Short Sleeved Shirt

I have read about it.                                                                                                                                         I have heard about it on radio and T.V.                                                                                                            Today, I experienced it first hand.

  I guess it all started when I got dressed this morning. I needed a short sleeved shirt. I had to go to the Doctor for a tweaking of my blood pressure medication, and a calibrating of my home BP machine... With all of the BP cuffs on the docket, short sleeve was definitely the best choice. It's my day off, so I immediately gravitated toward my favorite Tee. I made it last year - using my Faux Batik method. It is a beautiful blue color, and the lettering came out perfectly, with a really interesting negative image fading around each letter. One word, emblazoned across the chest - COEXIST. With each letter representing a different culture - just like the Bumper Sticker. I added my super cool turquoise and pearl choker, some big silver hoop earrings, and, of course a pair of pants -  I was ready to roll. After all of the cuffing and uncuffing at the Docs, I headed to the Teeter in search of some Coconut Flour for a new recipe.
   I grabbed up my favorite low cal popcorn from the rack by the front entrance, a case of Cherry Seltzer water, found the Coconut Flour - added that to the buggy, and was on my way to grab some chocolate almond milk (Yes, I am back on my diet), when I found my way blocked by a Shopping Cart. The pusher of said cart, a beefy, bald, scowling 30 something man, came around beside me. Leaning over, he pointed towards my shirt and with a snarl, said in a menacing tone - "Just what is that supposed to mean?"
   Now, the pre-stoke me, the one that was not inclined to back down from a fight, would have pushed my buggy into his and said "Just what the heck (probably not the word I would have used) do you THINK it is supposed to mean?"    POST stroke me, tightened my grip on the cart to steady the shaking and panicked me. I looked around - we were alone on the aisle. I took a deep breath and said something to the effect of "well, it means that you should have an open mind towards all people, living in harmony - not hating folks just because of who they are and what they believe. That you should live out The Great Command, and love others as Jesus loved us" I could have expounded on my explanation and schooled him in the fact that Jesus often used the marginalized, the least, the "Other" in his teachings. I could have told him that Jesus himself consorted with all types of people...There are so many other things I could have said. But that was all that would come out...I didn't have enough breath for more, because by this time I was visibly shaking, and my knees were threatening to buckle. He stared at me for a time, said some version of "hummpppff", and moved his buggy, allowing me to pass.
    No chocolate almond milk for me. I headed straight to the cashier. As I waited in line, I periodically looked over my shoulder. There he stood, on the same aisle, looking at some food item or another. I felt exposed...furious.... vulnerable. The cashier (one of my favorites) asked me if I was OK, after she noticed my hands shaking so badly I could hardly handle the money. I nodded, anxious to be finished with the transaction. As I got into my car, unleashing the tears I had been holding back, it occurred to me I didn't feel much safer in my car. The car which sports a bright yellow Hippie Chicks Rule bumper sticker.

    Now lets be clear. I never felt like I was in any specific physical danger. I think his intent - his delight - was to intimidate.

  And therein lies the problem. I have read about it. I have heard about it on the Radio and TV. And now, I have experienced it first hand. There is a segment of the population in our country that have become emboldened by the careless and dangerous words of those that lead us. Words that are tinged with inuendo. Words that grant tacit empowerment to those that lean towards bigotry and hate.

   And there we are. I don't know what to do about it. I only know that it sickens me. It angers me. It terrifies me.

     So, here I am. Back in my chair....under my red blanket. Since I fell ill, any strong emotion - good or bad, leaves me so mentally and physically exhausted that I can barely function. Even though I feel like I am not breathing, my finger pulse ox meter assures me that I am getting enough oxygen. I am still shaking so badly that my back is threatening to surrender to muscle spasms. I am wishing that I had that dadgummed Chocolate Almond Milk.

    This was not some FaceBook meme that leaves me confounded with the way of our world. This was not Lester Holt reporting on some incident in a distant state.  This was not hearsay, or some bit of vaguery. This was ME - in the Broad Daylight - in the Teeter - in my little southern town.   I will stop crying. I will stop shaking. I will keep on keepin on.   I will wear my shirt again, and should I meet this kind of hate and intimidation again, I hope I will once again stand my ground - shaking and all.

