Archives

SOUR AND SWEET

So I began a journey 3 months ago, when I went to the endodontist to fix an infection in an old root canal.  They discovered my blood pressure was 245/145, which for those of you who are unfamiliar, is a stroke level blood pressure, referred to as hypertensive crisis.

I already care for my immigrant mother who is post stroke since 2004.  She went from a vibrant 66 year old to a right side paralytic, who no longer speaks.  Her response to music is there, but no words.  Having been illiterate most of her life, television is her only repose except for watching her great grandchildren bustle about her.

It’s taken 3 long months of bed rest and experimenting with meds to get me somewhat stable.  My family has endured months of spiraling emotions, schedule changing, and unexpected household challenges while I lay flat in an attempt to keep my pressure from exploding something in my head or my heart.

Something, however, did explode in my heart.

Vulnerability.

The vulnerability of laying bedridden and watching the sun rise and set while others hustled about me was tough for a type A person.

However, rest allowed me to grieve the loss of my beloved, less than 2 years ago.  That pain never really subsides, it remains much like my blood pressure…silent.

Occasionally, I find that the tears will emerge as a memory drifts in like a lone candle in the cold night and I find my heart chasing a beloved memory as the candle goes out and the momentary light fades into twilight, along with the brokenness of my heart.

My blood pressure medicaitons have left me with a lingering metallic taste in my mouth that makes food not as appealing, but the wanting, the hunger, remains.

I guess the loss of anything is like that.  I know the loss of my most special of friends has left me also wanting.

In life, there aren’t many people I have met that are actually real.  So much brokenness, pain, and fear.  It’s not the pain and problems I fear, but the fact that no one feels brave enough to talk about it, deal with it and hope for more.  I’ve been somewhat asleep the last couple of years. There is a black hole in my life since his passing, sucking all life, all I know as my universe into it.  I don’t lack the courage to stand again, even as the void left by losing the one who brought me sunshine and flowers, welcoming arms, and a love of life is worse than any pain I have yet endured.  Just tired.  Weary of searching for people with passion for life.

I am disillusioned by the ever-imposing truth that there isn’t anyone out there that is unafraid to be real, transparent, and vulnerable.

So as I searched for a way to make this overpowering taste of metal dissipate from my mouth, I found a pill, miraculin, in a product aptly named, Miracle Berry Fruit Tablets.  They make sour taste sweet!  I had seen a science special on it and now learned it is used with chemo patients to help their taste buds return to normal so they can eat.  For most of us, it turns the sour to sweet.  I’m hoping for anything to help me enjoy the foods I love, but it did make me ponder.

It sure would be nice it we could have such a pill for people, wouldn’t it?  For those who find life somewhat sour, depressing, lonely, and dark. it would be wonderful to savor life again and enjoy the sunlight, being alone, and highlights of life.  Just one pill.

Now, as a nurse. I know they make pills they claim can  bring more life, more joy, and just plain MORE than you feel right now; but somehow, the body knows.  It knows it’s not real.  It’s like the face they paint on “The Drummer Boy”.  It suffices to hide the pain, the illusion of great, without the reality.

My pills get here this weekend.  It’s snowing outside right now and I want to climb under my blanket, pull the covers over my head and pray that like spring,  the sun does shine after winter.  Hopefully, when I pull the blanket off, it will truly be warm and I will find the sun is shining again and the will to continue is present in the ground below, just waiting to push its way into the light and perhaps give one blossom to the world with an enduring aroma that inspires those who pass by to remember.  Just as the smell of pines reminds me of Christmases long ago, when as children we still have the naivete to believe in things we can’t see and await moments of reunion with family that has now long departed but still remembered.

I found that “miracle” pill long ago that has the capacity to leave the taste of wonder and joy and cloak the heart in the miraculous amidst a world of hypocrisy and disappointment.  It still abides.  It still holds true.  It is LOVE.    Only now, it has to span the place between this world and the next, but I still remember when its aroma was strong, its presence, close and its reality, present.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Did We Live Well?

I’ve had a lot to grieve lately, but also much to celebrate.  After the death of my beloved, I have no regrets and no words unsaid, only dreams we hoped to live. We lived as I must continue to live the life I still have, not just because Rick would want it that way, but because God has given me a life to live, and Rick was part of that life– the most wonderful part of it! Meeting my Creator (no, I’m not going to preach) I must remember that the life I now have is because His Son chose to offer me life and the opportunity to know my Creator as He wanted me to know him.  He continues to reveal Himself to me in so many ways.  I will post on some of those ways soon.

In life, today, we have many ways of meeting people online based on what we have in common or what we don’t have in common, and sometimes when we are just surfing the web looking  for something interesting, but we end up meeting others enduring the same trials or celebrating the same significant events in life.  I have been privileged to meet many online in the last few weeks that have inspired, touched, and encouraged me to continue to be strong.  Yesterday, I talked with my best friend and realized just how hard I’ve been on myself the last 7 weeks since Rick’s death.  I wasn’t giving myself time to heal, to grieve, to celebrate the love he gave me.

So today, I give you a quote I found on one of those inspirational quote sites,

“It is foolish and wrong to mourn the men who died.Rather we should thank God that such men lived.
-George S. Patton, Jr.

I thank God every time I remember this beloved, special, loving man in my life.  This kind of person doesn’t come along often in life.  He knew his purpose, he fulfilled it joyfully and he left when it was completed.  Now, it is up to me to demonstrate how this beloved’s life made a difference in the world, if only for me. I am  left here to finish my own tasks with the same attitude and run the race set before me, knowing those who have run the race before me stand as witnesses, encouraging me that I can do it; I can make a difference because I was created to do so.

I will not grieve as those who have no hope but live knowing he will rise again, and I will join him once again.  Until then, I live as an example of a woman who was loved, cherished, and perfected by one who laid down his life daily because he loved me as did the One who laid down His life without being asked, without expecting recognition but hoping to give something enduring in a world that seems so ready to dispose of that which is not like itself. So today remember someone, even if they are departed, that made a difference in your life and let me hear from you.  Witness of their love, spirit, and heart to others and hold on to a part of them and thereby make a difference in someone’s life.

Life is precious and temporary here, but love is enduring and always abiding in the hearts of those who make it important and love abides because we love one another.

  And because we love,  our God, who is love…..

LIVES!

 

 

Little Hands

I wanna hold your hand

Last night my little 3 year-old grandson lay down in bed with me and asked to hold my hand. It’s always amazing to me how healing that can be.

I asked him if he missed Papa Rick and he said,”Yes, Is he coming back?” I said, “No.” He replied, “Oh, sorry.” Such little words, but somehow I found I needed to hear it…sorry.

“Papa still in heaben?” “Yes, he’s still in heaven.” And I am still here, holding our grandson’s little hand, looking thru my upper picture window into the greyness. The moon is hiding behind the cloud cover and I dream that he is like me, searching thru the veil to find me.

I kiss my grandson, goodnight and fall asleep holding his little hands, special little hands.