Losing People

I hate to lose people in my life.  And lately I have lost quite a few.  I find it very hard. I grieve for a very long time.  Even when I lose people that are not healthy for me.  Or a relationship that has gone south.  Doesn’t matter.  I always feel like I should have been able to make things come out better.

I volunteer for an organization that matches people who can help with people who need a little help.  Usually it’s a short term thing - someone needing a ride to a doctor’s appointment is most common.  But a couple of years ago I was asked if I could do some grocery shopping for an elderly, disabled man whose wife had recently died.  Sure.  So every week I call him and write out his list.  And every week when I arrive with the groceries, he grumbles.  Prices are too high.  He didn’t want that size.  Or brand.  Or he wanted something that wasn’t on the list.  Every week I stand there as he goes over the receipt and pays me to the penny.  Once he held back 37 cents because he said “I said half a pound of boiled ham, not .6 pounds.”  He was the grumpiest, most ornery man I have ever met.

At first it became a game for me - this week I would make this man smile. Nope.

I tried engaging him in conversation, asking him about his life. Nothing.

I once brought him flowers from my garden. He told he to take them away.

He never asked me to sit. Never offered a cup of coffee. Never said thank you.

I often wondered why I kept doing it.  I could have easily passed it on to another volunteer.  Really who needed this crap?  So much negativity.

I complained to my mother, who is the volunteer queen.  She lectured me about how it’s easy to love easy people.  But god asks that we love those who are hard to love.  Really mom?  A sermon?  Not what I was looking for.

“What are you looking for?” she asked.

Hmmm. I don’t know, maybe an excuse to get out of this and still feel good about myself?

“Is that why you volunteer - for you?”

Fuck. Why is my mother always right?

And so it became my challenge.  Every week I tried to be Tigger.  He was always Eeyore.   I ususally failed.  He always succeeded.

A few weeks ago I called the organization to get a substitute while I recuperated from my knee surgery.  On Monday I called to say I was ready come back and they told he had passed away.

I am not proud that my first thought was relief.  Thank god I don’t have to visit with his dread and negativity anymore.

When I talked to his case worker I found out he was a WWII veteran. He had been an engineer. He was predeceased by a wife and a son.  In five minutes I learned more about him than I knew from visiting him for 2 years.

I am confused at how sad I have become with his passing.  I keep thinking I could have done better by him, that I am supposed to learn something from this.

I am going to miss him.

I don’t know why.

Mother’s Day Rewind

I woke to the sound of Peachie making a pot of coffee for us. She must have set her alarm to pull that off. She then asked if she could sleep for a little awhile longer.

Beanie, who arrived home from college Saturday, got up and made pancakes. Yum. I found myself spontaneously and constantly hugging her. It was Mother’s Day so she tolerated it.

Then the girls started on the list of chores we made for them. Vacuum the pool. Check. Take the xmas lights off the bushes. Check. Get all of Beanie’s crap out of the garage. Check. No arguing, no complaining. Martha and I were reveling in how sweet it was that they are such close friends. I hope that lasts until their old age.

It was bright and sunny in the morning but quickly went to gray and drizzly. So we came in, the girls made a fruit salad for lunch and we watched a movie. Well, Martha watched it. The rest of us took naps in our chairs.

And then the girls presented us with our Mother’s Day present.

I don’t know how they can afford this when I can’t. The amazing thing is that Peachie, the girliest of girlie girls, assembled it herself. There is hope.

They grilled steak for themselves, swordfish for me, with asparagus and a tomato/mozzarella/ basil salad. All my favorite foods. And then friends came over with an angle food cake with strawberries that had some kind of sweet crunchy meringue coating with chopped walnuts on it.

I do not cook. But I sure do appreciate.

All through the day we received text messages from the girls’ friends wishing us a Happy Mother’s Day. Many of them have lived with us for short periods of time for one reason or another. They call me ‘Maja’, and Martha ‘Marebear’. We have formed quite the "family".

Sharing stories. Sharing laughter. Sharing love. Simple pleasures. I caught myself smiling. All day. We are all back together for the summer, our girls are healthy and happy, Martha and I enjoy each other still, we have a wealth of steadfast friends. Sometimes the abundance of it overwhelms me.

I have recently been using this bloggy space to document a hard therapy journey, which might give an impression that my life is filled with depression and pain and constant wrestling with ghosts and trauma. And sometimes it does feel that way. But that is not the story.

There was a day in my life when I truly thought I would not live to the end of the day. And then there followed a few years when I wished I had died that day. I had nothing to live for. But that slowly changed and I began to live and love again. And then I had children and for the first time, I could see an amazing future. And it has been amazing.

I remember years ago when Jean, my closest friend and mentor, met Daphne for the first time. We had dinner together and they talked as if they had known each other for years. At the end of that evening Jean turned to me and said “you are one lucky fuck.” And I smiled because I knew I was.

