I had an intense conversation with Auntie and Aaron yesterday at coffee while my mom was napping. We talked about religion and belief and what comes after death and what we each believe in that regard. Aaron definitely believes in heaven and even an abstract version of angels. Auntie said she is starting to believe there is something after death, hopefully a heaven. The closest I've ever been able to come to an afterlife is the philosophical perspective of Buddhism, which says that the more you suffer in this life, the better off you will be in your next life. Aaron brought it all together very nicely (my brilliant little cuz) in saying that whatever doctrine or title you give it, the message is that the spirit of a person never dies as long as other people remember them. I said, yes, but I'll miss the talking and hugging part. So then I went back to my mom and asked her what she believed. She said she believes in heaven in the same sense Oma Thea did which is that we have to believe there's something beautiful to come to us where we can be re-united. It's very Christian-sounding, but who cares. Then of course I had to talk to Laura about it because she and I believe the same things, which are less concrete and definable than a heaven or hell or nothing at all. We don't really have faith in anything. My question was, now that I know what my mother believes, should I try to believe it too? I wrote in our little notebook (Maggie gave us to ask each other questions or tell each other things we don't want to say outloud), "Do you believe in angels? Will you be my mommy angel?" I haven't seen yet if she responded. So that was intense yesterday. I'm still undecided about whether I should be trying to believe in something totally different than what I've always (not) believed in just to try to find a way to cope...
I've also been talking a lot with Laura about heavy intense stuff I haven't been able to talk about before. One thing was the fact that I can't image being there at the moment my mother goes. I actually had a terrible night's sleep last night because of the intense imagery I was seeing of my mother and death. When I told Laura I didn't want to be there when she actually goes because I have never seen a dead body and the idea freaks me out, she said that's the opposite of what she would think because she would think my mom would want to be surrounded with love in her last moments. She has a good point and my reply was just that it's a selfish sentiment mostly because it's just too damn hard to prepare for something like that. It wasn't a long conversation, but it was something I'd never said outloud. Since I've been alone for the past while, thinking about it more, if Reyes called and said I should come because this is it, of course I would come. I don't think it's a moment anyone can really be prepared for.
Which brings me to my last piece. I had a very strange a disturbing but relevant dream in my last 2 hours of sleep this morning (after letting the dog out). I was in a show as a dancer but the setting was unfamiliar, there were no familiar people there, and I had absolutly no idea what I was supposed to be doing. It felt like I'd had rehearsals or at least I remembered some faint rehearsals but could not for the life of me remember the staging or the choreography. These strangers, these other people in the show kept comforting me and telling me I could handle it and that I'd be fine, but all I could do was feel anxiety and nervousness. Do you see the metaphor? Not that I'm into dream interpretation, but this one sure made sense to me given the more prevalent thought's I've had lately. The fact is, there is no dress rehearsal for death. No amount of practice or rehearsal could tell me how and where to be when it happens. The only message I could take of optimism was that there were an abundance of people who surrounded me with the confidence that I would find a way to make it work (my motto this year--thanks Tim Gunn). I woke up feeling sad and depressed, but the dog licked my face and I found a message in the dream. If I get the chance, I think I'll tell my mother about the dream.
Without work, all I can think about is my mother and it's driving me nuts. I'm glad Laura's been here because I've had something to do every day but she leaves on Wednesday. I'm still going to try to plan something to do each day so I don't get stuck on the couch with my sadness.
I've also felt relatively sick to my stomach, even beyond that worst hangover of my life day. I think it's the stress of thinking of going to Australia. I found out that there is a flight back to SF on the 10, 11, 12. I'm going to have a conversation with my mom about the strength of her will and that she does have some say in when she is done in that regard (Maggie and Laura both think so too). Mommy was so tired today but in good spirits. I just don't know how much more of this I can put her through by asking her to wait. I already feel guilt for just thinking about that. If I'm afraid of not being here when it happens, why am I telling myself I don't want to be there when it happens? It doesn't make sense. I still don't know if I should go...
Monday, December 28, 2009
Tuesday, December 22, 2009
Even older email...
From 10/19/09...
I wanted to just let you know a little more about our visit with my mom from yesterday because it was so positive. My dad and I went in there honestly just hoping for her to be peaceful and comfortable. When we went in, she was waking from sleep and was so peaceful and comfortable--so we were happy already! (Compared to the agonizing night she went into the hospital when she was just not Judy AT ALL.) From there, things only got better. She showed definite signs of recognition of both me and my dad. Any time my dad leaned over her, she puckered her lips for a kiss from him. She reached to my face and touched it and pulled it to her. She reached out to hold our hands. She was still also doing weird stuff like playing with the sheets and trying to pull off the wires attached to her (including an IV she pulled out before we came). I had a little beanie baby and she played with it. She opened her eyes really wide like she always does and smiled really big at us while making eye contact. Her verbalizations were minimal (as opposed to the day before where anytime her eyes were open she was babbling nonsensical statements) but they were mostly meaningful. She responded when the doc asked How are you? With Fine how are you? Responded to I love you with I love you too (she was doing that the day before too but with no eye contact or sign of meaning it). She even added a "Honey" now and then. Apparently frontal lobe injuries affect peoples' personalities so to see this glimmer of Judy was amazing. She also ate 1/3 of a cup of applesauce with no sign of nausea. We are thinking (hoping?) that her frontal lobe injury has also affected her nausea reflex--at least temporarily so maybe she can eat a bunch during this weird time. The amazing part of that was that one thing the doc said might be affected by her injury is her ability to swallow. She chewed and swallowed independently which was more than anyone expected at that point. So all this was good and then the doc came in and gave my dad and me the little boost of hope that we had pretty much lost.
He focused on the fact that a drug they gave her the night before appeared to have stopped the bleeding in the brain (they tested again the night before and found the bleeding/bruise had gotten worse so they gave her this emergency drug--we didn't know about this until we got there and I'm happy about that). They were also giving her plasma to thicken the blood. The scan they did in the morning showed that the bleeding was controlled at that point. Of course they were going to continue monitoring, but we were happy even for a snippet of good news. They are also monitoring for clots in the legs and will install a "filter" if they find any. This doc (an oncologist with John Muir) also emphasized the importance of getting her back on chemo! He told us about some other chemo drugs we might bring up that are easier to absorb because they don't need to be processed by the liver like the Xeloda she had been taking. He seemed actually OPTIMISTIC that chemo treatment for colon cancer can be effective, even after seeing my mother's state. And the last cool thing was that her legs looked like her legs again. Almost no swelling left. She has been peeing like a racehorse for the past week and yesterday she had knees, calves, ankles, and toes that looked like my mother's again. Also, her abdomen is not distended nearly as much. Still a bit, but no longer looking "pregnant" like she did before. We brought this up to the doc and asked if it meant anything good besides the obvious relief from the discomfort she experienced from being so swollen. He explained that it was possible that the chemo she has had has already decreased the tumor on the liver to a point where it is producing the protein that keeps fluid in the veins instead of floating around her legs. It makes sense to us that this is the case given the decrease in edema. She was independently lifting her legs and sitting up in bed (even though she wasn't supposed to, we couldn't help but see it as a good thing!). He told us a number that is a measure of how much cancer is in her and advised us to ask at Kaiser what the original number was. The number was 151 and he said if the original number was 400 or 500 it would indicate the chemo has been "quite effective" so that is something we will definitely be doing. Apparently, even without completing a full cycle, the amount she did have (especially the infusions) could have decreased the liver issue by a lot. Hearing a doc speak optimistically (and based on fact not our wishes) about my mother was refreshing a new to us. My dad and I felt so content, because whatever else comes, at least we had that visit.
