The Journey

One day you finally knew

what you had to do, and began,

though the voices around you

kept shouting

their bad advice--

though the whole house

began to tremble

and you felt the old tug

at your ankles.

"Mend my life!"

each voice cried.

But you didn't stop.

You knew what you had to do,

though the wind pried

with its stiff fingers

at the very foundations,

though their melancholy

was terrible.

It was already late

enough, and a wild night,

and the road full of fallen

branches and stones.

But little by little,

as you left their voices behind,

the stars began to burn

through the sheets of clouds,

and there was a new voice

which you slowly

recognized as your own,

that kept you company

as you strode deeper and deeper

into the world,

determined to do

the only thing you could do--

determined to save

the only life you could save.

 

Mary Oliver

My son came over last night after I got home from work to help me take the winter tires off my car.  In truth I helped him as he did most of the heavy work.  What surprised me was how patient he was with me and with the whole process.  He let me help, let me unscrew the lug nuts, let me take the tire off and even watched as I attempted to put the other tires on.  I wasn't strong enough to hold up the tire and get it on the bolts, but I tried and he patiently waited as I tried. 

I am not a patient person at all, so it surprises to me find out that my son is patient, at least with me.  He turned thirty last month and has his life back thankfully.  For almost ten years his life slipped away into drugs, dealing and prison.  I kicked him out of my home more than once.  I hoped and prayed that he would turn his life around and he did.  He has one year of school left and then he  will have his Bachelor of Business degree.  He lives with a lovely young woman who starts grad school in the fall to become a Speech Therapist. 

He could have so easily been killed.  For years I would listen to the news and when a young man his age was killed or shot, I would stop and pray that it wasn't him.  When he went to prison, I visited him.  When he got out I let him move back home, all the while waiting for him to grow up, to stop being stupid, to become the man I knew he could be. 

When my son was sixteen, a year before his life went off the rails, I was home alone with the kids.  It was a hot spring evening and I had put Katie to bed early like I always did.  I was usually worn out by seven and so was she.  Katie is a painter, by that I mean Katie likes to paint with poop.  That evening I could hear her in her bedroom and then I could smell her.  I went upstairs to change her but when I opened the door I found her covered in shit, from head to toe.  Her bed was covered in shit, the walls, the carpet and the door.  I looked at her and burst into tears.  My son heard me and came upstairs.  Without saying a work he took Katie by the hand and led her into the bathroom where he bathed her, washing the shit out of her hair and off of her body.  She would have been eight at the time.  I cleaned the rest of her room and a week later we took the carpet out of her bedroom and installed laminate, much easier to clean shit off of.

The memory of that night, of my son taking care of his sister, helping his mother, dealing with shit stayed with me all those years he was gone.  I knew, I hoped, that one day he would be that young man again.

Last night after we changed the tires he asked what I was doing for supper.  I told him just barbecuing some meat.  He asked if I would mind if he got a steak and joined me.  I didn't mind at all.  It was nice to have his company, to spend time with him.  He's my son, my baby but he's not.  He's a man with his own life and now it's him helping me.  How strange.

I'm reading a book right now, recommended to me by a counselor that the big guy and I are seeing.  The book is entitled, "The Language of Letting Go" by Melody Beattie.  Here is an excerpt from yesterday's meditation.

Life is a Gentle Teacher.  She wants to help us learn. 

The lesson she wants to teach us are the ones we need to learn.  Some say they are the lessons we chose to learn before we were born.  Others say they are the lessons that were chosen for us....

Life is a Gentle Teacher.  She will keep repeating the lesson until we learn....

I may have mentioned that I am a slow learner.  My grandmother was an alcoholic and although I never met her, her legacy lives on in me.  I have surrounded myself with alcoholics my whole life.  There is something deep inside of me that keeps repeating this pattern, to what end?  Is there something broken inside of me?  Is it just the familiar I desire?  I'm not sure.  What I do know is that I want to put an end to it.  An end to secrets,  an end to lies, an end to denial and pretending. 

