Lonely Day

OR "How I Learned To Love My Own Company".

Today B stayed home sick. With the house so quiet last night, and nothing going on, illumination seems to occur. I was frustrated, I admit.

B slept in; I went outside after my cup of coffee and began busting a move on all the outside things that I'd put off after Saturday. I stayed in all day Saturday, unable to make a move without B. "It's too hot out there" he'd say every time I headed outside. "Wait a little bit, M." I waited a little bit and waited a little bit and pretty soon the day was gone. After I spent the two hours that he spent napping playing Civ III on the puter, I was frustrated and bored, feeling all the free time that we'd looked forward to and cherished pass me by.

I got up before he did, seeking that window of cool before the record heat. While I was outside attacking the pile of dirt that had to be moved, he came out. I saw him but kept at it, knowing that it would be all too easy for him to tell me to quit. But he picked up a rake and trudged resolutely into the fray. He moved enough of it for me to feel guilty, as the heat rose to eightyish and climbing around us.

And I was ashamed to feel the irritation I felt as he hacked and coughed his way around the yard. He should have been inside, in the cool, taking care of himself. Instead, somehow I had guilted him into coming out by my own fervor. I quit and we went back inside. He spent most of the day outside in the garage, as he had on Saturday, out in the muggy flashbox-heat of the little enclosed area, taking in cigarettes in between paroxysms of coughing. "Please come in.." I pleaded over and over, but he was holed up in his den like a sick animal, wanting neither comfort nor contact. My efforts to touch him were met with stiffness and a cheek turned away.

"I don't want you to get my germs." he said, but they were only words. There was something else between us, something unspoken.

We were islands in the afternoon, lonely planets orbiting but never touching. And I became aware of how dependent upon him I've become, how large he is in my world. I noticed a few times as we passed in the space that his eyes were on me when I was somewhere else; when I would turn to him he'd look away, as if ashamed to be caught staring.

We sat out in the swing glider finally, when the shadows were long at dusk. And as the sunset slid over the tops of the trees, lighting up the sky in pink and gold, it felt like all of the barriers dropped away. And we talked.

About how he was afraid that it would be too much for me. About how he felt like he was cheating me. His concern that I would be bored in my life, with him unable to participate. And I was ashamed again, for eliciting this thing that has gone unspoken. But this time God unlocked my tongue, gave me back my heart through my words. "You can't protect me from growing and learning, B" I said softly. "I'm still learning to be comfortable in my own skin. It will take some time, and some patience. But I will never NEVER regret where we are, or how blessed I am for being here."

And I told him the thing that's been on my mind for so long. I told him I was sorry if it upset him, but that I had to say it anyway. "The way I see it," I said, "this is a debilitating disease. Not a terminal disease. Things will change, yes... and we will change right along with them, together."

And then he laid on me the bombshell that has reverberated for the last seventeen hours, haunting my sleep and everything I do today. "I'm sorry." he said, "I just feel punky. And I get distant when I feel punky." He leaned back in the glider, eyes closed. "I've felt bad for the last couple of months. I've just been trying to soldier through it. I didn't want you to know... to feel like I couldn't keep up."

I didn't quite know what to say. We would have talked more, but he was too tired, and on his way to bed. He made some frustrated comment about how he was sorry about having to go to bed so early, and that he knew I'd be up since I couldn't sleep, but I shushed him. We went to bed together, though I was sure I couldn't sleep. We fell into our comfortable entwine, but the coughing set him off again, and he had to pull away. In the end, we lay with toes touching, and I listened to him breathe as the world outside tried to storm, the great clouds soughing and shuddering outside the open window and the ozone smell of rain on the breeze.

Overcome with the thoughts of the evening: of B and his depression, of the revelation that all that's come before in the past few months has been a painful playact of strength and optimism on his part, of the loneliness for my kids gone for two weeks vacation away and the knowledge that somehow I will have to learn to cope without them in three short years when they leave the nest, that somehow I will have to learn to love my own company and to make myself content. I don't think he heard my silent tears because his sleep was blessedly silent, the damn cough keeping its distance for a few golden hours.

I will cope. I will learn. It will be difficult, but life is difficult, isn't it? And all good things must come with a cost. My treasure, my precious, my beloved B. I will grow and this good thing will evolve, and we will be the better for it, tempered by these challenges like steel by the fire.

Today I'm at work by myself, and lunch was lonely. But I got to finish two more chapters of "A Tale of Two Cities". And B waits for me at home. I will make more time to learn who I am, and how to fill my time with things I love, that enrich me. And like a tiny plant just breaking the soil, I will grow.

One step forward and two steps back

THIS week has been a bear. It's Sunday, and I have a little bit of the weekend left to myself, and don't quite know what to do with it. I would write or paint, but the muse just isn't producing, the selfish little beast! LOL Maybe I need some 'muse juice'... something like hummingbird nectar or something, to feed her.

We got home from the walk in clinic a couple of hours ago. B is feeling pretty crappy. He has a viral infection that has settled in his chest, and he's absolutely wracked by coughing. I'm sure the smoking isn't helping matters, but it's hard enough to quit. The clinic was a zoo. We were there for a good two hours. They took chest xrays, but found nothing but a lot of congestion. He's off for three more days, and home on bedrest. So I'll be on my own for the next several days. I hate it when he's sick.

