different, but even more beautiful, more raw, more authentic.
I continue to hope.
Friday, January 27, 2012
Sunday, January 22, 2012
Little things that hurt
Like my finger. last nite I was getting ready to go to a birthday party and I was tucking my jeans into my boots, when, bam...jammed my ring finger on my right hand hard enough to tear the tendon, now it's kind of dangling downward. It's splinted now and it's not hurting just really annoying and inconvenient.
And typing is way tough!!! But here goes...
And yet it's nothing compared to what my dad is going through. He's in assisted living now, but contrary to what we hoped, he's not thriving. he's not even going to bingo, which is the activity we hoped he would want to join. But he's getting to breakfast lunch and dinner, and going right back to bed. Sleeping too much, not trying to walk even with a walker, and falling MORE. Where are the caretakers at this place??? Why isn't someone helping him make this transition???? Someone said there is no good solution to assisted/independent/nursing home situations, and now I can see what she meant. So my sisters and I are planning (still) how to help/advocate for this new phase of Dad's life, going to speak with the activities director and the nurse to see how the place can facilitate his reversal because he's deteriorating. He's depressed, and inert. He's frail and complacent. he still gets a little head of steam going once in a while if he can't hear what we say ("WHAT??? WHAT??? WHAT???) It makes me sad. And I am determined to give him affection even though he withheld it from me for most of my childhood. Stern, serious, very strict. That was Dad. We weren't allowed to talk back or question even the most ridiculous demands.
"I want you to move that pile of rocks over there." "All of them." "You missed some, do I have to take you by the hand and show you everything?" "Now I want you to move them back."
Years of that at varying degrees of insistence and frighteningly unreasonable anger. Terrified of him, I used to hide in my room when he'd get home from work. I'd hear my Mom come home, and that's when it would be safe to emerge, to creep upstairs and sit at the table, deep breath, and endure 45 minutes of him staring at me as I took every bite of food, commenting on how much how fast how efficiently I chewed, how soon I swallowed, to put my fork down between bites. Exhausted and certainly on the verge of an eating disorder, I'd go back downstairs and wish I were dead, or at least someone else. Not much affection or positive feedback, unless I initiated it, which I was scared to death to do.
Now I'm in control, I could be mean to him, I could get revenge, pay him back for the cruel discipline he shoved down our throats.
But I could never do that, could not cause someone else pain deliberately, as a payback or for any reason. He will only get my compassion, understanding and affection.
Because no matter what, he's family...and that's no little thing.
And typing is way tough!!! But here goes...
And yet it's nothing compared to what my dad is going through. He's in assisted living now, but contrary to what we hoped, he's not thriving. he's not even going to bingo, which is the activity we hoped he would want to join. But he's getting to breakfast lunch and dinner, and going right back to bed. Sleeping too much, not trying to walk even with a walker, and falling MORE. Where are the caretakers at this place??? Why isn't someone helping him make this transition???? Someone said there is no good solution to assisted/independent/nursing home situations, and now I can see what she meant. So my sisters and I are planning (still) how to help/advocate for this new phase of Dad's life, going to speak with the activities director and the nurse to see how the place can facilitate his reversal because he's deteriorating. He's depressed, and inert. He's frail and complacent. he still gets a little head of steam going once in a while if he can't hear what we say ("WHAT??? WHAT??? WHAT???) It makes me sad. And I am determined to give him affection even though he withheld it from me for most of my childhood. Stern, serious, very strict. That was Dad. We weren't allowed to talk back or question even the most ridiculous demands.
"I want you to move that pile of rocks over there." "All of them." "You missed some, do I have to take you by the hand and show you everything?" "Now I want you to move them back."
Years of that at varying degrees of insistence and frighteningly unreasonable anger. Terrified of him, I used to hide in my room when he'd get home from work. I'd hear my Mom come home, and that's when it would be safe to emerge, to creep upstairs and sit at the table, deep breath, and endure 45 minutes of him staring at me as I took every bite of food, commenting on how much how fast how efficiently I chewed, how soon I swallowed, to put my fork down between bites. Exhausted and certainly on the verge of an eating disorder, I'd go back downstairs and wish I were dead, or at least someone else. Not much affection or positive feedback, unless I initiated it, which I was scared to death to do.