These secrets weigh heavily on my body.  I have suffered from back pain, caused by tight muscles, for most of my life.  More than one massage therapist that I've seen has remarked that I seem to be trying to protect myself from the world.  And now I'm crying so I'm sure that's true. 

So if I feel unsafe, if I'm trying to protect myself from the world, why do I keep on repeating this same pattern?

Where I work.

It's been a difficult but interesting two weeks.  Two weeks ago I kicked the big guy out.  I won't go into details but things weren't working.  The next day I woke up with a sore neck.  Two days later I agreed to try one more time with the big guy but there were conditions to his coming back.  We're trying.  It's not just him, it is me as well.  I have baggage that I drag along with me that dates back to my childhood, as do we all.  We're both working on things with a counselor.

My shoulders continue to pain me and yes, I know it is stress. Last week I had to come home from work because I was in so much pain.  I've tried physio, massage, hot packs, ice packs, stretches, muscle relaxants and anti-inflammatories with mixed results.  Last Tuesday I spent over an hour wearing my lead apron at work and my neck went into such spasms that I wanted to cry.  That's when I went to the physiotherapist.  My neck is better but still tight. 

I talked to my girlfriend with cancer two days ago.  The radiation therapy and the chemotherapy have not eradicated the cancer in the lymph nodes;  she will need surgery in June to remove the lymph nodes.  She told me, "Then I will be cured."  I wanted to cry when I heard her say that.  I no longer believe in cancer cures.  Her cancer has spread beyond it's original site.  The doctors can try to slow it down but she now has cancer cells circulating in her system.  It's only a matter of time before these cells set up shop someplace else. 

I'm not sure if she believes she can be cured or if it's only her minds way of protecting her from the awful truth.  It doesn't really matter I suppose, what will be, will be.  She still has now.  I don't know how I would be, a basket case I'm thinking.  I hesitate to call or visit her for fear that what I know will show on my face and destroy her hope.  I don't want to do that.  She is my friend and I love her dearly.  I would never want to destroy her hope.  I guess I need to take a deep breathe and visit her, listen to her, love her. It's all I can do.  I need to put away my own fears, my own knowledge and be present for her.

And so it goes.  Spring has finally arrived in the north.  The snow has gone.  Spring rains have been washing the city clean in preparation for all manner of blooms to burst forth.  It's so strange, me who hates change so much, enjoys spring and fall the most, the times of change. 

No words, just this kite caught in the tree, unable to free itself.

Miss Katie at Special Olympics bowling.

It's been a difficult week.  Not because of Katie, she's doing well, but because of work.  We've been short staffed to the point of insanity.  I work in cancer care.  The things we do can't really wait.  Patients need to start their chemotherapy, they need their scans.  Cancer doesn't take a holiday.  So I worked my ass off this past week and last night I crashed.  I came home, almost too tired to eat.  The big guy let me cry, cooked  supper and we went to bed at eight.  I slept for almost twelve hours and feel like a human again.  I am thankful.

Katie's dad is coming this weekend to take her out.  He comes out usually twice a month to visit her which is good and  I appreciate the break on the weekends.  I don't care for her full time anymore but I'm still responsible for paying her bills, for doing her shopping, for making her meals, for any emergencies that come up, for attending doctor's visits and meetings.  Writing it down makes me realize that it's still a lot of work.  It's the forms I hate most.  I loath filling in forms. 

The estrogen replacement is slowly righting my tipped over hormonal system.  I know that menopause is normal.  I know that it's what is supposed to happen but I couldn't cope any longer without estrogen.  The hot flashes happened once or twice an hour, all day and night, making me dizzy enough to sit down, disrupting my sleep, bathing me in sweat.  I couldn't think straight.  I forgot things.  I couldn't make sense, didn't make sense.  It scared me.  I'm starting to feel like my old self again. 

I continue to judge others and myself.  My sisters are both on hormone replacement therapy and I thought, to myself only, what is wrong with them?  Menopause is normal.  Why can't they just suck it up and deal with it?  And now I know why.  The universe has conspired, once again, to teach me a lesson.  I learn everything the hard way apparently.   Note to self, slow down, be kind, you don't know it all.  Respect the universe.