He's been very distant for the last several days. I'm not sure if it's that he's not been feeling good, or if it's that we've had company (the kids' sister was here picking them up to take them to her place for two weeks), or whether it's something at work. I hope it's something that passes soon.

Not much to say today. The kids are gone and the house is too quiet. I would take a nap with B, but I know it will keep me up late at night. *sigh*

Rose

June 13: Six Months

Daddy

A couple of days ago I sent B a link to an article on men raising their second round of children, for one reason or another. I found it touching; there was a lot of things in there about men doing things right the second time around that made me think of B, and how he's brought his wonderful brand of love to my own children, who had needed his loving guidance so desperately.

Wednesday night I got a little huffy with him. He was on the puter, and I tried to ask him a couple of things, but he didn't seem to hear me. He was too intent on whatever he was typing. We still have some ex issues with emails, so I have been somewhat sensitive to 'hidden communications'. I guess that's a trust issue on my part. I make very plain all my outside communications with other people, particularly if they're male, because I know I have a tendency to be jealous, and I want to make sure I'm being above the board my own self. Since he was being fairly furtive about what he was writing, I assumed the worst.

I went off into my room to be alone for awhile and work out my frustrations rather than take it up with him. I'd been in there for about half an hour, feeling a little bit hurt and angry, when he came in. He kissed me on the back of the neck, and I never could hold a grudge, particularly with B. So I turned over and we talked for a while, and imagine the egg on my face when he told me what he'd been doing. He'd read that article, and it touched him so much he had to respond. And this is what he had to say:

"I've recently moved into a relationship where the children had been abused by the father, and it gives me great pleasure to show them that a stable, loving relationship can be had by the entire family. There is no yelling, no abuse, nothing but the love that I have for their mother.

Don't sweat the small stuff, treat people the way that you would like to be treated, love as though there is no tomorrow - because tomorrow never comes.

I'm 52. With Parkinson's Disease. The Love of My Life is 39 with 2 teens. I want to show them how to live in this crazy world.

I raised a wonderful daughter - in spite of her mother having bi-polar disorder. I hope to allow my "new" family the beauty and wisdom that my daughter has."

My B, my precious B. He's done a wonderful job with his daughter. I've met her and I can testify. In six short months he's turned my children nearly 180 in the right direction. He amazes me and delights me every single day, and I wish there were a way to convey that to him without being sappy. Because it isn't written in a card, or wrapped in a box with pretty paper. We will take him out to dinner on Sunday but it won't be nearly enough.

I hope he feels the love.

Wonderful weekend

THIS weekend felt like sunshine and blue skies to me. I won't say there weren't some challenges, but all in all, it was WONDERFUL.

B and I went to visit his brother and his wife Saturday night. They live on the other side of the state, where it is green, and you don't have to water! It was his brother's birthday, so they were having a party for the family.

I was quite nervous at the concept of going; I have a small family, and B has four other brothers (plus their wives, kids, etc.). Crowds usually do me in. I am a shy and quiet sort of person, and it takes me a long time to warm up. Plus I'm the "new girlfriend'.... and I didn't know how many of them had been friends with his ex.

I needn't have worried. All four of B's brothers are like different incarnations of the same person. I was swept in, made much of, and generally welcomed as a member of the family. It was overwhelming, it was amazing, and it felt incredible. At various times over the course of the evening's party, I wandered from room to room into pockets of people sitting and chatting and laughing, listening to the conversations and the reminisces. I laughed at the stories of the boys and their adventures growing up. I jumped into discussions of the challenges of raising children with some of my own tales. I listened to chats about house prices, the roofing job going on next door, how rainy the weather had been, what kind of whiskey was the best. Music was playing, there were two babies being passed around, and the most wonderful food. I talked to B's sister in law and HER sister, who knew someone that volunteers in a group with me back home. (Small world, eh?)

And I listened as they all told B how good he looked... how much younger he looked.... how he seemed like a new man. I watched him move from room to room, seeing how the dynamics of the family worked, how he fit in. It was interesting to note that he is so similar to me in the way he relates to other people. He's the rather quiet one, the observer, the chameleon. I watched him all night long, thinking how proud I was of him, and how good it all felt to be there. I got caught once; his oldest brother has a new hobby of photography (and is quite good), and he snapped a shot of me, with this soft look on my face, staring off camera as if pondering the meaning of life. There's a hint of a smile around my eyes and at the corner of my lips. I'm watching B, my beautiful B.

We went off to bed before the party broke up, falling into the unfamiliar bed with giggles and yawns. All I remember is entangling in that familiar way, and letting the background hum of laughter and conversation from downstairs lull me into a deep, deep sleep.

They have actually accepted me... liked me, even. It was so different than anything I have ever known. No fights, no arguments, no shame or guilt or baggage between them. Just enjoyment at spending time with the people you love. Wow.

We are home, but I will carry this with me for a long, long time.

In the rough

IT'S a bad day. B is in bed already. He's exhausted; at the very end of his rope. It's as fatigued as I've ever seen him.

The girl and I have fought all evening over her not bringing the car back on time for us to go to town and run errands. It's taken a lot out of B.

He's been low all week, since the weekend, when he overdid it working around the house and going to help the neighbor guy. I hate seeing him hurting. I want to crawl in bed beside him and hold him, but I know that he'll sleep better without me there, and I have to go pick up the boys from a school dance.

I hate this. I hate this disease.

Brand spanking new ex-step-grandma

WOW. Talk about your week filled with adventures!