Now I'm in control, I could be mean to him, I could get revenge, pay him back for the cruel discipline he shoved down our throats.
But I could never do that, could not cause someone else pain deliberately, as a payback or for any reason. He will only get my compassion, understanding and affection.
Because no matter what, he's family...and that's no little thing.
Sunday, January 15, 2012
Living on the edge
Living on the edge of my own reality, trying to keep it from seeping into my conscious. My very good friend is beginning the battle of her life with breast (catstir)...she's creative and has unique stamped all over herself, and that is her word. I adore her, she inspires me and has given me the very amazing gift of recapturing our teenage passions. We were both rebellious and outspoken, definitely on the fringe of what was considered normal back then, thank God. She (can I say your name, Monkey) is courageous and resilient because of and in spite of what she's already been through, and this fight will most likely give her more than it will take from her, that's just her nature. I speak like I know Monkey so well, but we really just recently rediscovered each other. The connection is intense for me, I find myself considering her perspective a great deal. She inspired me to start a blog, and I do it for myself, to get it all out. I don't expect a reader base, I just need to vent, this is my diary.
So I'm scared for her and myself. I know this is selfish but I don't want to lose her, not that I think catstir will claim her physical life, I know it will not. I fear she will not need me in her life because she will be so much stronger than anyone realizes, even her, that she will change. I know she will change. I don't know exactly how, but this is one of those life altering events, like having a child, or losing a child, as she has. You are never the same after these events, never. Will I be able to stay worthy of her friendship when she rises up in this fight? Will I have anything to offer?
This is not happening to me, it isn't about me. But this is my perspective. For now.
I worry about how she is handling the emotional aspect of this frightening diagnosis, and if she has enough people giving her the support she needs, and do I dare feel I am able to help?
And then I think, change is growth, and that is Shannon. Always growing. Always rising. It will be up to me to make it my business to keep up. To continue to grow also.
I will start tomorrow.
So I'm scared for her and myself. I know this is selfish but I don't want to lose her, not that I think catstir will claim her physical life, I know it will not. I fear she will not need me in her life because she will be so much stronger than anyone realizes, even her, that she will change. I know she will change. I don't know exactly how, but this is one of those life altering events, like having a child, or losing a child, as she has. You are never the same after these events, never. Will I be able to stay worthy of her friendship when she rises up in this fight? Will I have anything to offer?
This is not happening to me, it isn't about me. But this is my perspective. For now.
I worry about how she is handling the emotional aspect of this frightening diagnosis, and if she has enough people giving her the support she needs, and do I dare feel I am able to help?
And then I think, change is growth, and that is Shannon. Always growing. Always rising. It will be up to me to make it my business to keep up. To continue to grow also.
I will start tomorrow.
Sunday, January 1, 2012
Hopefully hoping
New Year's Day, 2012. Who would ever have thought we'd get here, with Nostradamus predicting our demise several times before this year, and the end of the world prediction by all those various religious groups, names of which I have NO idea.
But I have been hoping. And hopeful. And it started with our electing a black President, and a woman speaker of the house. It continued when we had some changes to health care that allowed me (personally) to keep my children on my insurance policy, and the credit card companies got slapped for trying to screw us without any notice by increasing interest rates. The foreclosure crisis dampened me a bit, and I hate to see so many people struggling with joblessness and homelessness. But then Occupy started, and my sister tells me today that Time Magazine voted the protesters as "Person of the Year". How perfect, as their collective effort have put greed and corporate greed specifically in the spotlight!!!! Then this same sister tells me a wonderful story of hope today.
Marleen is my Vermont sister, so we talk every so often and when she comes to visit in New Jersey, it is always a treat. Informed, peace loving, gentle and passionate about fairness, she is a buzzing force of positive energy.
