Let Go, Let God

Don't you just hate this title?   Well, I do, but I do...that is, "Let go, let God."  I just have to,  because I've tried to control it, life, without the, " let go,"  theory, but I just get mixed up and messy.  So, here's today. 

I sang at church today.  I can sing and enjoy the experience, so...anyway, Jed decided he didn't want to go.  That was fine and I took off to church to sing. 

Something happens when I go to church.  It's not the cross, or the robes, or the litergy.  It's the people.  I sat there, with a bit of an attitude, (like," life is worse for me, you guys"), but I watched the people.  Gradually they came.

These are people I've known for 23 years.  People I've sang with and laughed with and played with.  But the common element is that I've worshiped with them. 

What I was awed by today it that they were there.  They continue to be there.   Sunday morning.  They are there. 

I looked around and with the exception of maybe one, everyone is in grief.  Everyone has a spouse in ill health, or one that has died, or a pain unrepairable through divorce or children who just didn't cut the mustard. (I've never liked that phrase.)  Then there's the ones who are barely getting by with their health. 

But, they all are dressed up.  They all are there at 9:00 in the morning.  And, they all act like they aren't having any problems.  Shit.  We ask for joys and concerns and everybody is simple.  (A friend has cancer, a mother fell, golly gee, somebody has a birthday, etc.)  Nobody is screaming out, "this is awful, help me!"  We pray a simple prayer and we all go home. 

But, somewhere in the awkwardness of humanity, we become human.   I look at everybody.  They all have amazing trials and they pray for help and guidance.  It's the place where it's okay to silently say, "I can't do this without something bigger than me, and I choose to call it God, and I choose to be here with these people who I feel safe sharing a small part of my life."  That's what makes church good. 

So, skeptic that I am, I say, there are just some times when you have to say, "let go, let God."  The people that I see in chuch know that, and now, so do I.  Sometimes it's just too tough to do it alone, and that is when you just take a deep breath, go into another space and place, and allow the Power that we all know is there to take over.  

I guess I  have to do that tonight, because a possum just walked into our house and I have no idea where it is, so........................

Modification

Finances are tough for us all.  I'm an educated person, but It seems you need a doctorate in finance and work full time on making everything work.  Jed and I have been responsible people our whole lives.  We have extended ourselves financially over and over again for others.  We have been blessed with the opportunity to do just that.  We had good jobs and came from supportive families. 

Now everything is different.  Since the accident the bottom fell out.  We've lost almost everything we had and are looking at loosing more. 

Books and books could be written about these past 27 months, but today I'm going to focus on our home. 

We were fat.  We were risky.  Some would say we were foolish.  What ever we were, we believed in our ability to make right the risks we made.  And then he fell.  We were deep into credit card debt and mortgaged our home to finance a remarkable venture which is now gone along with our credit. 

After the fall and once I got a handle on our new life, I sent hardship letters to all our creditors.  Everyone has worked with us and we are completely out of debt.  Except for the house. 

So here's how it has gone, for 27 months.  After the hardship letter, the mortgage company advised me to not pay for 6 months, and then they could give me a modification.  So I did what they said.  Then they asked me to fax them what ended up about 4 inches of paperwork.  Which I did.  Then I did it again.  Then again.  All because they said they needed to "get it to the right people in their company to help."  Then they told me to pay the mortage for 6 months so they could see good faith.  So I did.  Then they told me they couldn't help me because I didn't make enough money.  And, the mortgage company and I have played this game now for 27 months.  They come back and say they'll try this program or that program and I might qualify if I just fax another pile of paperwork and pay another chunk of money.   Finally we hired a lawyer and gave him $4000 that I would much rather have paid to the mortgage company.  The lawyer gave us some assurance until last week when we got a new notice of doom on its way.  The lawyer says, "relax" we've got time.  Relax. 

In the meantime, I've put out a bunch on money adapting the house so that Jed can take a shower and get in and out of the house in his wheelchair. 

