Category Archives: Love

Heartburn

22 Friday Jul 2016

Posted by in Cancer, Heartburn, Love, Uncategorized

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My friend with the burned 100 acres just called me back. I’d left him a message. I was checking in on him. He sounded horribly low. He’d been on the phone. His dad had called to let him know that his 41 year old cousin’s cancer appears unstoppable; go say goodbye.

I know my friend because of his cousin. His cousin was the last man I lived with. We had one of those truly magical relationships. One thousand lovely days of being cherished.

For reasons that are too complex to explain; we methodically and deliberately moved far apart. He went home to his big sky; Montana. Eventually, he married and had the family he so deeply longed for. He has two very young sons and a wife he adores.

We agreed to cease our communication. But because of my friendship with his cousin, I know about his life; his marriage, his sons and tragically now, about his battle with cancer.

Our age difference made me fear what our future would hold. But it the end, it would not have mattered. Cancer has robbed him of his future. It’s robbed many people that I loved.

This past week of spreading ashes amongst ashes left me with a weary heart. But the latest news of this disease’s destruction of another dearly loved being has given me heartburn.

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Still Standing

16 Saturday Jul 2016

Posted by in Grief, Love, Wildfire

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Today, I went up to the top of Jumbo mountain to scatter ashes;
half of my mom’s, half of my brother’s and all of my great aunt’s.

More than a dozen members of our family traipsed faithfully up the steep, rocky road to honor their final wishes. It was intense. One badly rolled ankle and a few serious high altitude headaches later, we are still standing. I am grateful.

Yesterday, I was asked by a dear friend to accompany him to view the remains of his property following the Cold Springs wildfire. Many memorable moments in my life were spent there.

Was it a coincidence that I was back in town to spread the ashes of dear family members when he asked me to go along with him to witness what remained?

I stood by his side. In every direction, all we could see were ashes of the scorched earth. I stood very quiet and very still; long enough for the moon to grow larger.

In the moonlight I saw it.  Standing alone, among the skeletons of the pines was a single wild currant bush. She was badly charred but not enough to kill her. I walked over and I broke off the tip of a branch. There was life in her. I waved my friend over and showed him. He needed to see what was still alive. I needed to show him.

I am grateful that I was here. I am grateful for what is still standing.

2015’s End

31 Thursday Dec 2015

Posted by in Elders, Galveston, Grandparenting, Gun Control, Livable Community, Love, Mental illness, Uncategorized

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I feel stranded. My battery is dead. When I tried to start my car yesterday; nothing. Not a click, not a sound. It feels like more than just that.

I was headed over to the duplex I bought in 2015; the one where I was going to begin my SafeGraySpaces project. The place I planned to renovate into a elder friendly, barrier-free, tiny-home for my own aging-in- place.

I’d ‘inherited’ renters. They had a lease when I bought it. Now, they’re officially delinquent. My upstairs tenant called to tell me it appeared the downstairs tenants  were moving out. Fare thee well free-loaders.

2015’s final two weeks were particularly strange; including a sad phone call asking for help locating the two young children whose 73 year old, great-grandmother had shot her husband to death in the wee hours of Christmas morning. Worst Christmas  ever for  too many innocent people.

At reunions over the past few summers I’d spent hours with this great-grandmother and these two young children. She’d been raising them since they were babies. Their love for one another was obvious. What happens to push a great-grandmother to uncharacteristic, violent action? Evidently, true desperation!

Three days before that horrible incident, I’d  witnessed the whale stranding on the West End of the island. I’ve had the amazing privilege  of kayaking along side whales in the Sea of Cortez.

To see this gentle giant so far from it’s normal, deep ocean home, struggling to simply take it’s final breath; split my heart to pieces. Witnessing this mystical creature flailing and suffering so much, was deeply disturbing. I quietly said goodbye and slowly wandered away.

I’ll head outside in a few minutes when there is enough daylight to see. I’ll clean my terminals off and see if my car starts. If it does, I’ll venture over and check on the duplex. Who knows what I’ll find remaining there?

I bid goodbye to all parts of 2015 and all it’s memories. Welcome 2016!

 

What Matters Most

19 Thursday Nov 2015

Posted by in Brain, insanity, Love, Mental illness, Uncategorized

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Yesterday was one of the hardest days of my life. I am sixty; there have been a few really bad days, a dozen or so incredibly amazing days and luckily, a life time of regular ones. Having a younger sibling with terminal cancer has shed new light on the joy of ordinary and the idea of what matters most.

My sister and I spent the day with one of our brothers. We started with the radiologist, next was the oncologist. The news that a significant part of his brain tumor was not able to be removed was officially revealed to us and for that moment, understood by our brother. He needed time to process all the information, but when you are told your probable ‘Expiration Date’ and it can be measured in days, time has a new meaning.

He is dying. He has a 12 year old and a 15 year old. He wants to spend every possible remaining moment with them. He has a book he is trying to write. He has songs he has written and recorded and wants to finish them. Where does one start? Turmoil shoved his cancer strained brain closer to insanity.

Struggling to help him, I suggested that he try to keep things simple. We talked about how things fell apart for our family when dad died and then again when mom died. He said that for him, the single most important thing was to make sure his children got to stay together. That one thing was what mattered most. Family has to stick together.

What matters most is truly what matters most. Help the person simply remember what matters most to them. With all the medical information and dates and schedules being thrown at them like giant hail stones in a thunder storm, help them try to keep things simple. If they don’t want to go through radiation and chemo therapy, honor their request.

When you can measure your remaining life in days, it matters. Put aside everything and listen. That is what matters most.

Honored Old Memory

27 Friday Mar 2015

Posted by in Love

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He was a Rembrandt; a pitcher who could ‘paint the corners.’ He was a living Michelangelo’s David. And he was mine for a dreamy season of time that linked us together. We cooked, surfed, rode bikes, played tennis, sang off-key; every song on the Eagle’s Desperado album. He read Jonathan Livingston Seagull out loud to me. For my birthday he gave me a simple gold cross. For Christmas, a Bentwood rocker. We set a date, ordered invitations; I bought my bleached-muslin wedding dress. But that very night I had a nightmare that was so horrific, it sucked the life out me. I completely panicked, called off the wedding and rushed back to school. He got a steady job at the Grain Elevators. I studied furiously, graduated quickly and kept on running. February of 1978, I heard during a long-distance phone call from my broken-hearted mom that there had been an explosion 40 days earlier. He had been at work that evening. He was only 26. He died; crushed very violently; and hopefully, suddently. It has taken me thirty-seven years to finally read this dreaded Death Certificate. It lists the Cause(s) of Death. It is much too graphic, too painfully horrible to repeat. I still wear my cherished gold cross. I rock in my treasured chair. I never told him why I ran away. I never had to; I know he already knew. He wanted our love to live honored in my heart forever. It does.