MAUNDY

    Tonight I had the great privilege of participating in the most beautiful, moving, Maundy Thursday service.

                     Maundy.      Translates into Command.

Tonight we remember the last command of Jesus of Nazareth.       Love.   Love one another.


   In our Homily, we were asked to ponder what our last words would be.....our last command to those we love. What would we want them to know.


    I didn't really have to ponder. The proof of my last words hang on the bulletin board in my office - steps away from the place I wrote them.....4 months ago tomorrow. I knew that something devastating had occurred in my body. I used the last of my spoken words to ask for paper and pen. I wanted my family to know that my last thoughts, if that's what they turned out to be, were of them. I tried to write that I wanted  them all to be careful as they traveled to the hospital. I attempted to write that I loved them. I remember when the realization hit - that I could no longer use my hand or brain to form words or letters on the paper -as a last act, I underlined the important words....Love. Children. Care. John.

                                                           LOVE.

  Our country dropped a bomb today. The largest non nuclear bomb ever made or used. A MOAB - Mother of all Bombs. A terrible misnomer. Madness....Monstrosity....Murderer - those would be appropriate "M" words for the acronym.
Not Mother.....not that which is synonymous with Love and Care. Life giving and Fertile with creation, not desecration.
                   
                                 Love.                                 And its' antithesis.

   At about the same time this bomb was dropped, a three year old in a far away land knocked on the door to his home, having returned from an adventure in the park. With him was my Baby Girl. As the Mother stood on the other side of the door and playfully inquired "Who's there?", the young Master piped up proudly....announcing himself and his boon companion using both first name and surname. The thing is....he gave my Baby Girl HIS last name. When corrected by his Mother, he told her in no uncertain terms that My Girl was HIS FAMILY, so of COURSE she had the same last name.


                                                       LOVE.   Across nationality and culture.

Us - Them.   Right - Wrong.    Black - White.     Rich - Poor.    Resident - Alien.   Straight - Gay

   We have become an adversarial people. Made blind and narrow in our rabid quest to be Right.  We have ignored the Maundy in the Thursday.    The great, last command. Love.....Love one another. No conditions, or exclusions.....no index of those deemed unworthy.    Love. One Another.

All Good Gifts

   I remember where I was standing. I remember my exact thoughts...."What a wonderful time to be alive, and to be a parent". What was the momentous event that precipitated such a heady thought? The new shopping carts at the Teeter....the ones that had the two forward facing green plastic seats attached to the regular buggy. PERFECT for a 5 year old, a 2 year old and a new baby. I could strap the two big kids in the green seats, put the baby carrier in the regular buggy - badabing, badaboom. I was invincible. I COULD shop with three children!
     I passed just such a buggy earlier this afternoon, as I left that same store. As I smiled at the young Mother, and her two littles, I chuckled at my young Mom self and thought how little my younger self could have imagined the day I have had today.
     Early this morning, I kissed Babiest Girl at the door as she left to drive herself to the fancy pants school - one town over.(That alone would have been enough to render my younger Mother self  verklempt!) I had just poured myself another cup of decaf (thanks, stroke) and settled in my chair to watch a little Good Morning America (NOT the TODAY SHOW, my show of choice, which I haven't been able to watch in WEEKS, THANKS Dish Network and NBC and the RIDICULOUS contract dispute), when my phone rang. MILAN calling! Baby Girl on the Video Chat! Through the miracle of technology, I was able to join her picnic lunch in the park at the Freedom Arch. (Sunday morning before Church, I was able to join her on a Bike ride past the Castle!) The sun must shine differently in Italy, because she was bathed in this glorious mid-day golden light - her face so beautiful, relaxed and happy as she made the most of her time before she picked up her charge at preschool.
    My phone rang once again, just as I was beginning to consider lunch. This time, for the first time in two months (exactly two months today, but who is counting), it was ZAMBIA calling! Peace Corps Boy was on the video chat. For 45 minutes I tried to control the tears of joy as we talked about his life in Africa, his bed bug rashes, food, birds, snakes, wild animals, his new friends, his new life......all the while, he was moving - changing positions so I could see his surroundings - the exotic place that is now his home. The sun shines differently there too. He looked so good. So happy. So fulfilled. You will be glad to know that I refrained from asking him to pull up his shirt, so that I could diagnose the bed bugs for myself.(Diagnosing maladies of all kinds is a hobby of mine....don't ask - I wanted to be a Doctor...). As the sun was getting low in the horizon, he had to go. His compatriots were waiting on him there in the training center, so they could make the 30 minute bike ride back to their respective villages  before it got dark. I have never wanted anything so much as I did at that moment - I wanted to be able to reach through the screen and the miles for one hug.....just one. He ended the call with a dazzling smile and his signature two syllable "Bye" (Bie-eee). 
    I sat in the silence, tears streaming down my face, looking at my phone - marveling at this device that in less than 4 hours had let me see  and talk to two of my Children - on two different continents. Marveling at the fact that I HAVE two children on two different continents.
   I have a friend from childhood....he lives far away from our home town now, but every day, I drive past a stretch of land that has three houses in a row. In them live my friends' parents and his sisters and their families. I am THAT kind of Mama. The one whose fondest dream would be that we would all live beside each other - separate, but together. If I were a betting gal, I would place sure money on the fact that this dream will likely never come true. My consolation and amazement lies in the technology that allows me to have mornings like this one....Where I can spy with my own little eyes the beautiful faces of my children....share their experiences and hear their beloved voices. 
   It is not lost on me, that my ancestor - Alexander Graham Bell made all of this possible, by his invention of the phone - So,  I give thanks to my very distant cousin, (perhaps I should also thank Al Gore for inventing the interwebs) for the phone calls I received today......I give thanks to my Children for remembering to call their poor old Mama....I give thanks to God, for all good gifts around us. I say to myself - what a wonderful time to be alive and to be a parent.