I can’t imagine what she would say if she could see the bounty of my life now. I am still smiling. And I am still one lucky fuck.

So far so good

A little over 20 years ago Martha told me she would like to have children. I remember the conversation as if it were yesterday. I was ambivalent. On one hand, I never particularly wanted or needed children. On the other hand, I really had no objections either. And so on that less than enthusiastic note, we began the amazing journey into parenthood.

I remember crying when I saw the ultrasound of Beanie’s little heart beating. After months of Lamaze training she was born late on a Saturday night by emergency C section. The doctor gently handed her to me to present to Martha. Every nurse oohed and aahed over how beautiful and perfect she was. It was my first feeling of parental pride.

Yesterday Beanie told me she had a 3.7 GPA, good enough to make the President’s List. She also is a member of student government, VP of student life, earned a ‘future leader award’, works a part time job and volunteers 10 hours a week for a preschool Headstart program. Yes, she is still making me proud.

A year and a half after Beanie, Peachie was born. Not breathing, she was whisked away somewhere while Martha and I looked at each other in sheer panic. I had never been so scared in my life. And for the first time I knew what it meant, really meant to be a parent.

Over the years Peachie gave us more reasons for concern - some early health issues, some learning issues, which turned into some confidence issues. And then she suddenly transformed into quite the beauty. Clothing and shoes became overly important to her. That worried us too. But she soon funneled that love of fashion into a program where she organizes a prom for mentally and physically challenged kids throughout our region. She spends countless hours collecting used prom dresses and shoes for these kids and doing their hair and makeup. And then dances the night away with every person in a wheelchair. Yep, she too makes me proud every day.

In my life, I have been so fortunate to have known love. The love of and for my parents. The achingly beautiful love of a soul mate. The supportive and comforting love of friends. And I have been given a second chance in life to love. I know that life can change in an instant. I do not take love or relationships for granted.

But these last 20 years of parenthood have been my biggest lesson in love. I had no idea I could love so deeply. And I had no idea how much love they would give me back. Unconditionally. No games. No ego. No threats of leaving. My children have, by far, taught me more about love then I ever could have imagined. They are tremendous teachers.

People often say we should live in the moment. And I don’t disagree with that. To appreciate the here and now to the fullest. But children force us to look beyond our present selves and our own needs and look toward the future. Nothing takes us out of our innate selfishness, the acting on our own needs and desires, our own bullshit, faster than being responsible for and loving a child.

I didn’t think I wanted or needed children. I was so very, very wrong.

Both my girls will be home for Mother’s Day. We will spend the day together, hopefully in the warmth of the sun, sharing food and stories and laughs with each other. They will cook and pamper us as they always do. Later, our good friends, and their godmothers, will come over and share dessert.

And then as Martha and I curl around each other in bed at night, we will reassure each other, as we so often have when talking about how the kids are doing - “so far, so good”.

Happy Mother’s Day all.

Surgery

Last week I finally had surgery to repair a torn meniscus and other damage in my knee. Surgery was scheduled for 2:30 and I couldn’t eat or drink after midnight the night before. I was seriously hungry and dehydrated when I arrived at 12:30 for pre op. (I am used to my 3 meals plus constant grazing) Martha and I chatted while I waited my turn. She was joking that we should do this more often as we haven’t had that much uninterrupted time to chat in a long time.

Finally the anaesthesiologist came in and asked Martha to leave while he gave me a little sedative and an epidural. Martha said within 1 minute she heard me say I didn’t feel well. I am not sure what happened. Maybe the epidural making my legs unmovable. Something caused the trigger and I went into a full-fledged physical flashback. But I was sedated and couldn’t move. I was in full panic, terror mode in my head but was being held down by the weight of the drugs. Martha tells me they called her back in immediately. Because I was in such obvious distress, they kept giving me more and more sedation. She knew what was happening and she held me and talked to me, but I have no memory of that. They must have finally given me enough drugs to totally knock me out.


I woke up in the recovery room, incredibly nauseous, very disoriented and disassociated, soaked in sweat and dry heaving. But I had a nurse who was nothing short of an angel. She had obviously been briefed, was so gentle and kind and sat with me, holding my hand, while I was still freaking out. She kept saying “I am here, I will not leave you.”

So, so discouraging. All this therapy to get these flashbacks to stop and this was by far the worse one I can remember ever experiencing. Finally the drugs wore off, Martha helped me dress and I went home. Emotionally and physically exhausted.

The next few days were spent sitting, leg raised, ice on the knee that was then twice it’s normal size. I needed help stepping over the tub to shower which my daughter generously volunteered for. And she was kind enough not to make her usual snide comments about my naked body. Still, I felt I was getting a preview of my future - when I stop being the caregiver and my kids have to start caring for me. Very weird. But I was grateful for her help.