So Kaiser is of course trying to get her back there because it is soooooo expensive to them for her to be there. It is up to the neuro-surgeon and no one else as to whether she is ready to go to Kaiser. The oncologist thought it might be today so we are waiting to hear. I will try to let everyone know if that is the case. It will still be a while before she is ready to talk to people, especially if they keep her in the ICU (which is amazing--the nurses are amazing there). In fact, the nurse was so grateful we came because she got to actually meet Judy.
So in all of this, whatever else comes, as it always does, at least we got to see mommy a bit in there and hear a doc speak with optimism about the cancer. We are not out of these woods yet (not for a long time) but maybe we have found a sunny meadow to rest in...
I wanted to just let you know a little more about our visit with my mom from yesterday because it was so positive. My dad and I went in there honestly just hoping for her to be peaceful and comfortable. When we went in, she was waking from sleep and was so peaceful and comfortable--so we were happy already! (Compared to the agonizing night she went into the hospital when she was just not Judy AT ALL.) From there, things only got better. She showed definite signs of recognition of both me and my dad. Any time my dad leaned over her, she puckered her lips for a kiss from him. She reached to my face and touched it and pulled it to her. She reached out to hold our hands. She was still also doing weird stuff like playing with the sheets and trying to pull off the wires attached to her (including an IV she pulled out before we came). I had a little beanie baby and she played with it. She opened her eyes really wide like she always does and smiled really big at us while making eye contact. Her verbalizations were minimal (as opposed to the day before where anytime her eyes were open she was babbling nonsensical statements) but they were mostly meaningful. She responded when the doc asked How are you? With Fine how are you? Responded to I love you with I love you too (she was doing that the day before too but with no eye contact or sign of meaning it). She even added a "Honey" now and then. Apparently frontal lobe injuries affect peoples' personalities so to see this glimmer of Judy was amazing. She also ate 1/3 of a cup of applesauce with no sign of nausea. We are thinking (hoping?) that her frontal lobe injury has also affected her nausea reflex--at least temporarily so maybe she can eat a bunch during this weird time. The amazing part of that was that one thing the doc said might be affected by her injury is her ability to swallow. She chewed and swallowed independently which was more than anyone expected at that point. So all this was good and then the doc came in and gave my dad and me the little boost of hope that we had pretty much lost.
He focused on the fact that a drug they gave her the night before appeared to have stopped the bleeding in the brain (they tested again the night before and found the bleeding/bruise had gotten worse so they gave her this emergency drug--we didn't know about this until we got there and I'm happy about that). They were also giving her plasma to thicken the blood. The scan they did in the morning showed that the bleeding was controlled at that point. Of course they were going to continue monitoring, but we were happy even for a snippet of good news. They are also monitoring for clots in the legs and will install a "filter" if they find any. This doc (an oncologist with John Muir) also emphasized the importance of getting her back on chemo! He told us about some other chemo drugs we might bring up that are easier to absorb because they don't need to be processed by the liver like the Xeloda she had been taking. He seemed actually OPTIMISTIC that chemo treatment for colon cancer can be effective, even after seeing my mother's state. And the last cool thing was that her legs looked like her legs again. Almost no swelling left. She has been peeing like a racehorse for the past week and yesterday she had knees, calves, ankles, and toes that looked like my mother's again. Also, her abdomen is not distended nearly as much. Still a bit, but no longer looking "pregnant" like she did before. We brought this up to the doc and asked if it meant anything good besides the obvious relief from the discomfort she experienced from being so swollen. He explained that it was possible that the chemo she has had has already decreased the tumor on the liver to a point where it is producing the protein that keeps fluid in the veins instead of floating around her legs. It makes sense to us that this is the case given the decrease in edema. She was independently lifting her legs and sitting up in bed (even though she wasn't supposed to, we couldn't help but see it as a good thing!). He told us a number that is a measure of how much cancer is in her and advised us to ask at Kaiser what the original number was. The number was 151 and he said if the original number was 400 or 500 it would indicate the chemo has been "quite effective" so that is something we will definitely be doing. Apparently, even without completing a full cycle, the amount she did have (especially the infusions) could have decreased the liver issue by a lot. Hearing a doc speak optimistically (and based on fact not our wishes) about my mother was refreshing a new to us. My dad and I felt so content, because whatever else comes, at least we had that visit.
So Kaiser is of course trying to get her back there because it is soooooo expensive to them for her to be there. It is up to the neuro-surgeon and no one else as to whether she is ready to go to Kaiser. The oncologist thought it might be today so we are waiting to hear. I will try to let everyone know if that is the case. It will still be a while before she is ready to talk to people, especially if they keep her in the ICU (which is amazing--the nurses are amazing there). In fact, the nurse was so grateful we came because she got to actually meet Judy.
So in all of this, whatever else comes, as it always does, at least we got to see mommy a bit in there and hear a doc speak with optimism about the cancer. We are not out of these woods yet (not for a long time) but maybe we have found a sunny meadow to rest in...
Older email...
From 10/20/09...
After a brief stay at John Muir and a scare of fluid in the lungs, my mom is safe and sound at Kaiser Antioch (they were the nearest Kaiser with a room available). She is in the cardiac monitoring unit because of her lungs but she is comfortable and well cared-for. She will not have calls or visitors for a while but know she loves you all and appreciates all your prayers and love!
I'm not sure how much you all know about how she ended up back in the hospital, so in a nutshell, she fell and hit her head on Friday and has a contusion on her brain (frontal lobe). The fluid in the lungs is a serious complication (and side-effect of the brain issue and its treatment) but she has begun breathing much better now and is increasingly responsive. The contusion is on her frontal lobe which controls her personality, but it is definitely my mother looking at and communicating with us, just not a lot of talking at the moment. For a "normal" person, a contusion would heal and typical mental functioning would be restored. Given my mother's obvious multiple issues, it's difficult to say what her "recovery" will be like at this point. We are grateful she is comfortable and cared-for and take each moment of improvement as just that, a moment of happiness. I will try to keep everyone posted--please forgive me if there have been holes--I'm not sure who I send things to sometimes...it's sort of like walking around in a swimming pool right now.