Edification

   Well, it has been an edifying weekend.
    I have learned that the phrase two steps forward, one step back is truly applicable to stroke recovery.                                                                                                                                                         I have learned that driving home from the Fancy Pants school the next town over ( a drive that after 4 years, I should be able to do in my sleep), even with 2 other drivers in the car ready to take over should I fall out, is beyond my capabilities just yet.                                                                                     I have learned that overtaxing myself in that way produces sit straight up in the bed at 1:00 in the morning post stroke anxiety of epic proportions. I will let you know when it subsides.(I may have to resort to the green pill of oblivion to reset my nervous system)                                                                   I have learned that in a domino "no sleep" effect,  my brain reverts to swiss cheese.                               I have learned that it is tremendously mortifying to have to ask for assistance when using the self pay machine at the Teeter because you can't figure out where to put the money, even though you have done it a thousand times in your previous life.                                                                                             Subsequently, I have learned that I have retained the wherewithall to restrain myself, because I did not deck the woman in line behind me, who was loudly sighing and harumphing and muttering under her breath at my inability to move it along.
   I have learned that sometimes trips to Italy really can be planned on the fly....I have exactly one week to help Baby Girl get ready to return to the Au Pair world.
    I have learned that even though you are in the throes of the Sabbath morning "I am running late to work rush", it is NEVER advisable to take your morning meds with the dregs of your still hot coffee.
   I have learned that when a 5 year old Moppet announces in Sunday School during our Mindfulness Moment that he feels like a rainbow, your heart melts and your tank is filled, even though you feel like a dogs breakfast.
   And finally, I have learned that when you are on the phone with your Son in Africa, it is never a good thing when he says, "Do you want to hear about the exciting thing that happened to me today?" It is never the smart thing to assume that the words "exciting" and "great" are interchangeable.
   I also learned that there are Spitting Cobras in Africa, and that they really do raise up and flair out that thing behind their head, and that sometimes when they strike, they miss, and that they then slither away into the grass right beside the path that a certain Peace Corps Boy travels every day, and can't be found by villagers wielding hoes and other assorted weaponry.
   If you need me, I will be in the bed, nursing a raging bout of edification.
 