Feeling kind of down in the dumps today, a little mopey, she was just hanging around and happened upon a show about New Zealand's New Year's eve celebration, and the spectacle (she tells me) wasn't as elaborate as Australia's, but what moved her to teary eyed emotion was the human spirit evident, everyone yelling and clanging noisemaking, displaying HOPE!!! And the human ability to continue to hope. It lifted her. She felt a little better, a little less mopey.
Inspired, she was cleaning out her kitchen area and found a pot that had been given to her with tulips in it. The tulips had long been either planted or died, I forget, and there was soil in the bottom of the pot. At first she was going to just toss it, but decided instead to put some water in it to soak for a bit. Forgetting about it, she happened to glance at it several hours later. Hope really does spring eternal, because there was a bud forming!!! And by the time she called me to wish a happy new year, there was a whole blade edging it's way upward!!!!!
And there's more!!! She happened (again, this is the universe, you do realize this, right, giving my beloved sister what she needs) to be looking out her window in the front room, and hadn't been going to look out, what made her look out, I forget. Anyway, there is this huge cement mixer. Lumbering down her street. What makes this cement mixer different than all the other cement mixers? It is gorgeously decorated with Christmas lights!! The whole thing, even the drum thingy that turns!!!!! It is just beautiful and it elevates my sister, brings MORE hope to her.
It is becoming more and more obvious to me, that when you truly need something, not want it, not desire it, not expect it, but truly need something, many times, not always, it will find you.
Sigh. Burning Man, the universe, human spirit. So much to be grateful for.
Happy New Year!!!!!
But I have been hoping. And hopeful. And it started with our electing a black President, and a woman speaker of the house. It continued when we had some changes to health care that allowed me (personally) to keep my children on my insurance policy, and the credit card companies got slapped for trying to screw us without any notice by increasing interest rates. The foreclosure crisis dampened me a bit, and I hate to see so many people struggling with joblessness and homelessness. But then Occupy started, and my sister tells me today that Time Magazine voted the protesters as "Person of the Year". How perfect, as their collective effort have put greed and corporate greed specifically in the spotlight!!!! Then this same sister tells me a wonderful story of hope today.
Marleen is my Vermont sister, so we talk every so often and when she comes to visit in New Jersey, it is always a treat. Informed, peace loving, gentle and passionate about fairness, she is a buzzing force of positive energy.
Feeling kind of down in the dumps today, a little mopey, she was just hanging around and happened upon a show about New Zealand's New Year's eve celebration, and the spectacle (she tells me) wasn't as elaborate as Australia's, but what moved her to teary eyed emotion was the human spirit evident, everyone yelling and clanging noisemaking, displaying HOPE!!! And the human ability to continue to hope. It lifted her. She felt a little better, a little less mopey.
Inspired, she was cleaning out her kitchen area and found a pot that had been given to her with tulips in it. The tulips had long been either planted or died, I forget, and there was soil in the bottom of the pot. At first she was going to just toss it, but decided instead to put some water in it to soak for a bit. Forgetting about it, she happened to glance at it several hours later. Hope really does spring eternal, because there was a bud forming!!! And by the time she called me to wish a happy new year, there was a whole blade edging it's way upward!!!!!
And there's more!!! She happened (again, this is the universe, you do realize this, right, giving my beloved sister what she needs) to be looking out her window in the front room, and hadn't been going to look out, what made her look out, I forget. Anyway, there is this huge cement mixer. Lumbering down her street. What makes this cement mixer different than all the other cement mixers? It is gorgeously decorated with Christmas lights!! The whole thing, even the drum thingy that turns!!!!! It is just beautiful and it elevates my sister, brings MORE hope to her.
It is becoming more and more obvious to me, that when you truly need something, not want it, not desire it, not expect it, but truly need something, many times, not always, it will find you.
Sigh. Burning Man, the universe, human spirit. So much to be grateful for.
Happy New Year!!!!!
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