After a brief stay at John Muir and a scare of fluid in the lungs, my mom is safe and sound at Kaiser Antioch (they were the nearest Kaiser with a room available). She is in the cardiac monitoring unit because of her lungs but she is comfortable and well cared-for. She will not have calls or visitors for a while but know she loves you all and appreciates all your prayers and love!
I'm not sure how much you all know about how she ended up back in the hospital, so in a nutshell, she fell and hit her head on Friday and has a contusion on her brain (frontal lobe). The fluid in the lungs is a serious complication (and side-effect of the brain issue and its treatment) but she has begun breathing much better now and is increasingly responsive. The contusion is on her frontal lobe which controls her personality, but it is definitely my mother looking at and communicating with us, just not a lot of talking at the moment. For a "normal" person, a contusion would heal and typical mental functioning would be restored. Given my mother's obvious multiple issues, it's difficult to say what her "recovery" will be like at this point. We are grateful she is comfortable and cared-for and take each moment of improvement as just that, a moment of happiness. I will try to keep everyone posted--please forgive me if there have been holes--I'm not sure who I send things to sometimes...it's sort of like walking around in a swimming pool right now.
Email pieces
Pieces of an email to Maggie...
I don't really know how to assess her actual condition. The things that have nearly killed her in the past still exist in her, but it's hard to know at what level. Her liver was so dysfunctional for a long time that it stopped producing a protein that keeps fluid in her veins instead of causing the severe edema. Somehow that protein started being produced again when she was in the ICU for her brain. So I look at her ankles every day to see. She's always had a rapid pulse so it's hard to tell if that's problematic (actually the most important med is the metropolol for blood pressure). The seizure med only came after her brain injury because she had 1 seizure (that we know of) and nothing since then, so I'm not too worried about that one. I've heard her cough a few times, but nothing compared with the day I brought her to the ER when they found the pulmonary embola. Her brain seems to be fully recovered, and things that were so problematic "before" are not any longer. The thing that IS problematic is the fact that she doesn't eat. I once said, "Of all the things she could die of, why should starvation be the thing that kills her?" We tried a feeding tube while her brain was messed up and she pulled it out (like all the IV's as well). That's why we didn't do a G tube (also because they don't like to do that unless there's a chance for longevity or a resolution to the underlying problem). So I am feeling right now like the more she thinks it's time for her to die, the less likely she will be to fight, whether her body is actually ready or not. I'm not ready for her to go (and never will be). There were times in the past 4 months when we though death would be a blessing, but I'm at the point now where I can talk to her and I don't want to lose that again. I don't understand what she's going through or how any of this works, but i know it's not in my mother's nature to give up. A wise young man we met in chemo told her "You have to reach acceptance without resignation." She's told me she's ready to die several times. If it's time, it's time and there's nothing I can do about it. I'm just trying to live my life and treat each day/moment with her as if it's the last. I think about what it will be like and who I'll call and what I'll do when it finally happens. I'm trying to "prepare" like my dad without being preoccupied with it.
For some reason, in my mind, February has been the month. I don't know why--just one day it occurred to me, it's going to happen in February. If there's even a remote chance she'll make it till then, at least there's a possibility of me getting pregnant (which may be all she's "waiting" for) and that I can go to Australia without regret (I've never been so in need of a vacation in my entire life). Regardless of what actually happens, we have had an astounding journey and my mother has proven to everyone what a remarkable woman she is, even at the end. Though it is tragically being cut short, I think she's satisfied with what she's accomplished, and though we won't be able to share the dreams we had together (grandmother-hood) she will never truly go away because she is in everything I do and say and think forever.
I don't really know how to assess her actual condition. The things that have nearly killed her in the past still exist in her, but it's hard to know at what level. Her liver was so dysfunctional for a long time that it stopped producing a protein that keeps fluid in her veins instead of causing the severe edema. Somehow that protein started being produced again when she was in the ICU for her brain. So I look at her ankles every day to see. She's always had a rapid pulse so it's hard to tell if that's problematic (actually the most important med is the metropolol for blood pressure). The seizure med only came after her brain injury because she had 1 seizure (that we know of) and nothing since then, so I'm not too worried about that one. I've heard her cough a few times, but nothing compared with the day I brought her to the ER when they found the pulmonary embola. Her brain seems to be fully recovered, and things that were so problematic "before" are not any longer. The thing that IS problematic is the fact that she doesn't eat. I once said, "Of all the things she could die of, why should starvation be the thing that kills her?" We tried a feeding tube while her brain was messed up and she pulled it out (like all the IV's as well). That's why we didn't do a G tube (also because they don't like to do that unless there's a chance for longevity or a resolution to the underlying problem). So I am feeling right now like the more she thinks it's time for her to die, the less likely she will be to fight, whether her body is actually ready or not. I'm not ready for her to go (and never will be). There were times in the past 4 months when we though death would be a blessing, but I'm at the point now where I can talk to her and I don't want to lose that again. I don't understand what she's going through or how any of this works, but i know it's not in my mother's nature to give up. A wise young man we met in chemo told her "You have to reach acceptance without resignation." She's told me she's ready to die several times. If it's time, it's time and there's nothing I can do about it. I'm just trying to live my life and treat each day/moment with her as if it's the last. I think about what it will be like and who I'll call and what I'll do when it finally happens. I'm trying to "prepare" like my dad without being preoccupied with it.
For some reason, in my mind, February has been the month. I don't know why--just one day it occurred to me, it's going to happen in February. If there's even a remote chance she'll make it till then, at least there's a possibility of me getting pregnant (which may be all she's "waiting" for) and that I can go to Australia without regret (I've never been so in need of a vacation in my entire life). Regardless of what actually happens, we have had an astounding journey and my mother has proven to everyone what a remarkable woman she is, even at the end. Though it is tragically being cut short, I think she's satisfied with what she's accomplished, and though we won't be able to share the dreams we had together (grandmother-hood) she will never truly go away because she is in everything I do and say and think forever.
Monday, November 23, 2009
Unrequited
It always starts the same. That burning tingling feeling in the middle of my throat. The only remedy is tears. Once they come it's hard to stop, but at least the burning goes. I hold it in for her, but for me it has to happen.
It feels like unrequited love. Unconditional, undying love for her and nothing genuine returned. I know she loves me. She says she loves me but "her" behavior is not of love. In my endless trying to help, she pushes me away. Patience is of no use; she doesn't even give me time to try it.
She actually said she wants to die. She listed all her ailments (accurately) then said she was done. Cheryl and I told her we need her still. Then my heart broke. This is not the life she wants. Not like this. Not yet.
