An Un-Fading Existence

In 2003 I met the love of my life; we were together through trails and joy, made promises, raised children, and in 2012 he left us all too early from sudden electrical heart failure. His first wife worked with her long-time boyfriend/lawyer to prove that her divorce in 2002 was never finalized; I allowed myself to occasionally wallow in self-pity that I had somehow been robbed.

But I wasn’t, I had him. I had his laughter and sometimes tears. I had his love and friendship. There was more wealth in the time we had together and what we shared than any retirement. My mother joked once that ultimately we both got what we wanted as he wanted us to get married and I struggled with the idea of marriage preferring to live together. Ultimately I decided that I believed in him enough to try marriage.

It has been said that true immortality is obtained in what those we leave behind remember of us. His laughter alone will keep many of us going, I still hear it when I do something particularly stupid, like wondering why biscuits are not cooking in an oven that is not on.

One of the things he and I enjoyed together was the fine art of skin-ink. Each anniversary we would get a new tattoo together. One of the first was kanji in red down our left arms that said, “I will never give up on you.” The meaning was important enough that we went to our Chinese cultural center and had the Manager brush them out for us after discussing the intent of the phrase to us. About two years ago I noticed that one of the symbols is fading and since I had the joy of working with someone from Hong Kong I asked her what it stood for; it became a sign and mantra for times to come. What it now reads is “I will never give up.” He is fading from my arm as his pull has faded in my life; what has not left is the strength he helped me build in my own sense of value.

Today even more than two years ago I needed that reminder, I will never give up. I read an old posting and cried that my “Frank” will not be here to get me toast or strawberries. The long-time dream of driving an RV around the country in our joint-memory depraved dotage will never happen without the driver-for-life. The only one who steals my blankets now is the dog he gave me weeks before passing away.

Yet, I am still here.  I feel alone too often, despite people trying to remind me I am not. I close myself off, I do not share, do not open, do not weep without the door closed and water running. That is my doing though, my choice; perhaps simply my way of trying to lessen the coming pain. The last tattoo I allowed myself is seven white cranes on my arm, one for each of those I have lost too soon.

Life has purpose. It may not always bring joy, but there is always opportunity for connectedness. Do not avoid those life brings you in the hustle of daily burdens. Do not draw away from potential joy to lessen the pain when the connection is gone. People are often surprised at the amount of ink I have on me; why? What does an inked individual look like? Are they different, less, younger, fiercer?

Who are any of us?

We are the accumulation of those we have allowed to impact us, and those pieces left behind when we share ourselves with others.

Maxine Hong-Kingston was the inspiration for my first tattoo. In her book Warrior Woman she writes of how Fa Mulan’s father carved the history of her people into her back so that when she faced her enemy at dawn the history of her people would shine through like lace. I was so drawn by the symbolism of that. What do we allow to be carved into us? Who does the light of dawn reveal, what is the image of our lace? We determine each moment who we are, how we respond to what happens not only to us but around us.

I may not ever be a social person, I do not know that I ever was; I do not like to leave my house. But I do care deeply for a great many people and I do not have to leave these four walls to let them know I care. Perhaps more importantly I do not have to lie or try to hide who I am. I am fearful and reluctant and withdrawn. I enjoy solitude and quiet. I prefer email and text messages over phone calls; but written words are lasting, can be thought through, should be thought through, can be looked back on.

I believe in mankind. I am frightened and saddened by many things in the world today. I am overwhelmed with joy each time I see small gestures of kindness not done for cameras or praise, just done from the heart of decency. I have faith that those willing to improve the world are blessed with an un-fading existence by all of us willing to build on their example.

Stride Forward, Shake off the Mud

In 2016 the brain damage that was first thought, in 2008 to be stroke related, then maybe MS, then maybe, then maybe, then maybe... was finally diagnosed as Binswanger's Syndrome which has no cure but mental deterioration can be slowed. According to wikipedia, "Symptoms include mental deterioration, language disorder, transient ischemic attack, muscle ataxia, and impaired movements including change of walk, slowness of movements, and change in posture. These symptoms usually coincide with multiple falls, epilepsy, fainting, and uncontrollable bladder."

