nonsense and a mantra to frame it

today, i'm coming here quietly.  a thousand thoughts have sprouted, a thousand conversations started, bits- strung together- no pattern- no sense. nonsense. 

yesterday was a friday of goodbyes- to patients i've come to love as people.  people i will miss caring for.  people who are so different from me- who have shown me another slice of this pie we live in. people who ride harleys and build additions onto their houses with their own hands, when their 2nd wife's kids and grandkids  need to come home to live.  salt of the earth people.

today i was feeling the heat of what we're doing.  the push and pull of the oceans, the magnitude of this move- of how differently we do things- how differently we process things- after 20 years together- how kindness is so important- and gentleness- but how the tides can send those out to sea and we are left with salt on our skin, clinging to driftwood.

today i woke up and realized that i need a mantra.  other than 'help' which is more of a desperate plea.

mantra - a sound, words capable of creating transformation

that is what i need.

transformation.

awareness of the beauty in it all. because sometimes i forget.

a mantra would help in those times when i'm cleaning madly and the thoughts are flying and crashing into each other.  a mantra might bring calm- might bring me back to the center.  sometimes i can get a piece of a song in my head- a few words that will hold me still.  but maybe there needs to be more purpose to it.

i think it should be a piece of the old testament that i stumbled upon a years ago.  a piece of the book of lamentations:


'because of the Lord's unfailing love- we are not consumed.'

unfailing- without error or fault; reliable, consistent
not consumed- not done away with completely, not used up, not squandered, not devoured.

a reminder.  a promise. a gift.  a giant piece of driftwood.
for days when i feel slightly swallowed.  to say those words of peace.
 
the night is here now- cool and glowing and humming.
because of the love.  not consumed.
and the sweetness of the man i love- despite our differences in managing anxiety and change, there is no one i'd rather cross that ocean with.
because of the love.

cork-wedge heels and my favorite patient

it's late but i have a little story to tell.

today i escaped my house for an hour to go to a shoe store- called 'shoe center' where they sell discounted, styly comfortable shoes- emphasis on the word comfortable.  clogs, birkenstocks, etc.  i love shoes- have loved them since i can remember.  i used to sleep with my new shoes when i was 4. i love really cute shoes, different shoes, shoes that stand out.  but over the years i've realized that i need them to be comfortable also- cute is no longer enough.  on friday, someone i work with  (who also happened to be wearing a hand made, super-cool superwoman belt) told me about 'shoe center' so i had to check it.
i ended up buying a pair of cork wedge heels that rock and are comfortable. 

the shoe store happens to be around the corner from the VA hospital where i work.  and my favorite patient- my african american dad- is there and i know how much he and his wife appreciate a good pair of shoes, because they always comment on mine.  so i called up his wife intent on telling her about the 'shoe center' and their sale- in case she wanted to hop over while he was napping.  but i also wanted to check in on them- i was having the stirring. 

i asked how things were going- how he was feeling - how she was handling everything.
she told me she was alright- that she hadn't yet come in to the hospital- but she'd be in soon. 

and then she asked me if she could ask me something.  when someone asks to ask- you know it's going to be heavy.

"is this it?  is his body shutting down?"

i didn't want to answer that- even though i'd sensed it coming.  i didn't want to answer it because i wanted to talk about shoes.  because i don't want to think about his body shutting down- because i don't want him to die- because i'm not ready.

"yes. it's starting to.  we're moving into that stage- his liver isn't working well- he's getting all full of fluid- there isn't any more chemo that we can give to help fight the cancer back."

i paused. 

she was quiet.

"OK.  i thought so."

"i think he knows too" i said.  " when i spoke with him early yesterday morning i told him his cancer had spread- that's why his pain was worse- that's why he'd turned yellow in the eyes- that's why he has 10# of fluid in his legs- and he'd nodded- he said he knew."

"i'm OK.  really, i'll be OK"

"i know you will.  i'm hear for you both.  i wish we weren't in this place- i wish things were different."

"you go and enjoy you're weekend."

and then it slipped out.  i didn't mean it to, but it did.