On Sunday the 1st I became a grandma. Or... so to speak. The ex and I have been divorced for awhile now, and I haven't seen his son (my stepson) in a couple of years, but this weekend I got the happy news that his girlfriend and he became the proud new parents of a little baby girl. "Wow" I thought. "How exciting.... the ex is a grandpa!" I teased the ex about it, and didn't think one more thing about it until the girl and I were at Wal Mart, picking out cute little outfits in the baby section.

"Does this make me an aunt?" she asked as we stood in the checkout line.

"I think so." I said. "I don't think that just goes away."

"Ohhh." said the cashier, holding up the lacy pink little outfits. "So you're a brand new grandma, eh? I bet you're proud..."

I stood there for a beat with my mouth hanging open. SAY WHAT??? I'm a.... what?

And then it dawned on me. I guess I am. It took a beat for it to register, and then the thought right behind it: wholesale license to shop for cute little baby things. Score!!

It's a baby!

Her name is Sydni, and I think she's adorable, even if she isn't remotely related to me anymore.

And I'm not old enough to be a grandma.

So there.

:-P

In other news, the girl and I have been sharing a baffling phenomena that may have been solved. Yesterday for no apparent reason whatsoever, she fainted. It was actually a lucky thing; today she had her six month checkup with the neurologist, so we were able to run it by him right away. He noticed that her blood pressure was running on the low side, so he checked it again while she was lying down, sitting up, and then finally when she stood. He found that in each case, it got lower and lower, until when he stood her up, she was lightheaded. He explained to us that it's around a bp of 90 that the average person passes out. He said that for us little gals that have normally low blood pressure, we have a smaller margin to get to that point than the average person, so we can't afford to make any wrong moves: missing meals, eating late, not drinking enough water, standing up too long or too fast, etc. So he made us promise that we'd live the "clean life" and see if that didn't help the fainting. ;-)

This is good news, and I think maybe a source of relief to B. For several mornings now I've staggered in the shower, usually when I have my eyes closed and lean back to rinse my hair. I explained to him that it's always been that way; that I've always had balance issues, particularly with my eyes closed or early in the morning before I'm awake all the way (or when I'm in a hurry, etc., when I usually do things like run into tables or doorframes with an errant hip or shoulder because I don't have good body-awareness and don't pay attention). I'm always covered in bruises I don't remember getting.

Still, I can only imagine what runs through his mind, watching me sway or step out quickly to catch myself. I think it myself: what happens if there's something wrong with me? I promised to take care of him. I feel in a way like my being ill would somehow be dishonest to him, as if I were selling him a bad bill of goods. I know there's no logic to that, but when have feelings ever been logical? Braver this morning, I asked him if it bothered him that I was having those problems. He said it did, but not in the way I imagined. He said that anytime I was having health issues it worried him, because he valued me more than anything else in the world, and couldn't imagine life without me.

Well, I have to second that motion. We each have to promise each other to take care of ourselves, because taking care of yourself is the sincerest form of love. And how can we promise to be there for each other if we don't make sure we'll BE there? So I'm glad to find out that there's a reasonable explanation for unsteadiness: my bp has been low all my life, and I've always had postural hypotension. This, I suspect, will be the same sort of thing, and it's glad to be able to put a label on it. Because I want to be around forever, B and I.... to see our children have grandchildren.

Life is good......

Fifteen feet of closeness

Wow. It's been a while since I posted last. It's just been busy, that's all I can attribute it to.

We spent a busy three day weekend fixing the car and several things around the house, and now we're trying to recuperate and focus on work. This weekend we'll be gone again, to B's brother's house for a family event, and I'm still not sure how I feel about that. It's more socializing than I've ever had to do, and all new people to meet, all of whom I want desperately to be accepted and loved by. No pressure there... lol

Yesterday I read an article in Slate that I had to sit and think about. http://www.slate.com/id/2192282/ This article references another article, which reported on a couple living together in the Arizona desert, practicing Buddhism, and have vowed to never be more than 15 feet apart at any given time. The couple in the Slate article tried the experiment in their own lives, and concluded it as a somewhat silly, granola-type of thing that was totally impractical.

I read the article in the Times for myself, and did have to concur that they were the granola sort, and that a lifestyle like theirs, lived in a yurt in the desert with no running water or modern conveniences, might be more conducive to peace, enlightenment and togetherness than say, our life filled with outside jobs, kids, a yard, and several trips to the grocery store a night, might be. But I was still left, in the end, thinking that the Slate couple missed the essential point of the exercise. The Slate article says about the couple "The two never stray more than 15 feet from each other. When they eat, they share a plate. When they read, they share the book—the faster reader waiting for the slower to finish the page. When they do yoga, they inhale and exhale together."

B and I have what we call 'melt time', which we do frequently, as the need arises. Our melt time are those moments when, after we've been out dealing with the world for awhile, after we've disagreed, or had a particularly intense encounter, we hug, and our bodies seem to melt together. It's a recharge moment; a moment to reaffirm that we are not alone in the world. That no matter what happens on the outside, nothing can interfere with the fact that this creature, this person whose heartbeat we can feel against our chests, loves us unconditionally, and sometimes that one thing is all that you need as a human being to have the strength to try the difficult things, to chase the heights, to go out into the world and be the best you can be. And frequently, during these times, we end up giggling uncontrollably, because invariably the deeper we sink into that oneness between us, our breaths begin to synchronize, to coincide, much the same way several women in a household will begin to cycle in tandem. The first few times it happened we asked each other "Are you doing that on purpose?" But we've come to realize that it's a melting phenomena... a sign that we're where we need to be.