I have no difficulty believing this as I had to look up how to spell Deterioration, but I could remember to look up alternatives for decay so I am still in here. I will admit because it feels it should be said, that yes I have difficulty controlling my bladder, but I am grateful that I more often than not make it to the bathroom at this point; I am oddly relieved to know there is a solid medical reason. Now I know why I have difficulty walking and why I fall so often.

In January 2017 I lost my job because side effects were beginning to affect my work and attendance. After six months of review I was determined to be disabled by the retirement board for my previous employer and now am fortunate enough to receive disability retirement; like most retirements that is less than half of what I made while working so allows about $120-150 after rent is paid for me to feed myself, my dog and pay gas, lights, and internet. I am working on alternatives and know that they will take time.

Because I lost my job, in February 2017 I lost my house. When you have no income you cannot make mortgage payments.

The last three months I have had more days than I care to admit where I did not want to get out of bed; it was so hard to move past the fear and sorrow and anxiety that fills my head.

Many things have struck me recently though including the fact that I claim to want to be a writer yet I do not write. Soon enough I will lose the ability to write. This cannot be faced without rage or I was never really a writer to begin with.

So there will be no more curling up and to binge Sherlock Holmes while fiddling with Sims until I have written. If I can get on my computer to play then I can write first.

I have had some realizations:

• Today I have a place to live; many in the world and even in the US are homeless.

• Today I have electricity; my brother has been without power for over a week in Florida.

• Today I can write a word of encouragement even if no one reads it; there are those that have no words of hope within them.

 For no reason other than divine intervention today I read through blogs poems and short stories I have written and or posted in the past. I started a blog called OnionLogic with a friend a couple years ago, I do not remeber how to get on and edit or post to it. All I could do at the moment is post what I had shared there on this blog. 

Edmund Burke was a wise man. Among a great many amazing things, he said, “Nobody made a greater mistake than he who did nothing because he could do little.”

I realized that I am guilty. Guilty of believing it is my right to give up. Guilty of not trying to be even a small difference in a sad and lonely world. Guilty of believing that whatever joy or little wisdoms I have been given need not be shared. Guilty of refusing to make this world a better place.

No more. I have heard the siren call of Sara B., “Don't run, Stop holding your tongue, Maybe there's a way out of the cage where you live, Maybe one of these days you can let the light in, Show me how big your brave is.”

This is my chance to practice what I preach, I have always said smile at everyone you meet and use duct tape if your words cannot be kind or supportive. I am not gone yet and I will not be silent any longer. I may not post every day, but once a year or two is not acceptable any longer, enough wallowing.

Time to shake off the mud and stride forward.

The Noble Path

JANUARY 6, 2015

I was getting ready to leave to run to the corner store tonight because I wanted to go and be back before the hour grew later and the cold set in any more than it had. I as grabbed a sweater and slid into warm fuzzy shoes I noticed a new message come up on Skype. Thinking I would just see who it was from so I knew if I should respond tonight or in the morning I found a dear friend struggling against those foul minions we all face too often.

In trying to help him hold his head above water and continue walking down that often difficult path I found myself inspired by the strength and compassion we shared. Though I could edit and build and pretty it up, I realized that it wasn’t needed. Life is not pretty, any more than it is fair, any more than it is predictable; but it is life! It is our life the only one we get this go around, and it is ours to embrace, to share, to change where we can and accept where we cannot change. So I thought instead just offer up what inspired me with no names no times and hope that some of you find hope and inspiration in the exchange like I did.

---

---

him

I know the path doesn’t have to be the one…..but I’ve never had this rage, this hurt, this emotional distress before‏

me

but trying to inflict the pain that was inflicted on you wouldn’t solve anything and it would allow that darkness to take you‏

him

I know….it’s just….not f***g fair…..nothing in this god forsaken land is fair….nothings just nothing nothing nothing…..‏

me

no one ever said life was fair‏

I know that sounds harsh but its true‏

life is not fair‏, it is messy and unjust and desperate and exhilarating and beautiful‏

him

I always believed that…..but I always hoped for humility….honor and respect….faithfulness and friendships….‏

me

 “Life is not measured by the number of breaths we take, but by the moments that take our breath away”‏ (Vicki Corona)

 all the moments in between have the potential to be dark or empty or mundane or painful‏ but the moments that leave us breathless‏, that touch us that move us that make us better‏. Those are what we must cling to in the darkness‏

“We live in deeds, not years; in thoughts, not breaths;

In feelings, not in figures on a dial.