Godspeed

  He never did learn to crawl. It wasn't fast enough for him. He rolled. He would spy the place he wanted to go, then lay down and roll to it with unerring accuracy.          His first word was not Mama, or Dada...no, something much more exotic for my boy - his favorite character in all of his many books....Big Bird.     He did not walk, he danced on his toes. If he got a two step head start, I could not catch him.  Every surface was a drum.   Every thought a song.  
   At the age of two, he started doing this really funny thing. If he thought that you were sick, or sad, or just out of whack, he would come up to you and look deep into your eyes. He would  take his little stubby fingers, and reach into that shaggy mop of black hair for a magic, invisible substance...he would then sprinkle it all over your head with a flourish. He called it Fee betters (feel betters), and oddly enough, you always did.....feel better.
      At the age of four, he begged me to paint a jungle in his room, full of the animals he loved the best - zebras and giraffes, lions and monkeys....I had never so much as sketched an animal before, but over the course of a couple of weeks, his room was transformed by a four wall mural.

     His bedtime prayers could rival the most eloquent southern preacher....long and specific, inclusive and imaginative - full of love for others and delivered with an absolute assurance that he was heard.
    He liked to snuggle with his Mama long after his contemporaries had given up such babyish indulgences....he has allowed me to hug him publicly for all of his 23 years - even at 13, the age at which the aliens come and snatch your sweet little boy and replace him with something moody and foreign. (They bring them back, along about the age of 14)
     At the onset of the driving years, he was a good sport as I called out the door, "text me when you get there" - and, out of his kind consideration for my feelings, he almost always remembered to do so.
    Recently, he sat at the side of my hospital bed - late into the night, and early in the morning - going so far as to sneak his crowd of friends into the ICU close to midnight, bringing with them laughter and love (and reprimands from the night nurse).
     Since my strokes, I have relied on him far more than I should, but I have been oh so grateful for the time it has afforded us - when he has been my driver and my shepherd.
            Tomorrow, in the blink of an eye, he will be off. He will get his two step head start, and I will not be able to catch him.
   At feeding time, when he was an infant, I would use those quiet, sacred moments to pray over that precious baby....Lord, help him grow strong and healthy....give him a loving heart....do not use him for war, but for peace.....over and over again, I would pray these things.
   And so, tomorrow, the journey begins, as the Lord will use him for Peace - not war... perhaps, I should have mentioned to the Almighty that He did not have to be quite so literal in His interpretation of my prayers......the PEACE CORPS? AFRICA?
       I know one day I will see the humor in that, but for now, in the wee hours of the morning, I am left with the remembrances of the boy who became a man. A man in whom I take such pride....for whom I have such love....a man/boy that I will miss, and worry about and pray for every minute of every day....
     This song woke me up this morning at 3 - I imagine it will be the soundtrack in my mind for the next 27 months....the inimitable Dixie Chicks......."God hears Amen wherever you are, and I love you. Godspeed little man...sweet dreams little man...oh my love will fly to you each night on angel wings...Godspeed....Sweet Dreams....."
 
   

There is Treasure even here....