Yes... it sounds 'granola'. But I have found that when you find that person, that place where the universe wants you to be, that everything else becomes easy. And you can no longer be away from that person for very long any more than you could tear the pericardium away from your heart and expect it to function.

Fifteen feet may be pushing it. I, for one, value my bathroom time, and we all need our moments of solitude and a space to call our own. But when he's been away for an hour or so out in the garage, and I've been doing my thing in the house by myself, we frequently meet each other at the doorway in between, saying "I was just coming out/in to find you".

We dance in rhythm, and it is blessed.

Was it Monday? Tuesday?

THE weekday after a long weekend is always a conundrum. It's the first day back.. it's a short week, you don't wanna be there... you know the score. It was a nice weekend, albeit tiring (see last post), and then I was back to work.

Halfway through the day, the world got a little topsy turvy. We had a firing in the office; management escorted the party around the office to collect their stuff and maintenance came around with the new keycode for the outer doors. We were a little shell shocked, but not too surprised. This employee hadn't lasted long, and it was a relief to everyone.

And then, at twenty minutes to four (the time we go home), I got a phone call from the girl. "The car is on FIRE and there's smoke coming in from under the dash!!"

Holy geez.

Well, it was smoke, not full fledged fire, we determined when we got there, but B was sufficiently concerned to not want her to drive the car again until we can find out where the electrical short is. And that will involve buying the Chilton's, so it will be a couple of days. She's terribly traumatized by having to ride to school back and forth again with Mom and Dad. LOL

And B and I looked at each other last night and just had to laugh about it all. What a day...

Redneck easel and Memorial whoops

WELL, today's Monday. LOL. I know that's not what it says on the calendar, but it is what it is.

All this past week I've been burning the candle at both ends, and I've been just wiped out by afternoon. It's kind of funny... I can really sympathize with his fatigue now, although I feel like a giant wuss for complaining on my end, given the circumstances! Still, by Sunday night B had gotten sufficiently concerned enough about me to force me to stay in bed Monday morning. I have to admit, it was a little bit o' blissful. I slept in until nearly 8:30. WOW. So, I was raring to go yesterday.

We didn't do a whole lot of anything significant: went to Home Depot, did a little shopping, and cleaned the garage, which was sufficiently traumatic on its own. He had a lot of sorting to do through paperwork from his old life, and we took quite some time (and a couple of garbage bags) purging things that needed to be purged. I told him that I was so relieved when I was able to do that for myself; just purge all the reminders of the old life, and I knew he would feel a lot better when we were able to do that for him, once his court case is all over with. It ties him up in knots and I hate watching it.

In the evening, the girl went out with her friends and B and I spent a nice several hours out in the garage (AKA the "Guy Zone"... the "Man Cave".... B's Hideout... pick your euphemism. LOL). He likes to stand around out there smoking and listening to a bit of music, maybe some NPR on the radio. I'd been missing him a bit while I was rattling around this weekend, doing chores, so, since I'd promised myself that I'd finish up the painting I've been working on for weeks now, I decided that I would combine my pleasures and bring it outside. The day was gorgeous, not too hot and not too cold, and the light out there was just perfect. (Not to mention the company!) The only challenge was that I didn't want to drag my drafting table outside and back in, and the sheet is far too large to hold on my lap. No, an easel was in order. The only challenge is that I don't own one.

Well. Brilliant minds make do, right? ;-) So, I drug out a long piece of board someone had once used as a shelf, propped it up against the wall, clipped my paper to it top and bottom with some clean wood clamps, and voila! An easel. Okay, a redneck easel... but hey. When in Rome.... I pulled up a camp chair and was good to go. B laughed when he saw me, but said "Hey.... it works."

When the girl got home, she was full of stories about how she and her friends went out to the cemetary to visit the grave of a young friend. She asked me where her grandparents' graves were, and asked why we didn't go to visit. I was taken aback. I hadn't thought a lot about it. I haven't been out there in years. I feel like a terrible mother. So, we're going to go out there tonight.

I'm beginning to see that I was so focused on just surviving through my previous life that I missed out on a whole lot of things, and so did my kids. I've done them no favors in that respect, although we did survive it and that's something. Now, with the brilliant light of a GOOD relationship, a 'normal' relationship, we're beginning to feel like we've missed some things. Now is the time to catch them up. To rebuild bridges, to make new traditions and memories. It's not too late.

It's never too late to begin again. And that's the beauty of life.

Should have taken the day off

UGGGG. Today is my day to be the 'handicapped one'. lol

A few years back I had my gallbladder out, and I sure don't miss it! But what came after sure isn't much fun either. As best as my doctor and I can pinpoint it, it's called post-cholecystectomy syndrome. Google it if you want to know, I'm not here to share the gory details. Suffice to say that this morning's yogurt was a BAAAD idea, and I sit here feeling like a wet dishrag.

B has come into my office three times this morning, looking more and more concerned. Finally he calls to tell me he thinks I should go home. I think I'll survive, but for awhile there it was debatable. Still, it's nice to know that he knows, and that he cares.