We should count time by heart-throbs. He most lives

Who thinks most—feels the noblest—acts the best.‏”  (Philip James Bailey)

 You are a noble young man. You believe in and hope for the best in humanity, and though it may be hard when facing the demons, you must continue to believe that they are not of you they are only the darkness in the world manifested to thwart you‏ do not give in‏

him

…thanks….*huggles you close*‏

me

I love you for the hope that you retain, do not lose that part of you‏

him

 “It may be a noble endeavor to try to carry the weight of the world on your shoulders; but it will eventually bring you to your knees and you will struggle to get back up. It won’t be because you are tired, but because of the shame and guilt of failing everybody. You desperately wanted to save everybody you loved but you couldn’t, and now you can’t save even yourself from the bitterness. But you were brave. You were courageous and you did it with love, and you’ll tell yourself that maybe that was enough.”

— Adam Zucconi (via wnq-writers)‏

me

nice!!!!‏ See you get it!!!

him

why can’t the world be just….simple?‏

me

because the greatest beauty is not always simple‏

sometimes it is the simple amidst the mess and complex, the single flame in the darkness‏

And that very thought is why you get no attempt at eloquence here, just a very human, honest, simply beautiful flame.

Willing to Try

MARCH 31, 2015

Yesterday my 18 year-old Step-Daughter made a move that touched my heart to depths that still evoke an emotional response from me in quiet moments today.
She is in transition from an bug infested apartment and her Mother is watching her dog for her while she searches for another apartment. With her beloved friend cared for she was left with 50 lbs of dog food getting stale. Her solution? Pack it all into gallon size zip lock bags and pass it out to anyone who wants to distribute it to homeless individuals with dogs. Her Facebook post garnered many positive comments and likes quickly, so you can imagine my confusion when she was irritated by the responses. When I asked her why, she simply said she didn’t want pats on the back and likes, she wanted people willing to distribute the food to those with hungry animals.

One friend told her, “You make the world a better place.” Her reply humbled us all. “We can all help those in need. We just have to be willing to try.

I know we all have days that it just seems so insurmountable to make any difference in a world so full of pain and suffering, I do. But I have decided that this is a wake up call, at least for me. Maybe I cannot end world hunger, or find shelter for everyone. But one kind word, one meal for dog or man, the cost of one cup of coffee a week…
I can be open and attentive to the world around me.

I can be WILLING to try.
I can change the world.
One person at a time,
starting with me.

Neglect begets

Neglect begets

Never-to-be’s stunted spiritual growth in excessive demand by the resentful at the bottom of the stairs.

Mother would say, “Let’s talk about roses,” and send anger scurrying to the too-cluttered corners; I knew that was the cause of all those thorns pricking my ten year-old fingers. Caught in a servitude competition.

This is the communal journey against the lie of history-father, of bitterness.

How do we explain away stealing the voices of angels from children long blinded by the hopeless.

Fractured conversations flap in memories caught in the draft of bitterness; toss the forgotten onto the rainbow grill.

I’m waiting for the pain to grow past the bounds of flesh, to push outside of myself in 3-4 time and keep us drifting out the door. I just keep tripping over my joyous expectations where they crumble in puddles on the floorboards.

Wish I could turn off that missing part being so vigilantly ground in the earth/ glad that I can’t

Angel on the edge of wing-spread.

If your arms are not the part of you that truly embraces who I am, and yet it’s your love that brings the safety needed for peace enough to dream, then why do I crave them so in restful moments?

At the worst moments of any given day thoughts of stained glass, forested hills, and a bite on my flesh can bring joy.

Why do I reflect so often, find myself wondering, what windmill does your mind you tilt at? Who is your Sancho P, is it me, or am I Dulcenea?