She's trying to rationalize why she's not teaching. She's saying it because she's just done with those kids and she's just tired of it. She doesn't seem to realize it's not even possible, just like going to the bathroom, the mall, or home isn't possible anymore. Never again...
It makes me wonder, "What defines a person?" Is it her heart? Her mind? Her soul? What is left of a person when their heart and their mind are done? The soul. We must trust the soul.
It's like she's the worst of all parts of herself, unfiltered. A loose cannon, impulsive, snippy, and even violent. The devil that's been living on her shoulder her whole life, tamed by the angel everyone else knew and loved. Cancer took the angel; the fall (ironically) took the angel from us.
I know she loves me, but this is not my mother. It's bare bones of my mother (literally). A skeleton and a lingering story of the woman she was.
Cheryl asked me the criteria for going home. I shook my head and mouthed, "None." Mother said, "Criteria for what?" and I quickly covered with, "Going to the mall. It's not jail here you know." It's really not, yet she's imprisoned by her disability and weakness. Caged in a bed with a diaper and a purposely dark room.
We had moments, but it's been a while. Lately she's "all business." Story after story, catalogue after catalogue, compliant after complaint. I can't imagine what she's going through. And she can't imagine what I'm going through.
How can I do my life without her? I got used to the idea, then this tease came. It is just a tease. A peek at the real her, then back to this. Where did my moments go? They were really all I had.
She loves me. I know she does. This love is not unrequited, just difficult. But what love isn't?
It feels like unrequited love. Unconditional, undying love for her and nothing genuine returned. I know she loves me. She says she loves me but "her" behavior is not of love. In my endless trying to help, she pushes me away. Patience is of no use; she doesn't even give me time to try it.
She actually said she wants to die. She listed all her ailments (accurately) then said she was done. Cheryl and I told her we need her still. Then my heart broke. This is not the life she wants. Not like this. Not yet.
She's trying to rationalize why she's not teaching. She's saying it because she's just done with those kids and she's just tired of it. She doesn't seem to realize it's not even possible, just like going to the bathroom, the mall, or home isn't possible anymore. Never again...
It makes me wonder, "What defines a person?" Is it her heart? Her mind? Her soul? What is left of a person when their heart and their mind are done? The soul. We must trust the soul.
It's like she's the worst of all parts of herself, unfiltered. A loose cannon, impulsive, snippy, and even violent. The devil that's been living on her shoulder her whole life, tamed by the angel everyone else knew and loved. Cancer took the angel; the fall (ironically) took the angel from us.
I know she loves me, but this is not my mother. It's bare bones of my mother (literally). A skeleton and a lingering story of the woman she was.
Cheryl asked me the criteria for going home. I shook my head and mouthed, "None." Mother said, "Criteria for what?" and I quickly covered with, "Going to the mall. It's not jail here you know." It's really not, yet she's imprisoned by her disability and weakness. Caged in a bed with a diaper and a purposely dark room.
We had moments, but it's been a while. Lately she's "all business." Story after story, catalogue after catalogue, compliant after complaint. I can't imagine what she's going through. And she can't imagine what I'm going through.
How can I do my life without her? I got used to the idea, then this tease came. It is just a tease. A peek at the real her, then back to this. Where did my moments go? They were really all I had.
She loves me. I know she does. This love is not unrequited, just difficult. But what love isn't?
Sunday, October 25, 2009
Lessons From My Mother
- When you reach into a hot oven, you might get burned.
- When something's broken, there's always someone you can call to help.
- One person CAN make a difference.
- Always bring a sweater, even when it's 187 degrees outside.
- It's ok to call your mom/daughter your best friend even if it makes your husbands jealous.
- It's ok to worry about the small stuff (someone has to!).
- Even when you're exhausted, always try as hard as you can.
- It feels better to buy something for someone else than for yourself.
- It's ok to forget what you're talking about mid-sentence, as long as someone is listening.
- NEVER leave the house without your pants on.
- Any child can be taught.
- A cold washcloth and a Sprite make everything better.
- Some things are worth getting depressed about--everything else you just have to deal with.
- If you only break off half a cookie, it doesn't count.
- There's no knot too big to untangle--just go one strand at a time.
- You have to be able to laugh at yourself.
- There is some value to ironing (though I haven't figured it out yet).
- Even when you're frustrated, irritated, annoyed, fershimelt, JUST BE NICE.
To be continued... (forever)
Saturday, September 12, 2009
Something Good is Bound to Come
Shining lightning brightens the air.
A thunderous clap applauds the break of day.
Beyond the clouds, a stretch of sunny sky--
For something good is bound to come.
Static tension swamps the stormy sky;
Another strike lurking in our midst.
Waiting quietly. Watching, with what hope?
That something good is bound to come.
Past are days of unconditional sun.
A different kind of weather rules us now.
A darker kind, that forces sheltered calm.
But something good is bound to come.
A drop of rain. Another. Then the flood.
The wetness showers away the dirt and scum.
Lovely, fresh, and clean the world is now.
And something good is bound to come...
A thunderous clap applauds the break of day.
Beyond the clouds, a stretch of sunny sky--
For something good is bound to come.
Static tension swamps the stormy sky;
Another strike lurking in our midst.
Waiting quietly. Watching, with what hope?
That something good is bound to come.
Past are days of unconditional sun.
A different kind of weather rules us now.
A darker kind, that forces sheltered calm.
But something good is bound to come.
A drop of rain. Another. Then the flood.
The wetness showers away the dirt and scum.
Lovely, fresh, and clean the world is now.
And something good is bound to come...
Monday, August 31, 2009
Faith and The Inevitable
I find myself torn between the necessity for faith that she will survive and the reality that everyone dies: it's just a matter of when and what your quality of life is like while you're here. I think I'm afraid that if I let myself get too comfortable in optimism that I am jinxing myself and surely The Inevitable will happen. However, if I constantly expect the worst, I will never be disappointed but I'll spend all my time thinking about the worst. I guess I have to find some not-really-happy medium. I'm not religious. I'm not sure what I have faith in. But if ever there was a time to believe, it would be now. What is it exactly that makes people believe. I'm waiting for something--shouldn't this be it? Maybe Survival will make me believe. Faith in doctors? Not so much at this point, but who else is there? I have faith in myself and in Luke and in my dad and an enormous amount of faith in my strong mother. Is that enough? Maybe it has to be.
I've been walking around noticing all the people who could be sick instead of my mother. Someone who's older. Someone who's fatter. Someone who's ugly. Why not them? What are they all worth that's better than my mother? I can't fathom there's a human being less "deserving" of this fate, whatever it is, that brings nothing but suffering to her.