For a long time I was afraid to tell him what my problem was. Why I didn't want to go out to dinner (too many fatty foods on the menu, and too much stress), why I didn't like long road trips (too much time in between meals, and who knows where the bathrooms are along the way?), and how come I spent so much time in the bathroom. Thank God B is the blessed understanding soul that he is, and as an added bonus, he's also had the surgery too, so he's familiar with the issues. He, however, doesn't have so much trouble. He's got me trying all sorts of things, fiber pills, etc., and thinks he can fix me. lol

When he gets down on himself about an 'off day' when he's fatigued and slow, I remind him that it's no big deal. We will alter our routines to fit...just like we alter our routes to make sure when we eat out we go straight home. Our favorite saying is "It is what it is...no big deal".

I can't tell you how nice it is to be with someone who takes life this way .... laid back, rolling with the waves, not getting too excited. It's not flatness of affect... it's the way he's wired. We talked about what we want to do with this long weekend, and I think we've just about agreed to stay home and just veg. Work out in the garden a bit, putter around, maybe go shopping. (That's funny too.. and charming. He's as into shopping as a woman. It seems to give him pleasure. Sure is nice to have found a shopping companion!) He still loves to go out and weedeat and mow the lawns, and though this used to be my job, I stand back and cheerlead his wonderful exacting work. Our lawn is now the nicest one on our cul de sac, thanks to him.

I have a million and one things to do today, and twiddling my thumbs here is frustrating me. *sigh*

Another PDer on Blogger

I found an interesting blog today.

Young Parkinson's : My Journey: PD and Stress - the shaky response!

Love and marriage (and alimony and retirement)

WELL, yesterday B had some routine maintenance to do regarding his ex and their finances. It remains to be seen how it all pans out. We've done all we can; now it's down to the lawyers. I wish it wasn't even an issue, that it was all over and done with, but there may be some fighting. Hopefully he's up to it.

The truly rotten part about it is that if the judge ends up ordering alimony for even a short time, it prevents us from marrying, because in this state my income could be counted as his income for support purposes. *sigh* They won't care that we have two teenagers getting ready to go to college, or that I have bills to pay on my own, or that he's still paying his daughter's student loan. We're just praying for the best.

Last night was a little piece of wonderful. B took the girl and I out for dinner at a Mexican restaurant, since neither one of us wanted to cook. The meal was great and the company even better, and everyone was happy.


The boy stayed home since he wanted to play on the new computer he and B built. It was sweet watching them work together.

Later that evening, I caught up on all my chores, and was mildly distraught that I'd missed most of the time that I usually spend with B, as he came in to tell me that he was going to bed early.

I puttered around a while, taking care of some things on the computer and chatting with friends about American Idol, and finally was wore out around 10:30. I crawled off to bed and into the welcoming arms waiting for me. B sleeps so lightly it's nearly impossible for me to sneak into bed without him knowing.

He woke sometime in the night around 2 a.m. and couldn't go back to sleep. I think he went to bed too early and had gotten his sleep in. I roused around 2:30 to find him lying there watching me sleep, smiling. It made me giggle. "I'm sorry I woke you," he said. "I couldn't sleep for the past couple hours, and I just couldn't help snuggling you."

"Snuggling with you is one of my favorite occupations," I murmured, nuzzling into his chest with a smile. I sighed in bliss. "Sometimes I just want to crawl inside of you and stay there forever."

It must have been around 3:30 when we drifted back to sleep, and the alarm went off at 5:30 as usual. Thank God I remembered to set the coffeepot before I went to bed. :-) I know I'll be tired today at work, but it's all so worth it that it doesn't even matter.

My portraits will be here tomorrow. I saw the proofs, and David's made me beautiful. I can't wait to show them to B. Oh my....

The girl starts her summer job today after school, and the kids are off tomorrow. I'm still tossing over the idea of taking the day off. B said he didn't think it was worth it, but we'll have to see. No plans for the big weekend, just a long weekend of spending time together.

Yahoo!

Crazy dogs

I ALMOST forgot.... I downloaded my cell phone photo album and found two of the cutest pictures of our crazy dogs.

This is Buddy, the old man, with the new toy we bought him last night.

And Monster, in one of her favorite sleeping positions.

Gotta love em both. LOL

TGIF

FRIDAY, sweet Friday.

It's a better day today. Last night we decided to leave the previous day where it lay, and we had a wonderful evening. We went to plant our little garden plot, putting in the tomato and pepper plants, the cilantro and the onion sets, and I planted a row of crazy colored zinnias just for fun.

The neighbors came over for a while to talk to B while I was in town getting groceries with the girl, and they all wanted to talk about what an ass my ex was, coming in with the stereo blaring making such a fuss on a pretty summer evening.

It's supposed to be 97 this weekend, a huge change from the 50 degree weather it's been the past few weeks. What a crazy crazy year. B and I need some sandals, and I think we should look at some shorts for him. He went out to mow yesterday afternoon and came in sweaty in his boots and jeans.

I have an eye infection this morning from trying to wear my contacts on Wednesday. I woke with one stuck shut. *sigh* And they've been itchy all day. It means a visit to the doctor if they get worse before my recheck appointment on Monday.

And speaking of appointments, David will be in town with my CD today and I have to hook up with him somehow. I'm thinking of sending the girl in my stead. I don't want to upset B all over again, and I know how easy it is to get stuck with David, chatting. But, OH, how I want to see those proofs so I can pick out the one for B! (And as I type this, the phone rings and David calls, telling me he won't be in town today after all and could I please wait till Monday. So we're off the hook...somewhat.)