 I remember a blanket of confusion....how did all of the items that had just a breath before been in my hands, find their way to the floor...Why did my arm suddenly twist of it's own accord? Standing in the middle of my office surrounded by my friends as I lurched to the right, I was able to utter one word...."stroke". Beloved, trusted voices swirled above me....hands took mine. I could feel that prayers were being said; I could not understand the words but I could sense the power and love behind them.
  In that moment, I felt the separating of the wheat from the chaff....the cream from the milk....the ego from the id. I could feel the rending...I could see the separation. Every once in awhile, as the EMT's were working on me, transporting me..I would try to make words. When unsuccessful, I would  retreat to that place - where my essence was floating....a spectator - watching the vortex that surrounded me - trapped in my head...all my lost words and thoughts....faces....worries that had seemed so pressing moments ago.
  Upon arrival at our local hospital, I was rushed into the CT scan, whereupon I left my cocoon of Id to feverishly fight to find the word that I needed above all others...."Claustrophobic!" The son-of-a- gun word remained elusive, and into the tube I went. Once inside, I was greeted by what others might have previously discovered through various chemicals and herbs in the 60's....I could see the colors and shapes of the various tones emitted by the machine. I became one with the Sound, and as it changed tone, color and shape, so did I. Now THAT was some trip.
  I never lost consciousness, so I was aware....through a series of early cinema type flickering moving pictures. So many people....words about a clot busting drug... Baby Girl, John, Babiest Girl, SoonToBePeaceCorps Boy...colleagues, YaYa's...tests to gauge whether the clots were breaking up....the shock that the one phrase that hadn't deserted me was one of my most colorful sets of kitchen words, and the fervent prayer that if those were the last words I uttered before I stood in the presence of my Creator, that He/She and I would share a similar sense of humor and irony.
  I was to learn later that I had fallen victim to a spray pattern stroke. 9 strokes, affecting both hemispheres of my brain. At fault - free floating bits of a blood clot hanging out on some calcium on my Mitral Valve. My life and way of life saved by a miracle drug.
 Through ten days of hospitalization and multiple MRI's, CT scans and a test that required me to swallow a Buick sized camera, I have discovered that my heart function is good, my Cholesterol is low and I am in good health for a "woman of my age"(Thanks Zumba)....save that pesky little Mitral Valve Problem.
   Multiple treatments have been discussed - back and forth, until we are back at the beginning determination that a course of blood thinners and 8 weeks of wait and see (I can already tell that I am NOT a natural at that regimen) is the best first approach...hopefully avoiding heart surgery.
  Of the many miracles that I have experienced in these 12 days, one of the most surprising is that I rate a Zero on the stroke scale...meaning my deficits are mild and, with time and therapy should resolve. I lose some words, and can't figure out how to pronounce others. I cry.....a lot - over nothing. I suffer crippling anxiety that comes out of nowhere and goes from zero to one hundred in the blink of an eye...both (hopefully) temporary effects of the strokes. I can't retain names of new people and some familiar people. I have to walk with a walker - my balance is not so great, my right leg is heavy and that foot now turns out at a 45 degree angle. My right arm and hand are weak and clumsy. I am exhausted most of the time, and require help to do so many things. I can no longer abide Law and Order SVU (Too intense, I think...and hopefully another temporary thing.) My vision has changed, permanently I think...  

    I am alive. I am home.  I have felt the prayers and good wishes from all across the globe. I am humbled by the friends and acquaintances that have offered help in a myriad of ways. I have been buoyed by the visits...and I especially cherish the visits from "My" kids....their hugs and cheerful chatter have been the best medicine of all.

Some friends sat on my sofa last night - Christmas Night - their sons, a couple of my favorite little fellas, in the kitchen, helping Baby Girl frost some treats. As we chatted, the Husband of the pair said "So....what have you learned from all of this?" I had a few obvious answers, but I was left with a feeling that his question will haunt me, as I "unpack" this whole experience, and journey on towards health. As I remember each of the Doctors, Nurses, Aids,and Lab Techs that treated me with such expertise, skill, humor and tender care. As I remember - when I thought perhaps that I might be dying, my only thoughts were of my awareness of the presence and love of the being I call God, and my concern for John, Jake, Katie, and Maggie....my love and thankfulness for them. As I remember how superfluous all those words and worries swirling in the vortex around my essence seemed, as I was in the throes of the strokes....

  My colleague....the person I consider my Minister, read a Blessing over me in one of the first days. It resonated so with me, I asked her to make me a copy. I had Babiest read and reread it to me until I could remember the words, and these were the words that I chanted to myself in the hour long specialized MRI in a totally enclosed capsule, during my anxiety attacks while I was waiting for the meds to kick in, during the crying times.....I leave you with these words to ponder, as I will continue to do. I sadly can not give credit to the author - because I have no idea what book it came from (Update: I have found that these words were written by Jan Richardson - look her up - you will be blessed!) - I only know that it gave me the greatest comfort imaginable....."Now the world falls from beneath your feet, all over again, as if the wound were opening for the first time, only now with an ache you recognize as ancient. Here is the time for kindness - your own, to yourself - as you fall, and fall, as you land hard in this layer that lies deeper than you ever imagined you could go. Think of it as a secret room - this space that has opened before you, that has opened inside you, though it may look sharp in every corner and sinister no matter where you turn. Think of it as a hidden chamber in your heart where you can stay as long as you need...where you will find provision you never wanted, but on which your life will now depend. I want to tell you there is treasure even here - that the sharp lines that so match your scars will lead to solace, that this space that feels so foreign will become for you a shelter. So let yourself fall. It will not be the last time, but do not let this be cause for fear. These are the rooms around which your new home will grow - the home of your heart, the home of your life that welcomes you with such completeness, opening and opening and opening itself to you, no part of you turned away."