Stepping Stones

What an odd and unpredictable journey this is...

I have been so many people over the course of my life, as I know many of us have; in my brash youth I sold paintings on Capital Hill in Denver, ridiculous pieces with no heart. As  I grew older my boredom still settled in easily and I would ramble from one project to another leaving a junkyard of half-finished projects in my wake.  Five years ago I was told the shaking in my hands and sporadic short-term memory issues were due to random damage to the front area of my brain. Now I find it difficult at best to do any fine work, even reading, for long as it triggers double vision, headaches, and increases the muscle spasms.

I find that by 46 I don't miss the rambling spirit, I hold no lingering regrets for the tolerably pretty young woman I used to be, I do not long for the breathless pace I danced through life at. What I do yearn for is the steady hands and tolerance to continue artistic self-expression. Oh how I wish I had finished a few more projects, or even kept more than the one painting; maybe.

Somehow, I allowed the chaos of the last year and a half to become a cocoon, an excuse, to hide from even an attempt at artistry. Probably fear that I no longer had it in my heart. Silly I know. How often do we let ourselves get caught up in all the "I have to's" of life simply as a subconscious protection against potential failure?

It has been a painful week, yet a week of healing and opening. Though I now know that due to a clerical error, and other oddities, my wonderful marriage of ten years cannot be recognized by a court of law as legal- I have spent the week in reflection and embraced the fact that neither a piece of paper or a judge can change the blessing of watching four amazing children grow to be adults that I value and am proud of. None of it can change the time we had together; none of it can change who I am. What it can do is remind me not to put any of life off, ever. Yes, there are things that must be done: the children must be fed, dogs must be walked, bills must be paid. So too, children and dogs must also go to the park and run with abandon, money must be kept for Popsicles and paints, and time to enjoy those things is just as important as the football game or work.

I found the only painting I ever kept for myself and remembered my dear one telling me he loved my brain fractured and all for the ideas hiding in the cracks waiting to come out. So I picked up a brush and dug out the canvas and paints. True I can no longer do the bold smooth strokes I used to, but it keeps me from getting hung up on a satin smooth finish. I am experimenting with textures and strokes. I will never be a famous painter, then again I never wanted to be. I have found that the patience I have now, even if it takes days to finish a single skull or a clutter of stones, is helping me create work I like better than the quick stylized pictures I used to do. Yes, I will keep the old green me on a wall; it serves as an important reminder.

I have been many people over the course of this life so far, and I am certain I will be more before the journey is over. But for today at least, I am no longer afraid of who that is or what I can or cannot do. I am who I am, just as all things happen for a reason. This is my canvas, I am a work in progress...

Fish in a Tree

I am saddened at how long since I tried to write, but accept that the chaos of life too often deters us from the path we thought we wanted.

Losing the comfort, the embrace, the vibrancy of my soul-mate was devastating; knowing that he did not suffer, did not linger in pain and frustration eases that - I cannot wish for more than what we shared for ten years. His last acts were brave and caring, as he was.

The last year has been discovering how to breathe without him here to add laughter to my world, how to be brave when alone, how to keep tears for those times when no one is looking; that journey has opened my heart wider than I knew I was willing to risk.

I have found that though I still hold myself apart, I love the world more than I knew. I believe more fiercely in the potential of humanity than I would have believed possible.

There is a sign in a window on the campus I work at that simply says "Scatter Joy." Every time I pass it I smile. 

I may not believe a fish can climb a tree, I may not trust or embrace anyone as I did him again, but free flowing water takes skill to navigate while avoiding hooks and nets just as the soul in me is still living even if it is on a different path. 

I am still the woman he loved and the best gift I can give in his memory is to share the strength and joy he brought to my life with those I contact in this journey.

There were times that I felt we were so different that he was an Eagle and I a Guppy, yet we found a way to make it work; he never asked me to climb a tree without holding his hand out to help me, and I took joy in the adventure.

My choice for the year to come is to leave the safety of the pond more, scatter more joy in the forest around me, and embrace that though he may not be in my arms he is still in my heart.