Not much to say today, other than that I'm looking so forward to the weekend. B promises that he will go for some walks with me in the evenings, so we'll have to see if that pans out.

Hmmmm... :-)

Raw and bleeding

MY HEART is bleeding this morning. I did something that hurt B yesterday. It has shaken the foundations of our world as surely as an earthquake. Now it remains to be seen if there will be any injuries, and how much has been bruised and broken.

Natalie Merchant is singing "My Beloved Wife" on Pandora this morning, a bittersweet twist of the knife.

I had this wonderful thing planned... a surprise for B. (And for me, if I were completely honest) My daughter has been in pageants for a long time, and over the years, she's been photographed by a local photog with a lot of talent and a very artistic eye. We've become friends over the course of his shooting my daughter's events, and the offer has always stood open for him to do a photoshoot for me. I've always pooh-poohed the idea, knowing that it means a couple hundred dollars I didn't really have to waste, and thinking that no one would ever be interested in portraits of ME. But after the divorce, I suddenly felt very free... and needed to do something to declare my independence and self worth. I tried the bellybutton piercing, but couldn't get into it. I thought about a tattoo, but couldn't justify the lifelong commitment to a design I might not love twenty years from now. And then I remembered the photos.

B has told me over and over how much he loves me and how I look: big nose, saggy breasts, little love handles and all. And he certainly seems to be telling the truth, judging by his enthusiastic response to my (imperfect) body. And it's been great for my self esteem. So much so that I gave up another lifelong dream: to have a breast lift. He went dutifully to the plastic surgeon's office with my daughter and I as we sat in evaluation of our breasts, hers uneven and needing reduction, and mine in need of a lift. And when we walked out of there unnerved by the proposed surgery and newly appreciative of our native shapes, he was overjoyed. We bought ourselves new bras to celebrate, and called it good. But I'm no one's idea of a supermodel, and I've traditionally not photographed well.

But David works wonders. I've seen him do magic with his camera. So I cooked up the idea of making this a surprise for B. Last Saturday I told him that I had to be gone most of the day to an appointment, and that it would be a surprise for him, and he gave me the keys to the new car and his blessing and told me to go and have fun. The girl and I went to Wenatchee and spent five hours on a shoot, complete with new hairstyle and five or six different outfits. We had a lot of fun, but to be completely and totally honest, I was missing B terribly after the first hour. When I got home I folded into his grateful arms, and confessed it, saying "I didn't realize I was so attached...."

David called on Monday, when he was supposed to show up with the proofs, saying he couldn't come until Wednesday, but could I please meet him at the bookstore to go over them at 5:30?

I told B I needed to go, and he was fine with it. I thought I'd be gone about an hour. It ended up being an hour and 45 minutes; David was late from his last appointment, and there were over 500 photos to go through so we could choose the final prints. I looked up at 7:10 to find my daughter coming in.

"Where ARE you?? B is frantic!" she said, and we flew home.

I pulled into the drive and he was sitting in the chair in the garage, face stony. "Are you angry with me?" I asked.

"Yes." he growled. "Where the hell were you for two hours?"

He would hear no explanation. I dropped to my knees, unable to make eye contact with him from above; dropped to the level of my heart. "I'm so sorry...." It was the only thing I could say, and not nearly enough.

Something in his face changed. "Get up off your knees..." he said, his voice choked.

"Then come up to where I can see you."

We rose and he pulled me to him suddenly, holding me tight. "You frightened me so badly." he whispered into my hair. "I thought something had happened to you. I can't be without you... I couldn't live if something had happened to you."

We clung for an hour; apologising, reassuring, caressing, reaffirming. He hung on my shoulder, in my arms, like a drowning man. I could feel his fear and exhaustion; it ran through him shuddering like a current. Eventually, the kids looked for us for dinner. He was too wiped out to eat. He sat a few moments while I got the kids squared away; eyes closed, curls sweaty, looking like a child that has cried itself to sleep.

It is a function of the disease, this fear. But I am his post... his pier, in this stormy sea. He's clung to me through his divorce and the shock waves that are still rolling our little household topsy turvy on regular intervals. He's been such a cool cat for the last couple of months, so self assured, that I've felt like I was the one who was in too deep, wearing my heart on my sleeve. Last night I found out that I was not alone. He needs me as much as I need him.

Is this healthy?

It is what it is.

I've shaken his trust in me. After the tears and fears had calmed down, I wanted to break the surprise right there... to tell him everything, about the photos and the need to go back on Friday to pick up the final disc... but he wouldn't let me, telling me he could see that it meant a lot to me.

We were getting through it, moving on, his smiles just returning, when I got the phone call from my ex. He was supposed to have come by shortly after I returned home to pick up an old piece of wood that we'd collected that he was going to use in a project, but thankfully he'd not shown up, allowing me to spend that needed time with B. Now, at bedtime and nearly dark, he was ready to come get it. I told him to hurry up and I'd wait.

He showed up within five minutes, and had the wood loaded. I still had a piece of software that he wanted, so I took a few moments to explain to him how to load the program before he left. Halfway through the explanation I heard the back door slam. I shooed him out and went to find B, heart sinking.

He was livid, lit up like a roman candle. "Get out of here." he said. "I can't talk to you right now."

