Comfort, peace and gentleness

It's been a rough summer. After knee surgery, the return of cancer, more chemo, radiation and extreme fatigue I feel drained and hopeless. The side effects from radiation have been baffling but mostly I feel a great deal of anxiety and I am emotionally overwhelmed by it all. I often find myself paralyzed and depressed, mentally and physically. The advice I receive is to sit with these emotions so I can calmly respond to the situation and not just react erratically. But sometimes its just too much and I feel the need to withdraw and find a safe place of comfort, peace and gentleness. The place I go most often for comfort is imagining an incident that occurred the summer before my mom died. I stayed at her house that summer to help and to be with her. She was weak and in severe pain. One afternoon she asked me to go to the store for her to purchase some ingredients for dinner. For some strange and inexplicable reason I got very ill at the store. Cold sweats, stomach cramps, nausea, dizziness were among the symptoms. I would run back and forth to the bathroom in between getting the items my mom needed. The staff at the store wanted to call an ambulance. Finally I agreed to call my family to come pick me up. I don't know how I looked but my mom gasped when she saw me so it couldn't have been good. She took me home, tucked me into bed and then fixed and spoon-fed me some chicken soup, as if I were a small child. It felt familiar and comforting but still I tried to get her to stop so she wouldn't exhaust herself. She said it felt good caring for me like she had when I was little and she wanted to continue. Without words, we both knew it would probably be the last time. She sat beside me on the bed putting cold cloths on my forehead until I fell asleep. When I woke up she was curled up at the bottom of the bed near my feet, sound asleep. I asked her why she hadn't gone to her own bed but she said she wanted to be close to me in case I woke up and needed her. Her hearing was not very good and she was afraid she wouldn't hear me if I called.

Betty Jo Passmore 
 August 1935 - September 2014

I am glad we had this experience together before she left us. My mother, like most mothers, had her faults but it is her gentle, loving care that I hold most in my heart. Well, that and the guilt for not cleaning my house as much as she would've wanted me too.

together apart

His face was brown, tanned from working outside in the summer sun.  I asked him how she was and the lines formed on his forehead. His worry was palpable. His concern painful to watch.  "She's been in the hospital. She has an infection everywhere. They gave her 12 bags of antibiotic." I asked if she was here today.  "She's seeing the doctor. She has an infection. They gave her 12 bags ..." His words faded as he stared out the window. He spoke of her with the feverishness of someone who might lose the one thing he couldn't live without. Later he asked me if I was doing okay. And he talked for a few minutes of other things. Like what was growing in his garden and the irrigation pump he had built to keep it watered. But in his eyes you could read where his heart and soul was. She cancelled her treatment and they went home to the farm...a giving up or a giving in? He said he had cancer before, then he had some heart surgery and now he thinks his cancer is back.

When I go to treatment there are multiple stories like this. The suffering astounds me and I feel a connection with it. I feel the camaraderie of the others but at the same time the fear hovers over us all. There is a lot of joking, singing, encouraging, comforting...a strange mixture of love and sadness that brings us together in our illness.

                                             

Trilogy

Every morning I have an appointment with a beast called Trilogy.
Lights flashing, red beams shooting,
sounds of clicks and whirs engulf me, body and mind. 

I struggle to hold my thoughts away from the beast, feasting instead on fleeting images that soothe and calm.
And sometimes, only sometimes I succeed.

After I leave the beast the dance of life goes on  

But in a limping painful way.
Not a graceful ballet instead a clumsy waltz
With stops and starts and angry steps.

And yet it does continue...

For those who are not aware I am out of remission and back into treatment. Its a tiny relapse but the attack against it is aggressive. No baldness this time but threats of more nausea and other unpleasant side effects. I am moving through it with great fear and trepidation finding bits of comfort as life provides from time to time.

Dad's birthday

This truck was in Tampa, Florida. It resided in front of a fresh produce stand that my parents used to visit. My dad loved this old truck. Maybe reminding him of his youth. When I came to visit once he was eager to take me to this location so I could photograph the truck. Which I did and then turned it into a jigsaw puzzle for him and my mom. After they worked the puzzle they gave it to the man at the produce stand who owns this truck. When my dad was ill I went to visit him in the nursing home in September of 2015.  We happened to visit the produce stand so I took more pictures. Then in November, when I visited again, we drove past and the truck was gone.  Now dad is gone too but will be long remembered...bigger than life kind of guy...at peace now.

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Visions and Dreams

Visions and Dreams, Georgia 2013 ©Rhonda Prince

I remember your visit.

Feels dreamlike and distant now.

It happened on an overcast day,

with the gentle hint of rain

hanging in the breeze.

I sat in a darkened room,

surrounded by doubt,

blinds drawn, thoughts

gloomy and somber,

trying to find relief.