10 days beyond the Silence.

So....once again, for the second time in less than 10 days, I find myself at the beach - an unprecedented embarrassment of riches. This time, it is My Husband and me....our first vacation without children since 1990. I took this picture today. I love how the sun is bursting through the cloud - spreading it's rays in all directions. This is how I felt, for the last three days of my Silent Retreat. After the Dark Night in Room H, and the next morning's nap in the new room - the one full of light and sweet air, this was me. It was as if some hard, oppressive vise had loosed it's hold on me. I felt a freedom and peace that I had not known for years. Well....that is not exactly true. The week before I left on my retreat, we visited SoonToBePeaceCorps Boy at his place of employ. He delighted in taking us on a tour of the beautiful Camp. Up one hill...up an even higher hill....scenery and vista's to to take your breath away. Poised at the very top - the pinnacle of all the hills, my Boy turned to me and with a sheepish look on his face said "Sorry Mom, the brakes on this Golf Cart aren't the best", and with that, we were off. Straight Down and around. Normally,This - is not my thing....I do not like it, Sam I am....
But the wind was cool and brisk, and it played around my neck, ruffling my newly shorn hair. The feeling was one of pure pleasure, so I closed my eyes, tilted my head back and gave myself permission to feel the feels, to delight in the wind - to lean in to the freedom.
  So here I am 10 days beyond the Silence. I still feel free. I still feel like I am on the Ferry....looking behind....looking ahead. I am still in that place of Giving Over. I have rediscovered something that I used to know - that there is Music between the notes...the Silence itself is beautiful music.
  I have read and re-read my journal. My word art for happiness. My flow chart of Joy, and Joy Drains. I laugh at the musically notated Mantras that I wrote...I will keep these - they have power.
   There are entries that are deeply personal, entries that are heartbreaking to and for me. There are words of hope. Words of anger and words of exhaustion. My words...words and feelings that have bought me my freedom.
   Dusk is my favorite time at the beach....but only at the beach - anywhere else, I find it full of Melancholy. At the beach, it is golden....you can feel a shimmering aura, and the air has a particular taste. Tonight, as I was sitting there watching John fish in the surf, I realized the tide was coming in at an alarming rate. Our chairs were on a raised portion of the beach, and the tide was coming up and circling around - effectively cutting us off - making us an island - rimmed in by the sea on an increasingly diminishing patch of sand. I grabbed the chairs and towels and beach bag, and slogged through the new channel of ocean to even higher ground, where I had a great view of the spot I had vacated. It was there that I learned my last lesson from my Silent Retreat....the words that my journal have been trying to tell me.
   When the Children were little, John and I had a series of unbelievable catastrophes...one right after the other, each worse than the one before. Our friends, in solidarity, and at an attempt at humor started a little phrase. If their car broke down..."Oh no, I am starting to feel like the Kennedys!" If their basement flooded..."Oh no, I am starting to feel like the Kennedys". Somehow, in the intervening years - we have bought into that phrase...Oh no...WE are the Kennedys - shutting ourselves off - becoming an island. When our friends moved away, either in distance or in spirit, we did not search out others. My good, smart, funny Husband and I became removed and wasted our emotional currency bracing ourselves for the onslaught of the tide. Well NO MORE.
   We are the Kennedys.....free and seeking. Giving over to the experience of the Ferry. Looking behind AND ahead.
    AlmostPeaceCorps Boy has a Childhood friend....she is wise. She had a Facebook post on the night before I left for the retreat. It so resonated with me, that it was the first entry in my Journal. "Respond out of clarity, rather than reacting to Chaos".
   The gift of Silence - breaking free of the Chaos on my way to clarity. Thanks be to God.