I let him be for about ten minutes, puttering around the house and waiting, then went back to talk to him. The door was locked. I stood staring at it for a moment, then knocked. "Are you coming out soon?" It was quiet a moment, then the door opened, and he was there, head hanging, anger spent. "Oh, honey," I took him in my arms again. "He's gone. And you knew he was coming. What's up?"

He was angry about how my ex had showed up, music blaring, coming in and getting the dogs all riled up like he owned the place. I commisserated, knowing he was right. R had come in, spreading himself all over like he was a dog peeing on a tree. It was pathetic, and I had nothing effective to say, except to reassure him that I was glad R was gone, and so very thankful that B was there.

We didn't go to bed mad; far from it, we clung like anemones. But dinner made my stomach sick on top of all that stress, and B slept restless. And I was left feeling crummy about the whole photo surprise thing. I hope that when he gets them, he feels like it was worth the hassle. Somehow I've lost my enthusiasm for it.

I can't stomach hurting B, even inadvertently. If my silly cell phone would have been charged, none of it would have happened. But the take home lesson, despite the pain, was this:

I thought for a while that I was the one who was more in love. That I was pathetic. Too clingy. That maybe B wasn't okay with all this closeness. I realize now that we are both in this, both of us all the way to our toes, together. And that's something.

Lucky (wo)man

YESTERDAY I got a link in my Amazon window that made me pause.

I was shopping for Lush solid shampoo bars -- I have become addicted to the Karma bar, and finally needed to replace it. (Oh, to have a Lush store close by! Alas, the nearest one is Bellevue, across the mountains and hours away.) The personalized shopping feature in Amazon often sends me links to items that are interesting. Usually I just ignore them, but this one gave me a second look.

The link was for "Lucky Man", the memoir of Michael J. Fox. They sent me the link because I've been shopping books for PD caregivers. I'm the kind of person that likes a lot of information. I'm a typical Capricorn, needing everything carefully planned out so that I can prepare for any eventuality. My life thrives on routine. I look at these things surreptitiously, not wanting B to think I dwell on it, but needing some timeline, some roadmap, some reassurance on how this is all going to go. Will we have five years? Ten years? Twenty, and retire and live our lives with grandchildren and cats and a motor home? Or will I curl up beside him in that hospital bed, hoping I'm reaching him behind the silent mask?

I am desperate to build memories; desperate to eat all of our dessert first. There will be time enough for vegetables later, when time has run thin and this thing we're denying has finally caught up to us. It eats at the inside of me sometimes. How can this love, this life, be so beautiful, so perfect....and yet so temporary? The metaphors abound to me, the writer, spilling so freely off my fingers and yet each one of them not quite the whole truth. It's a butterfly, brilliant but short-lived. A candle flame, burning hot before it's blown out. It's a delicate glass ornament, as fragile and as heartbreakingly beautiful as a piece of spun sugar, a soap bubble, blown glass, a snowflake in August. I wonder sometimes if he gets tired of catching me with that look on my face, gazing at him as if to memorize every beloved pore, my heart splattered all over the outside of me. Sometimes the wonder and disbelief stagger me. How is it that this has happened? Sometimes it's so big that my only recourse is to bury my head in that shoulder, hold onto him, feel his body pressed against mine and his strong arms around me. There, I can close my eyes and be comforted, be blessed, be home; and we can be just us: a man and a woman in love.

I paged through the book online to see if it held any insights that I had missed. MJF is the face of PD, although it's hard to equate what has happened to him to where B is. B, despite his ten years into the disease, is still only at a Phase 2, with minimal disability and symptoms that are well controlled by his medication. As I scanned the excerpt, the words of MJF jumped off the page at me.

…this unexpected crisis forced a fundamental life decision: adopt a siege mentality – or embark upon a journey. Whatever it was – courage? Acceptance? Wisdom? – that finally allowed me to go down the second road (after spending a few disastrous years on the first) was unquestionably a gift – and absent this neurophysiological castastrophe, I would never have opened it, or been so profoundly enriched. That’s why I consider myself a lucky man.

Here’s one more “apparent perversity”: If you were to rush into this room right now and announce that you had struck a deal – with God, Allah, Buddha, Christ, Krishna, Bill Gates, whomever – in which the ten years since my diagnosis could be magically taken away, traded in for ten more years as the person I was before – I would, without a moment’s hesitation, tell you to take a hike.

I am no longer the person described in the first few pages of this chapter, and I am forever grateful for that. I would never want to go back to that life – a sheltered, narrow existence fueled by fear and made liveable by insulation, isolation and self-indulgence. It was a life lived in a bubble – but bubbles, being the most fragile constructions, are easily destroyed. All it takes is a little finger.

Those words crystallized for me just what it was that I could not articulate for myself. In the PD caregivers bulletin board, someone had said that the diagnosis had had a curious effect for them: the sunlight was brighter, the highs were higher, the lows were easier to handle... in short, life was crystallized, colorized, valuated. The awareness of its transiency made each moment precious and valuable.

THIS IS HOW I FEEL. Yes, the fear is there, but above all of it is this incredible, immense sense of wonder... of gratitude... of joy. And of urgency.