OK so I was just struck by faith. Buddhism and reincarnation. They believe that the more suffering you endure in your life, the better your next life will be. Even if it's just a little bug that gets squashed, he suffered so maybe he'll come back a rat instead. They believe that it is through suffering that you find enlightenment. That is the only way, in fact. For those of us who are not enlightened, this suffering will surely bring some form of illumination...
My mom's not Buddhist, but maybe this is where I can find the faith I need to be there fully for her. I think this was the missing link. Maybe a person really isn't complete without religion. I'm not technically a Buddhist but I can play one.
Official stuff... Last night in the ER, diagnosed with pulmonary embola (multiple blood clots in the lungs). She's on blood thinners. After a week, Buddha-willing, she will start chemo. Kill that crap inside her. So much crap. For now, one day at a time. Love and optimism. And delaying The Inevitable.
I've been walking around noticing all the people who could be sick instead of my mother. Someone who's older. Someone who's fatter. Someone who's ugly. Why not them? What are they all worth that's better than my mother? I can't fathom there's a human being less "deserving" of this fate, whatever it is, that brings nothing but suffering to her.
OK so I was just struck by faith. Buddhism and reincarnation. They believe that the more suffering you endure in your life, the better your next life will be. Even if it's just a little bug that gets squashed, he suffered so maybe he'll come back a rat instead. They believe that it is through suffering that you find enlightenment. That is the only way, in fact. For those of us who are not enlightened, this suffering will surely bring some form of illumination...
My mom's not Buddhist, but maybe this is where I can find the faith I need to be there fully for her. I think this was the missing link. Maybe a person really isn't complete without religion. I'm not technically a Buddhist but I can play one.
Official stuff... Last night in the ER, diagnosed with pulmonary embola (multiple blood clots in the lungs). She's on blood thinners. After a week, Buddha-willing, she will start chemo. Kill that crap inside her. So much crap. For now, one day at a time. Love and optimism. And delaying The Inevitable.
Wednesday, August 26, 2009
Intellect, Philosophy, Love, and Cancer
I've spent the last few weeks thinking about a phrase. I was thinking about it in hopes that I would never have to say it. I think I was trying to convince myself that if I kept thinking it, it wouldn't happen, like the murphy's law that says the more prepared you are for something, the less likely it is to happen. Every time I thought the phrase, I quietly shuddered and appeased myself by thinking something rational like, "We don't know everything yet." Or, "Just take this one step at a time." Or, "Don't assume anything." As if thinking the phrase itself would prevent it from being true.
Well it's true.
My mother has cancer.
(Pause, cry)
It felt better thinking the phrase with the possibility there still that is wasn't true. I haven't said it aloud yet and I don't think I can. I have typed it and texted it but part of me still feels like if i don't say it aloud there is still a possibility that it isn't real.
Well it's real.
(Pause, wipe the tears)
We have been relying on the internet as our source of information on the subject because the scant amount of info actually given by the doctors has been continually dissatisfying. They probably knew this since Friday and I can't think why they waited until today to tell her. I feel like every minute that ticks by gives those sonofabitch cells more time to spread. I feel hatred for the doctors that didn't take her seriously when she went to them months ago with the main symptom of being tired and not eating. She finally ended up getting a blood transfusion when SHE convinced the doctor to give her a blood test. Any lawyers out there know anything about suing for malpractice?
The diagnosis appears to be colon cancer that has metasticised to the liver. Based on the research Luke did on this, this is actually better that thinking she has 2 kinds of cancer. Typically, the liver is the first organ it goes to. So if they surgically remove the mass from her colon, treating the liver should be "easier" than if it was a separate cancer. This is, of course, assumption based on our own research, but Luke's pretty smart and I think I'll believe him until I have a reason not to. We don't know yet about lymph nodes. UGH.
The process we go through when confronted with this type of news (almost worst case--pancreas would have been worse but her pancreas is fine right now) is really interesting. From an intellectual perspective, you try to find a reason. Why would the kindest, most generous human I've ever known get this? Hmmm. I've always had the pholosophy that everything happens the way it's supposed to. I don't believe in a god (maybe after all this I will, or won't even more...) What greater purpose is there for this suffering? And then there's karma. What the hell? I can't think of a person LESS deserving of this than my mother. I think anyone who has ever known her would agree. Th outpouring of support from her colleagues at school has been beautiful and I can only imagine how hard many of them will also take this news... in stride I'm sure, and as an army ready to fight for a good cause...
So back to intellect because I really want to use reason as much as I can. I know my role in this is to continue functioning. I am a primary support person...whatever that means. Maybe this is what grandma's money is for and what all my accrued sick days are for. We have resources to be able to deal with this. I can find optimism in my mother's calm quiet attitute. But unlike the rest of her life, this isn't the time when we should be looking to her for strength. That will be the biggest challenge for all of us. To let her lean on us for once instead of vice versa.
My way of dealing here is to be philisophical. I think about mortality. I think about how our expectations for the way life goes never come true, and if they do you are some kind of freak. I am educated to work in a field where we deal with crisis and change constantly. Philosophically, I am prepared to deal with this and to lead my family through it. To fill my mother's shoes, per se, until she's ready to step back into them (which ultimatley I have confidence she will). Though it isn't clear to us now why this is happening, we can't know until we see what comes. We still can't assume anything about outcomes. We can read statistics and listen to a prognosis, but they don't mean anything because it's MY mother. She isn't a statistic and she isn't like anyone else. She has overcome numerous challenges in her life, and this just happens to be the biggest of all. She will face cancer and challenge it head on.
Love is the hard one. If we let our love for her govern our behavior, we become conflicted. I am now constantly asking myself--
Is it ok to smile?
Should I really be spending my time doing this?
Do I have to think about it all the time now?
Am I doing something wrong if I feel happy about something else?
I am torn between wanting to devote every ounce of my thought and attention and love to her, but at the same time, I have survival instincts too which tell me I need to continue to eat, sleep, exercise, and maybe even laugh once in a while. There has to be a balance and that's what we will need to find. Just because I am doing other things doesn't mean my love is diminished in any way.
(Pause, reflect)
So where do we go from here, cancer? A brawl in an alley somewhere? Behavior modification? Punishment? Repeated beatings with a metal club? What will it take to make you go away?
Next steps.
What are the next steps.
Learn them. Do them.
What's the next step?
Well it's true.
My mother has cancer.
(Pause, cry)
It felt better thinking the phrase with the possibility there still that is wasn't true. I haven't said it aloud yet and I don't think I can. I have typed it and texted it but part of me still feels like if i don't say it aloud there is still a possibility that it isn't real.
Well it's real.
(Pause, wipe the tears)
We have been relying on the internet as our source of information on the subject because the scant amount of info actually given by the doctors has been continually dissatisfying. They probably knew this since Friday and I can't think why they waited until today to tell her. I feel like every minute that ticks by gives those sonofabitch cells more time to spread. I feel hatred for the doctors that didn't take her seriously when she went to them months ago with the main symptom of being tired and not eating. She finally ended up getting a blood transfusion when SHE convinced the doctor to give her a blood test. Any lawyers out there know anything about suing for malpractice?