But you slipped in my heart,

Like a skeleton treading softly,

Out of my crowded closet,

in a hushed calm,

dripping with the residue

of memory and sorrow.

In quiet and tranquil tones,

you whispered

the secrets of the

universe in my ear.

Then wrapping a magic cloak

around my shoulders

You led me into the mist.

And showed me the

messages in the clouds,

the writing on the wall,

and the dark caves and flowered fields

where one can escape

from the ceaseless onslaught

of life and fear.

You asked me to explore

 to find serenity and peace.

Yes, I know you will leave soon

And I will feel the loss.

I will probably lose my way again.

And again. But each time I

Will wait for your visit to

Bring me back to

paths to follow that

lead to silence.

The evening wore on...

So I have neglected the blog again. I have neglected many things. Maybe not neglected but procrastinated or ignored, overlooked, even snubbed.  I guess the semantics aren't really that important. There is so much going on at once in my brain that focus is difficult, fogginess customary and distractions preferred. But I have felt the urge to write again and I am here to do so. First, since I haven't written since September I could update you some on the happenings in my life. Good news or bad? I think I will mix them together, just like they are in life.  I am still in remission from cancer. I had blood tests to verify this in November and in February. The oncologist said I'm doing well though we know the possibility (the certainty in his book) of the cancer returning is always there. The statistics are against me but we will see... The holidays have passed, Thanksgiving with my family and friends...followed by several Christmas festivities. With everyone's busy schedule it was impossible to get everybody together at once so we enjoyed several days of celebrations. It was wonderful being surrounded by family and friends, enjoying food, playing games, watching the children grow.  Then in some ways it was a rough holiday. This was the first Christmas with both of my parents gone.  My dad died early in December of 2015, my mother in September of 2014.  I have a slideshow from his memorial service to post but again I have neglected finishing it.  A few weeks after my dad passed my sister tried to have a heart attack, but, thankfully, failed. After Christmas the weather was dreary and rainy. Going into stores and seeing the jumbled, leftover Christmas items reminded me of past holidays with my mom. We both collect snowmen. We would always buy discounted snowmen during the post holiday sales. I did that this year on my own, with tears both happy and sad.  I am trying to get to the point of having surgery to replace my knees; they have deserted me and I am often in pain and have difficulty walking. There are a few complications to sort out before I have surgery but hopefully it will happen soon. Life guarantees us nothing but I would like to return to work by August...and so it goes. Paul and I recently celebrated three years of living together in America. I always imagine he regrets his choices after all that has happened since he arrived. But he says no and ignores my suggestions for him to run like the wind back to London before it gets any worse. He has helped and continues to care for me in so many ways, a treasure indeed. I have  many people in my life that have been here for me...My attitude, at times, has not been the best but they put up with me (especially my sister) and feed me encouragement, hope and love. I have thought a lot about people in the past few months, not just my loved ones, but people, all sorts and kinds, various and sundry. Compassion and openness is easier for me then it used to be, at least on most days.  In the next few days I'd like to share some stories about that topic involving delivery men and homeless veterans. Sounds like a great title, eh? I don't believe cancer came into my life to 'teach' me something or for any other reason (it is what it is), but I think we can learn something from going through these experiences...if we listen, if we pay attention. Which sometimes I do, especially if it falls on my head like a ton of bricks. I guess you are caught up with my story for now. There will be a quiz on this material next Tuesday. My sister and I have been discussing stories lately and the themes of our lives. We both decided loss was our theme but she thought of it first and I don't want to steal her life theme so I have been reading some old writing to see what recurring subjects and refrains I would see. One thing I noticed was numerous writings about storms and feeling, or rather not feeling, safe. And fear...and an absence of peace and, frankly loss. I would like to concentrate on writing about some of those...loss, fear, the fear of loss, peace about loss, acceptance of myself and others, hope, and knowing that no matter how hard I try, there will be more loss... we'll see where it takes me. I realized too that my life is like a flopping fish. Caught where he doesn't want to be. Moments before floating through the ocean...until a juicy worm caught his attention and brought a huge hook into his mouth,  pulling him out of the water, onto the hard pier. The fish immediately began flopping furiously, trying to free himself from the dreadful hook and the stabbing pain. Then he realized if he lay very still it didn't hurt as much. So he stopped flopping and even relaxed enough to fall asleep. But then it occurred to him that if he lay too still the fisherman would think he was dead and might put him with the other fish who have left the ocean by way of hook and never returned. So he starts flopping again fighting for his life. The pain worsened causing him to stop moving and he hoped to just let go and fade away. The fisherman would prod him with the tip of his boot to see if he was alive and not let him be at peace. Maybe the fisherman would finally recognize his pain and release the hook and throw him back into the ocean, the only home he had ever known. Once there he would follow his watery path avoiding any squirming worms in his way.  But how would he get there? It is the question I ask myself daily. So to all 3 or 4 of my readers, I wish you peace and light! R