September 17, 2013 ... Later in the day ...
I walk into my closet
Take a look at garments hanging neatly …
Gathered together in readiness for packing and partying
And this time my heart sinks, because
The impossiblity of my flying to party in the Midwest hits like a rock
Will is sitting at the kitchen table working on an IME
(Independent Medical Exam for the Industrial Commision)
Upon my approach he looks up, and
I motion my need to sit in his lap—why?
I'm feeling utterly raw and as vulnerable as a child, that's why—
After pushing his chair back from the table
Will gathers me close and listens to me say:
I can't go. I can't pretend to feel festive right before your surgery
I just can't party. I need to be here, where it's quiet
Will answers simply: Then we won't go
And we didn't
So how did I feel when the voice of reason broke through 'the shoulds'?
Really sad to disappoint Mom
And though my struggle with that conflict has come to an end
Anxiety drops only a notch for this reason:
I still have no clue that a subconscious memory, which is
Scaring me half to death, is working to slip through
A crack in my defensive wall …
And that frighting detail will verge on the edge of
My conscious awareness until
Two weeks after Will's surgery has passed …
January, 2014
Today, I wondered why I've been posting the same things, again and again, as of late—like working to raise my spirit from half mast toward basking in the warmth of the sun—and then, this awareness came to mind:
I'm no longer approaching the stage of life where loss grows more apparent, daily. I've actually arrived. Of the last generation, my mom and one beloved aunt are the only ones left. Over the past several weeks, one friend had several stints; my dear friend, Jill, was diagnosed with ovarian cancer, and last week, while I was in the Midwest, I learned that a third friend suffered a heart attack. Next week, a friend, who had a quintuple by-pass, is coming to stay with us; Will still tires easily, and each time I fly to see my mom, it's really hard to say good bye. No matter how advanced a loved one's age, the end of life is a hard pill to swallow. So, if you've been wondering why I continue to write of opening my heart to welcome opportunity each time it knocks with happiness in hand, well, perhaps this is my way to lift my spirit when reality, concerning this stage of life, feels too heavy a weight for my mind to carry around …
Thankfully, we'll be celebrating Barry's birthday at the end of week, and as Marie's little guys, three year old Tony and two year old Ray, are a riot—I have no doubt that laughter will bubble up naturally, thus providing the best medicine for chasing the blues away—and on that up note, that's all folks—till the sun comes out, tomorrow … :)
I walk into my closet
Take a look at garments hanging neatly …
Gathered together in readiness for packing and partying
And this time my heart sinks, because
The impossiblity of my flying to party in the Midwest hits like a rock
Will is sitting at the kitchen table working on an IME
(Independent Medical Exam for the Industrial Commision)
Upon my approach he looks up, and
I motion my need to sit in his lap—why?
I'm feeling utterly raw and as vulnerable as a child, that's why—
After pushing his chair back from the table
Will gathers me close and listens to me say:
I can't go. I can't pretend to feel festive right before your surgery
I just can't party. I need to be here, where it's quiet
Will answers simply: Then we won't go
And we didn't
So how did I feel when the voice of reason broke through 'the shoulds'?
Really sad to disappoint Mom
And though my struggle with that conflict has come to an end
Anxiety drops only a notch for this reason:
I still have no clue that a subconscious memory, which is
Scaring me half to death, is working to slip through
A crack in my defensive wall …
And that frighting detail will verge on the edge of
My conscious awareness until
Two weeks after Will's surgery has passed …
January, 2014
Today, I wondered why I've been posting the same things, again and again, as of late—like working to raise my spirit from half mast toward basking in the warmth of the sun—and then, this awareness came to mind:
I'm no longer approaching the stage of life where loss grows more apparent, daily. I've actually arrived. Of the last generation, my mom and one beloved aunt are the only ones left. Over the past several weeks, one friend had several stints; my dear friend, Jill, was diagnosed with ovarian cancer, and last week, while I was in the Midwest, I learned that a third friend suffered a heart attack. Next week, a friend, who had a quintuple by-pass, is coming to stay with us; Will still tires easily, and each time I fly to see my mom, it's really hard to say good bye. No matter how advanced a loved one's age, the end of life is a hard pill to swallow. So, if you've been wondering why I continue to write of opening my heart to welcome opportunity each time it knocks with happiness in hand, well, perhaps this is my way to lift my spirit when reality, concerning this stage of life, feels too heavy a weight for my mind to carry around …
Thankfully, we'll be celebrating Barry's birthday at the end of week, and as Marie's little guys, three year old Tony and two year old Ray, are a riot—I have no doubt that laughter will bubble up naturally, thus providing the best medicine for chasing the blues away—and on that up note, that's all folks—till the sun comes out, tomorrow … :)
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