The diagnosis appears to be colon cancer that has metasticised to the liver. Based on the research Luke did on this, this is actually better that thinking she has 2 kinds of cancer. Typically, the liver is the first organ it goes to. So if they surgically remove the mass from her colon, treating the liver should be "easier" than if it was a separate cancer. This is, of course, assumption based on our own research, but Luke's pretty smart and I think I'll believe him until I have a reason not to. We don't know yet about lymph nodes. UGH.
The process we go through when confronted with this type of news (almost worst case--pancreas would have been worse but her pancreas is fine right now) is really interesting. From an intellectual perspective, you try to find a reason. Why would the kindest, most generous human I've ever known get this? Hmmm. I've always had the pholosophy that everything happens the way it's supposed to. I don't believe in a god (maybe after all this I will, or won't even more...) What greater purpose is there for this suffering? And then there's karma. What the hell? I can't think of a person LESS deserving of this than my mother. I think anyone who has ever known her would agree. Th outpouring of support from her colleagues at school has been beautiful and I can only imagine how hard many of them will also take this news... in stride I'm sure, and as an army ready to fight for a good cause...
So back to intellect because I really want to use reason as much as I can. I know my role in this is to continue functioning. I am a primary support person...whatever that means. Maybe this is what grandma's money is for and what all my accrued sick days are for. We have resources to be able to deal with this. I can find optimism in my mother's calm quiet attitute. But unlike the rest of her life, this isn't the time when we should be looking to her for strength. That will be the biggest challenge for all of us. To let her lean on us for once instead of vice versa.
My way of dealing here is to be philisophical. I think about mortality. I think about how our expectations for the way life goes never come true, and if they do you are some kind of freak. I am educated to work in a field where we deal with crisis and change constantly. Philosophically, I am prepared to deal with this and to lead my family through it. To fill my mother's shoes, per se, until she's ready to step back into them (which ultimatley I have confidence she will). Though it isn't clear to us now why this is happening, we can't know until we see what comes. We still can't assume anything about outcomes. We can read statistics and listen to a prognosis, but they don't mean anything because it's MY mother. She isn't a statistic and she isn't like anyone else. She has overcome numerous challenges in her life, and this just happens to be the biggest of all. She will face cancer and challenge it head on.
Love is the hard one. If we let our love for her govern our behavior, we become conflicted. I am now constantly asking myself--
Is it ok to smile?
Should I really be spending my time doing this?
Do I have to think about it all the time now?
Am I doing something wrong if I feel happy about something else?
I am torn between wanting to devote every ounce of my thought and attention and love to her, but at the same time, I have survival instincts too which tell me I need to continue to eat, sleep, exercise, and maybe even laugh once in a while. There has to be a balance and that's what we will need to find. Just because I am doing other things doesn't mean my love is diminished in any way.
(Pause, reflect)
So where do we go from here, cancer? A brawl in an alley somewhere? Behavior modification? Punishment? Repeated beatings with a metal club? What will it take to make you go away?
Next steps.
What are the next steps.
Learn them. Do them.
What's the next step?
Monday, July 6, 2009
Things I would do if I had money
Though I know that money cannot buy happiness, there are many things that would make me happy that I do not have because of a tremendous lack of money. Here are the things I would do if I did (though I'm not sure they would actually make me happy, it's fun to think about it):
1) Donate money to my very poor school district.
2) Buy produce from a farmers' market instead of the dollar store.
3)Take a VAcation instead of a STAYcation.
4) Buy Luke plane tickets to see his family in Oz every month instead of every 2 years.
5) Drink beautiful wine instead of two-buck Chuck (ok that one would definitely make me happier)
6) Pay off my mortgage.
7) Buy a house with a yard and a garage.
8) Buy Luke a new car.
9) Eat dinner at Flemings.
10) See live theater in the city.
11) Take more dance classes, yoga, Bar Method, and join a pool club.
12) Get my mother a housekeeper.
13) Get Hazel a little doggie friend.
14) Buy Luke a Kegerator and more beer brewing equipment.
15) Dye my hair.
16) Throw away all coupons, even the ones Grandma sent me.
17) Fly Luke's mum here once a month.
18) Hire a personal trainer.
19) Go to culinary school.
20) Do pro-bono consulting work for families with children with autism.
21) Get Luke a new barbeque.
22) Buy Luke a boat.
23) Sail around the world.
Hey a girl can dream, can't she?
1) Donate money to my very poor school district.
2) Buy produce from a farmers' market instead of the dollar store.
3)Take a VAcation instead of a STAYcation.
4) Buy Luke plane tickets to see his family in Oz every month instead of every 2 years.
5) Drink beautiful wine instead of two-buck Chuck (ok that one would definitely make me happier)
6) Pay off my mortgage.
7) Buy a house with a yard and a garage.
8) Buy Luke a new car.
9) Eat dinner at Flemings.
10) See live theater in the city.
11) Take more dance classes, yoga, Bar Method, and join a pool club.
12) Get my mother a housekeeper.
13) Get Hazel a little doggie friend.
14) Buy Luke a Kegerator and more beer brewing equipment.
15) Dye my hair.
16) Throw away all coupons, even the ones Grandma sent me.
17) Fly Luke's mum here once a month.
18) Hire a personal trainer.
19) Go to culinary school.
20) Do pro-bono consulting work for families with children with autism.
21) Get Luke a new barbeque.
22) Buy Luke a boat.
23) Sail around the world.
Hey a girl can dream, can't she?
Saturday, March 21, 2009
To eat or not to eat, that is the question
The answer? Eat. Always Eat.
Having grown up in a dance studio and being told I had high cholesterol at the age of 12 and that I should watch what I eat, food has always been a bit of a touchy subject for me. I have always had that looming sense of guilt associated with eating. Though I enjoy the act, I am never satisfied with my choices. But never had this been such an issue that I became eaten up by food instead of the other way around.
A year and a half ago, our lives started taking a different direction that I had anticipated. I felt out of control of my own life. And so I started counting calories. I found something I could exert control over--my own body. And so my secret obsession began...
At first, I just listed them in a little notebook in the kitchen. Luke was the only one who saw it. I was ashamed and embarrased by it and didn't want anyone to know. But I couldn't stop. I limited my calorie intake based on numbers I got from the internet, based on my weight and activity level. It seemed perfectly healthy at that point. I also increased my exercise. Pretty soon, I began weighing myself more frequently as well. Still, not so unhealthy. There always seemed to be some benchmark in the future by which I wanted to be a certain weight (only ever within 5 pounds) but I obsessed over the fact that I could change my weight by keeping track of my calories and exercise. It was so cool! I felt empowered. And hungry. After a big weekend in which I would splurge (all the websites say you can splurge once a week and be ok), I would "punish" myself the next day by "practicing hunger" (I am wincing at the memory of actually talking myself into this) and limiting my calories more than usual. I would exercise, maybe a little extra, and watch the bloat from the previous day's binge grow smaller.