I struggle with the fear, and the urgency. The counselor I see off and on says that in order to overcome it, I must change my "F" words... from fear to faith. I have faith. It was what made me able to walk off that cliff of divorce and step finally out into the unknown, with faith that finally, perhaps, it would be my turn to find out why other people seemed to have that sense of ease and happiness that had been so acutely lacking throughout my life. And the grace and generosity of God is all I can attribute this new life to. Who but God could have pulled B and I out of the atrocities that we were swimming through in our old lives, at that particular time and this particular place, opening us both up to new life at the exact same time, so that we could fall in love? Yesterday in the car I told him I could hardly remember the old life, just that sense of being stuck in a tar pit, fighting to pull out one limb at a time while the others got stucker and stucker, until all the will and the energy had been sapped and you slumped despondent into the muck without any hope of escaping. He looked at me as if I'd spoken gospel. "Yes. Exactly." But somehow something pulled us out, as if by magic. No, by a miracle.

And here we are. Here I am: the luckiest woman in the world. We are embarking upon our journey, B and I. All we can hope is that the road is long and the sunlight warm, and that we are properly grateful for this chance to be reborn.

Lily of the Valley

May 13: Five Months

Of weenies and their loves

THIS morning as I was running about trying to get ready for work, I noticed something sweet. Monster, the weenie, has been in love with Addie the kitty, ever since we brought her home as a tiny baby.

She was only six weeks old when the girl smuggled her in in her winter jacket, claiming her as a Valentine's Day present from her boyfriend (and as such, immune to the 'no more dogs/cats/kittens/puppies' decree). We had just gotten rid of four kittens, Addie's "oops" litter, so I was in no mood for any more small crying things. But there she was, a tiny handful of spotted cuteness, with one blue eye and one brown. The girl promised to keep her in the crate and take care of her. "I won't take responsibility for this one." I said. "If you can't train her, she goes back. No arguments."

And so it went.

She potty trained hard, as dachshunds do, and cried all night long in the crate for months until we relented and let her sleep in the bed, where she promptly burrowed underneath the covers and slept peacefully, gone to ground like a little hedgehog. She was bright, funny and cute, and despite myself, I liked her.

And the cat did too. They would spend hours playing, then Addie would roll her over and hold her down with one paw while she licked her ears and her face, grooming her. Monster would lie blissfully while the cat performed her ablutions. We figured that Addie must have adopted her, missing the kittens.

Now, Monster's full grown, and their wrestling matches are more equal, and as often as not Addie will call it quits first, tired of the relentless energy of the dachschund. But there are moments, like this morning.

Mother's Day

I HAD the most beautiful Mother's Day ever this year.

B took me out for a sunday drive, after we went on a Red Cross call to provide service to a couple that had lost the use of their home in a house fire. The call was in another small town outside of ours, so when we were done we took the long way home, through the rolling swales and slopes of Frenchman Hills. I'm not very familiar with the geography once you get me off the interstate, so it was all new to me. We made our way through the burgeoning orchards and the gently waving fields of thick green wheat until we dropped down the other side of the hill into Royal City.

"Show me your stomping grounds" I told him, and so he did. We drove slowly through the streets of what had been B's hometown. He showed me the fertilizer plant where he had worked as a young man, the high school, and the orchards he could have bought when he was 18 but didn't. He pointed out the house that his boyhood best friend had lived in, and marveled at how much the town had changed. We drove past the house that he grew up in, the "Casa de P-", he called it with a smile. It was a charming little ranch house, now surrounded by a deteriorating neighborhood and sadly in need of paint. "We had to get Mom out of here before the neighborhood got too bad" he remembered, and I understood why. The town is predominantly migrant, and poor, and his quiet little street had now become a dangerous place for an elderly woman living alone.

He pointed out a few more places, and I listened, trying to imagine my B here as a boy, young and strong and filled with life and vibrancy. I looked at the little house and tried to hear the music of Sally's piano, the mother that had shaped her young son with such a love of music.

Our last stop was the little cemetary. It was filled with artificial spring flowers, sprigs and bouquets, here and there, all adorned for Mother's Day. A quartet of bikers in their leathers and fringes stood headbowed, placing a flower of their own. We got out and wandered the rows. "I haven't been here since the funeral" he apologised. I found it before he did, but stepped back and let him make the discovery. It was a beautiful stone; a double headstone with father on the left and mother on the right I noted with some surprise that she'd passed only two years ago, in 2006. Where had I been when he had been hurting? I tried to remember some sign, but could only remember B, my stoic man, carrying on.

I slipped an arm around him as he looked at the place where his parents were laid. "I'm sorry... we should have brought flowers," I said.

"I did bring something." he said, pulling me tight to his side and laying a cheek on my head. "I brought you."
_____________________________________

Later that night we passed the time, as we so often do; he in the garage having a cigarette, and me in the laundry room folding laundry, the door open and quiet conversation wafting between us. We talked about his parents, and things that had transpired. He brought in the photo of his parents that I'd seen sitting in a box. "I'm glad you brought that in," I said. "I think it should be inside, if that's okay with you." He was quiet for a moment, and I didn't look up from the folding, giving him the moment to himself. "I would like that very much." I said.

He asked for the windex and cleaned it up until the glass sparkled, and then we stood together, arms around each other's waists, looking at the people who had brought life to my love. "I have his smile, do you think?" He said. "And her hair.... look, his was dark until the day he died. I have her grey hair."

"Yes." I said, nestling into the crook of his arm. He pulled me to him suddenly and held me tight.
"They would have loved you, my parents." His voice was rough. "My family will love you.... as much as I do."

"Oh, B." I whispered back. "You have brought so much to our lives. You will never know how much. Thank you." I reached up to kiss him. "Thank you for making this the best Mother's Day ever."