"the thing is, i really care for you guys.  i feel like you are my other set of parents."  that darn transparency- that holey filter that lets things slip through- things i'd rather keep to myself.

she laughed.  "i know you do.  we know that.  he cares for you too- and you know i 'preciate you-
you go on- i'll call you if i need you.  i thank you for calling.  'preciate you- i do."

last month, when i told them i was leaving, moving to africa- we were all sad. i remember wondering who'd be leaving first- who should leave first- would it be easier if i headed out while he was hanging on- or would it be better for me to be there in the end- for him, for his wife.  i don't know- but the closer you are, the harder it can be to give the bad news, to speak it- to give voice to what you don't want to believe or accept yourself.  but that is part of caring for people- taking on the hard stuff- the bitter reality - being willing to 'go there' with people- because pretending it's not there- is isolating and wrong.
 
i was glad i'd called- that i'd listened to that stirring- even if it was for the wrong reason- even if slightly misguided- even if i was trying to make it all look pretty and talk about shoes.  even if i needed her to bring up what i think i knew she needed to ask.  she didn't need shoes- she needed to know if her husband is dying. and she needed to ask it when he wasn't within earshot -at least my shoe call gave that opportunity. 

and it's hard to find that balance - between the heavy and light- between acknowledging a life- acknowledging death and also knowing that life goes on.

and it brought up for me, how hard it can be to live inside part of other peoples lives- how hard it can be when you know your patients as people- when you think about them outside of hospital walls, even while buying shoes on a  saturday morning. 

when it rains

good morning- i guess. i really struggle with the rain.  it attaches to me and i can't get away from it. it follows me around and around and i rain down on everyone else.

'Strange how hard it rains now
Rows and rows of big dark clouds
When I'm holding on underneath this shroud'


patty griffin 


i think it's also because i'm just done with being without mike.  really.  i miss him so much.  for the first week i was in the mode of getting the one parent routine down- getting super organized- to maintain our lives.  lunches ready the night before, coffee on the automatic timer- dishes done before we eat- toothpaste on the brushes before breakfast is done.  but after a while- i let my guard down- and i allow myself to think about my life with out him and how awful it would be- in my heart.  because after a while i've proven that i can physically handle it- even the yard work- even lugging those giant trash cans up the driveway hill- even getting everyone everywhere they need to be and paying some bills- and getting the house ready to show in 30 minutes- and finishing up some basic painting.  and right around that time that i know i can do it, i realize how much i don't want to do it alone- and not just alone- but without mike, that man who's gently held my heart for 22 years.  and i remember that it's not just hard to take care of three kids alone- what's especially hard is taking care of three kids when you're only half here. and that is how it feels. incomplete.

i watched 'out of africa' the other night.  that's when it started for me, when africa became real.  1985- when 'banana republic' was about safari clothes and had a hand-drawn catalog,  when 'live-aid' happened and suddenly the US was looking at africa- and my eyes were opened a little bit more- to world and her needs- and to the beauty and mystery of a far away place.

as a movie i loved the music- and the images-  it's ability to transport us to 20th century colonial kenya- and it's romance.  but i've struggled with the characters.  denys finchhatten seems selfish in his desire to be totally free- and not tied down- not "owned" like karen's crystal and limoge.  karen seems to crave and need stability, routine in the chaos, partnership in life, a guarantee.  she began to care for bror because she hoped he could offer that.  after her first night with him in africa- he leaves without a goodbye- and she is told that he'll be back when it rains.  'will it rain today?' she asks.  ' it can be many days before the rains.' and when it does- she meets him out on the path- in the rain- 'i want you to come home now'.  ultimately his wandering and infidelity cost her her heath- her ability to bear a child- and she is left- with her farm- and her unwanted freedom.  her life is hard- especially her life in love. denys cares for her- but cares for himself more- for his separateness- a contrast she ultimately can't live with- and again, she is alone.

we're left with the question: if you love someone do you set them free? or if you love someone do you allow yourself to be committed- to be perhaps less free? 

if i've found anything in last 22 years- it's both.  there is freedom in boundaries- more than in roaming.  and yet, in the safety of commitment, you need to allow each other to be set free.  to support each other in the search for evolving identity, to know when the other needs to 'roam', to trust their process, to trust their return, to look forward to the newness that come in that.  to be gentle, to do no harm to the other.  that was my trip to ethiopia- such a needed time- for me- without the kids- even without him- and i came home more whole.  and that is his trip now- to be in uganda with out us- to see it with different eyes- with just his eyes.  and to walk the streets of amsterdam- alone.  to not have the noise of his life for a few days.  noise that he loves- but now with a new ability to remember how much he loves it.

so i will wait for him- in the rain. and tomorrow we'll be together again- with that newness embracing the old connection- enjoying together the joys of the freedom in the commitment.