My body did change. I began looking for signs of skinniness like ribs, those nice dents on the upper chest, and particularly the divet between by ever diminishing breasts. I've always had a flat stomach and a round butt, and those things didn't change too much. At first. Then I began to buy pants that actually fit because mine were all getting too big. My friends asked where my butt went. I would always just say, "Oh I've been exercising." Not very many people knew the extent of my obsession. I would be upset if my clothes weren't too big. The cheekbones are nice too. And then the jaw muscles...
I only ever lost 13 pounds from the starting weight where I was in the beginning. And I never ate fewer than the bare minimum required to function. I don't think I did harm to my body. I may have messed with ym metabolism a bit, but I could always function and exercise. I never felt unhealthy, just really cold all the time. And really hungry.
The toll this obsession took on my brain and my social life were more apparent. I would struggle with every decision that required eating something I didn't know the calorie count for. I wouldn't go out to eat unless it was my splurge day. I made sure to eat "like a normal person" in front of other people, even if it meant not eating much all day before. It felt like a war in my brain. Rampant adding of numbers to decide whether or not I could eat more. I used to say I had to eat whenever I was hungry or I got really grumpy. Even though I got used to being hungry, I don't think anyone else got used to me being grumpy. I took up baking. I still loved cooking, but with everything I put in my mouth, there was a corresponding input of calories in the notebook. I don't think I lost frienships or sacrificed much, but the torture I put myself through for the sake of this obsession still lingers in me. A demented masochism. Aren't all dancers and atheletes masochistic on some level?
And then things changed. There were no more benchmarks for which I wanted to look a certain way or be a certain weight. I had several friends tell me randomly that if I ever wanted to have kids, I would need to gain weight. I didn't take it to heart, I took it as a compliment. But not any more. Now I realized my body is an amazing vessel. I am awed at the things my body can do as I explore other ways to exercise it. My choices now are obvious--always choose people. And eat. Always eat.
Though I am still counting calories, I feel like I've reached a better place with it. I can call it a habit now instead of an obsession. And I do not freak out if I am given food I don't know the calories for (although I pretty much know the calories in every food by now, or how to look it up). I make smart decisions. I eat enough for my body to continue doing the amazing things I know it is capable of. I'm moving on. It's the best thing for everyone. But especially for me.
Having grown up in a dance studio and being told I had high cholesterol at the age of 12 and that I should watch what I eat, food has always been a bit of a touchy subject for me. I have always had that looming sense of guilt associated with eating. Though I enjoy the act, I am never satisfied with my choices. But never had this been such an issue that I became eaten up by food instead of the other way around.
A year and a half ago, our lives started taking a different direction that I had anticipated. I felt out of control of my own life. And so I started counting calories. I found something I could exert control over--my own body. And so my secret obsession began...
At first, I just listed them in a little notebook in the kitchen. Luke was the only one who saw it. I was ashamed and embarrased by it and didn't want anyone to know. But I couldn't stop. I limited my calorie intake based on numbers I got from the internet, based on my weight and activity level. It seemed perfectly healthy at that point. I also increased my exercise. Pretty soon, I began weighing myself more frequently as well. Still, not so unhealthy. There always seemed to be some benchmark in the future by which I wanted to be a certain weight (only ever within 5 pounds) but I obsessed over the fact that I could change my weight by keeping track of my calories and exercise. It was so cool! I felt empowered. And hungry. After a big weekend in which I would splurge (all the websites say you can splurge once a week and be ok), I would "punish" myself the next day by "practicing hunger" (I am wincing at the memory of actually talking myself into this) and limiting my calories more than usual. I would exercise, maybe a little extra, and watch the bloat from the previous day's binge grow smaller.
My body did change. I began looking for signs of skinniness like ribs, those nice dents on the upper chest, and particularly the divet between by ever diminishing breasts. I've always had a flat stomach and a round butt, and those things didn't change too much. At first. Then I began to buy pants that actually fit because mine were all getting too big. My friends asked where my butt went. I would always just say, "Oh I've been exercising." Not very many people knew the extent of my obsession. I would be upset if my clothes weren't too big. The cheekbones are nice too. And then the jaw muscles...
I only ever lost 13 pounds from the starting weight where I was in the beginning. And I never ate fewer than the bare minimum required to function. I don't think I did harm to my body. I may have messed with ym metabolism a bit, but I could always function and exercise. I never felt unhealthy, just really cold all the time. And really hungry.
The toll this obsession took on my brain and my social life were more apparent. I would struggle with every decision that required eating something I didn't know the calorie count for. I wouldn't go out to eat unless it was my splurge day. I made sure to eat "like a normal person" in front of other people, even if it meant not eating much all day before. It felt like a war in my brain. Rampant adding of numbers to decide whether or not I could eat more. I used to say I had to eat whenever I was hungry or I got really grumpy. Even though I got used to being hungry, I don't think anyone else got used to me being grumpy. I took up baking. I still loved cooking, but with everything I put in my mouth, there was a corresponding input of calories in the notebook. I don't think I lost frienships or sacrificed much, but the torture I put myself through for the sake of this obsession still lingers in me. A demented masochism. Aren't all dancers and atheletes masochistic on some level?
And then things changed. There were no more benchmarks for which I wanted to look a certain way or be a certain weight. I had several friends tell me randomly that if I ever wanted to have kids, I would need to gain weight. I didn't take it to heart, I took it as a compliment. But not any more. Now I realized my body is an amazing vessel. I am awed at the things my body can do as I explore other ways to exercise it. My choices now are obvious--always choose people. And eat. Always eat.
Though I am still counting calories, I feel like I've reached a better place with it. I can call it a habit now instead of an obsession. And I do not freak out if I am given food I don't know the calories for (although I pretty much know the calories in every food by now, or how to look it up). I make smart decisions. I eat enough for my body to continue doing the amazing things I know it is capable of. I'm moving on. It's the best thing for everyone. But especially for me.
Sunday, March 8, 2009
Confessions of an Existentialist or How I Learned to Stop Trying to Please Everyone
Senior year of high school, my anthem was Queen's Boehmian Rhapsody ("Nothing really matters, to me..."). I read Albert Camus' The Stranger and was swept away in the world of "not caring." The ultimate escape within existence. You can exist without pain, without feelings, governed only by overwhelming apathy. Perhaps it was my hiding place from the crazy world of ending high school and going away to college in addition to my first boyfriend and hating living in my parents' house for the first time ever. I succumbed to the temptation of absence from the stress of caring about things that only ever caused pain and torment.