Lately I have been quite depressed and I had been concerned about the sitting around with nothing to do. But friends and co workers came to visit, always with chocolate in hand. It’s hard to be too depressed when you realize you have so much to be grateful for. Nurses, family, real life friends, on line friends who are always there, holding me up and keeping me moving forward.

Angels everywhere.

It is not quite a week since the surgery. I can walk with only a small limp. Stairs are still a challenge but every day it’s getting better. Friday the stitches come out and I can start physical therapy. I hope to be riding my bike out in the country before the smell of lilacs is gone.

Manic

You with the dark parts and the dark art

Whose dark heart once ripped apart

Gets smart and finally starts to grow

And the new flow where you roll shows soul

no control, and I know

Beyond your skin deep down below

There are shadowed places you don’t even go

Open wounds that won’t close

Upon the page within your prose

I want to know where it goes at night

When you’re lying in bed under moonlight

Highlights trace the dark side of your face

As you wait to sleep and waste away in the keep

Of the demons that dance and shriek

You writhe and squirm like a freak you twist and turn

In the burn of a fire that swallows you whole

You fight for the light and dream of letting go

In a ballroom ballet you cling to your madness

Completed by the love you feel for your sadness

The way it hurts you now gives you pleasure

And the ugliest memories you have come to treasure

Weight and measure, unbalanced and broken

Haunted head you remain unspoken instead to wed

The pale lover you find

In the comfort and familiarity of your own kind

Blind, unrefined,

Subtlety murdered by a killer who leaves no clues behind

Though I think we both are very aware

Hesitant to give it life, so less we speak and more we stare

Now the years have been butterfly wings

In a fast forward life that continues to sting

Like a dragon sized bee impaled through the chest

At best without guess I can see you’re a mess but you’re blessed

with a gift yet you fear a resolve

You fear a closure

You long for the attention yet you dread the exposure

Get composure and get on your feet

Do battle with Hell and die before you retreat

For the death you will endure save the victory you celebrate

You skate, take shape, then escape from the hate you’ve grown to love

You stand on the edge awaiting a shove

In your breathless fall as you plunge to the ground

Angels will catch you and softly … set you down.



~*~Shawn Catherine Fisher ~*~


A dark poem, I know. It is where I’m at these days. My therapist tells me that it will get worse before it gets better. I find that very scary. I do not want to get so low that I can’t get back up.

"Doing battle with Hell."   Win or lose, I need this to get better soon.

A Sermon for Passion Week

As directed by Telling Secrets - please go read the sermon posted here.

Seriously, even if you have no religion - go read this.

Discovering New Lands

One doesn’t discover new lands without consenting to lose sight of the shore for a very long time. ~Andre Gide


This past weekend I went back to the university campus where my partner and I were attacked. It was something I did not want to did. It was something my therapist thought was critical to do.

Exposure therapy - losing sight of the shore for a very long time.

Things had changed on campus. The once very secluded area was not as secluded any more. Still, I walked the route and knew the spot immediately. The memories flooding back faster than I could process them. Flashbacks coming back hard. Debilitating, bitter, suffocating. The place where I lost half my heart and my foundations crumbled. This is the place I relive everyday yet I had never felt so lost.

Afterward we went to the church I used to attend there. The church I stumbled into when I had no where else to go. The church that gave me a safe harbor when nothing in my world was safe. Sanctuary. I sat for a long time, once again soaking up that sacred space. And thinking about how much I have to be thankful for now.

I know that I will be on this voyage for a while longer before I discover those new lands. I know that there will still be days when I am feeling hopelessly lost and flailing, when I want to give up. But I also know that there is a whole crew of people who will not let me drown.

- the readers of this blog who have prayed for me, encouraged and supported me either in comments or emails or in their private thoughts or with virtual tea (love it!). Your continued support has held me up in more ways than you will ever know.

- my friends who have been so very patient through my moods, and depressions, and lapses in upholding my end of friendship. They have kept my head above water and never, ever let go, no matter how many times I began to sink.

- Martha who every day lives with the ghost of my past with generosity and understanding. She has allowed me to take this journey even though it puts a tremendous strain on our family, holds me through the nightmares and crying jags. She is who always gives me a safe place to come home to and still manages to make me laugh.

- And my therapist who convinced me that PTSD is not a final destination. Who has pushed me beyond my limits but always held onto me while my body was racked with weeping or I thought I was losing my mind. She has asked me to take leaps of faith, and taken the leap with me every single time.

I know I still have miles to go. But for those of you who have often been my lifeboat or my guiding light while I am still finding my way to this new shore, I am eternally grateful. Thank you for sharing my journey.