I have always been good at torturing myself over things--thinking too much about minor things and cracking every detail of things apart until there was nothing left to analyze. I have learned to filter through the things that are really worth the energy it takes to be stressed out. Recently, however, this filter has been stretched and expanded to encompass more than just the little things. I'm finding the only way to get through some days is to relinquish all sense of caring. If I expend all the engery it takes to care about every problem that comes up, I would make my new heart rate monitor explode. The only coping strategy is to turn it all off. I find myself sitting silently in meetings in which I would have formerly found myself burning red with something to say. A wave of apathy washes over me. And in a dark way, it feels good. I realize the limits of my power over this world and have learned to relish the satisfaction of willfully not participating. The factory of my being simply produces work, spends the necessary time to get the job done. But is caring necessary to function? I'm finding, no. In fact, caring impedes progress. The moment I start caring, productivity decreases. A machine doesn't care. A machine doesn't tune in to the delicate feelings of other people. A machine just spits out product after product, apathetic to the petty humans around it. I have learned to turn off caring in favor of productivity. In my wake I might leave a line of tear-streaked, over-sensitive, petty, closeminded people, but I keep moving forward, relentless and stoic. Their tears will dry. The knowledge that in some way I influenced their flow cannot impede the flow of progress. The goal of progress? Survival.
There is something to be said about the role of the soul in all of this. What is the essence of a soul? What defines it? Does one have to care about other people's souls to have a soul of her own? I know I have a soul. I'm not convinced that my apatheticism has stripped me of soul. This question may have to be answered later.
I have often been called selfish. An only child. A Jewish American Princess. All implicitly selfish labels. So not caring about other people should come easily to me. An inability to look outward or to feel empathy for others. I know I look, and I know I feel, but apathy rules all right now. What's wrong with being ish about oneself anyways?
I exist. I work. I love. I feel. But I cannot care about everyone to the point of depleting my own functionality. I choose me.
I have always been good at torturing myself over things--thinking too much about minor things and cracking every detail of things apart until there was nothing left to analyze. I have learned to filter through the things that are really worth the energy it takes to be stressed out. Recently, however, this filter has been stretched and expanded to encompass more than just the little things. I'm finding the only way to get through some days is to relinquish all sense of caring. If I expend all the engery it takes to care about every problem that comes up, I would make my new heart rate monitor explode. The only coping strategy is to turn it all off. I find myself sitting silently in meetings in which I would have formerly found myself burning red with something to say. A wave of apathy washes over me. And in a dark way, it feels good. I realize the limits of my power over this world and have learned to relish the satisfaction of willfully not participating. The factory of my being simply produces work, spends the necessary time to get the job done. But is caring necessary to function? I'm finding, no. In fact, caring impedes progress. The moment I start caring, productivity decreases. A machine doesn't care. A machine doesn't tune in to the delicate feelings of other people. A machine just spits out product after product, apathetic to the petty humans around it. I have learned to turn off caring in favor of productivity. In my wake I might leave a line of tear-streaked, over-sensitive, petty, closeminded people, but I keep moving forward, relentless and stoic. Their tears will dry. The knowledge that in some way I influenced their flow cannot impede the flow of progress. The goal of progress? Survival.
There is something to be said about the role of the soul in all of this. What is the essence of a soul? What defines it? Does one have to care about other people's souls to have a soul of her own? I know I have a soul. I'm not convinced that my apatheticism has stripped me of soul. This question may have to be answered later.
I have often been called selfish. An only child. A Jewish American Princess. All implicitly selfish labels. So not caring about other people should come easily to me. An inability to look outward or to feel empathy for others. I know I look, and I know I feel, but apathy rules all right now. What's wrong with being ish about oneself anyways?
I exist. I work. I love. I feel. But I cannot care about everyone to the point of depleting my own functionality. I choose me.
Sunday, January 4, 2009
It's not really "Goodbye..."
There's a big hole where my friend is supposed to be. I mean, I know she's there, it's just her physical presence that's missing. Dramatically and monumentally. In a whole world of people there is no one who I consider a better friend than she. Though our visits are infrequent and sporadic, they always leave me deeply fulfilled. And longing for more. Meeting for coffee, stopping by her mom's house and her actually BEING there...this is the stuff of a real tangible friendship. This distance thing isn't a challenge for us in the sense of remaining friends, but when we are together, it is a taunting reminder of the frienship we are missing. There's no one like her. She's knows what I am thinking, quite literally, without me saying anything at all. I know she doesn't judge me, and I feel entrusted with the responsibility of knowledge of her she doesn't confide to anyone else. I'm dizzy with longing. To be able to call her and say, "Wanna go to a movie?" Or when I need some one to listen to me vent. Unconditionally. And when I want to feel like a useful friend. Not just someone who "listens compassionately" and nods like a shrink, but to feel valued in the advice and insight I can provide.
She was struck by a moment over a glass of wine when she had to take my picture because she thought I looked so pretty. It takes my breath away....
This is love unlike any other in my life. Platonic and eternal but with passion and devotion. Every time we part I wonder how I will go on without knowing when we'll meet again. Like Anne and Diana, or Tom and Huck. The stuff of literature. Pure and raw and poetic and inspiring. I wonder if she noticed me staring, trying to take in every detail of her. To remember what it feels like to look her in the eye.
A plane ride is a big deal. A 3 hour time difference is a big deal. It feels like a world away. I'm familiar with distance. We have been doing this for almost 12 years, and it feels like our friendship gets stronger with time. But distance hurts. It's difficult and complex. Like us. Nothing can ever be easy--that would be boring. But sometimes I wish this friendship could subsist on cups of coffee and movies instead of on email and text messaging.
We'll go on with our lives just like we always do. But I recognize that hole and I feel it there. Wishing and longing. And aching a bit.
She was struck by a moment over a glass of wine when she had to take my picture because she thought I looked so pretty. It takes my breath away....
This is love unlike any other in my life. Platonic and eternal but with passion and devotion. Every time we part I wonder how I will go on without knowing when we'll meet again. Like Anne and Diana, or Tom and Huck. The stuff of literature. Pure and raw and poetic and inspiring. I wonder if she noticed me staring, trying to take in every detail of her. To remember what it feels like to look her in the eye.
A plane ride is a big deal. A 3 hour time difference is a big deal. It feels like a world away. I'm familiar with distance. We have been doing this for almost 12 years, and it feels like our friendship gets stronger with time. But distance hurts. It's difficult and complex. Like us. Nothing can ever be easy--that would be boring. But sometimes I wish this friendship could subsist on cups of coffee and movies instead of on email and text messaging.
We'll go on with our lives just like we always do. But I recognize that hole and I feel it there. Wishing and longing. And aching a bit.
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