Something is really wrong here.  I'm not expecting miracles, but it's just really hard to, "relax"  when I've had good faith this entire time.  Shit, if I thought they wouldn't help by modifying the loan we would have walked away from this place months ago and put all the money that I've put into adapting the house into a rental that I could afford. 

Does anybody know what I should do?  If you say pray, I'm doing it.  If you say work harder, I'm doing it.  If you say, believe in the system, it's fading.  Let go, let God is about all I can come up with.  

Help Me!

Sometimes we have good days.  Sometimes we don't.  It's the nights that get dark.  Jed gets his pills.  Pills to sleep, pills to manage pain, pills to manage spasms, pills, pills, pills.  They mess with him.  They're supposed to.  They do what they're supposed to, but they do more.  They send him to another world.  Sometimes it's good.  Sometimes it's not. 

Most nights I hear, "help me."  "please, help me."  Shit.  What am I to do.  He is asleep, sort of.  Asleep enough to snore.  But he is miserable.  He wants help.  I massage his head.  Give him cold clothes, turn him over.  Nothing really helps, because the help he wants I can't give.  So, I spend lots of nights just listening and writing. 

Tonight is especially bad.  He can't breathe, he can't move, he can't hear, he can't, he can't, he can't.  But he continues to ask for help. 

When you take the vows, "for better or worse" you don't spend much time thinking about what that really means.  This is worse.  We've had lots and lots of betters, but this is worse.  Our betters have been so good that the bank is full and able to pay out on this. 

My daughter is about to get married.  I am so happy for her and know she has chosen well.  She will stand there in her elegance and agree to, "for better or worse" because she is blinded by love.  Good thing love does that to you.  Worse is pretty unpleasant.  Too bad it's not, "for better or as long as I want to," or "for better or until it gets hard."  But, the truth is, as hard as this is and as much as I would like to complain, I have the easy part.  I get to stand up and walk out if its too tough.  I get to get in the car and go for a drive, I get to go out to the back yard and breathe the evening air.  I don't have it so bad. 

When Jed calls out, "help me, please help me," I die just a little because I can't.  I've tried, believe me, I've tried.  But I just can't. 

We have an amazing friend from church who has seen a side of life that most of us never will and all of us hope we won't.  He is almost 90 and was a prisonor of war.  Now he brings us grapefruits that he picked from his own tree and thanks me for taking care of Jed.  After all he has been through, he has simplified life to, "Jesus loves me."  He asked me to sing just that for his funeral which I have agreed to on the condition that he will sing at mine.   If I can take one thing from his elegant life, it is that when we ask for help, it may or may not come, but the ultimate knowledge of the love of God is ever present. 
So, tonight, I will sleep.  "For better or worse?"  This just might be the better, because life's stuff gets a little bit more clear when it's dark.

The Beach

Jed sailed the South Seas before I knew him.  He watched the whales rise by his ship, drank the juice of barnacles stuck to his ship, and kept watch through the night as his ship sailed through and to islands with exotic names.  He tells stories of drinking local libation from the shell of a coconut and falling completely in love with the deep, deep blue of the sea.  That was before he fell off the ladder.  It's been two years now.  Two years of spending most of his life either in bed or in therapy.  Two years of knowing the dreams aren't over.

Yesterday we went to the beach.  We ate chowder on the pier and went to the very end to watch the glorious sunset.  We talked about negative ions (that scientific explanation of why we feel so good at the beach).  We met an old couple from Oregon who were celebrating their 59th anniversary.  We lived life big. 
Jed stood at the very edge of the pier and looked out over forever.  He breathed in the sea air and remembered.  And planned. 

And when we got home, Jed said, "I want to walk in the house."  He's been doing some walking and we knew he could probably be successful, but we were tired.  Somehow we got the energy to say, "Okay, Jed, let's walk."  He did it.  All the way from the car, up the ramp, in the house and to the bed.  He was exhausted and has slept a good portion of today, but he did it, and he knows he did it, and knows he can do it again and again . 

Two years isn't such a long time.  It's time to rest and heal and make plans.  His plan is to walk.  And walk he did.  The sea air helped.  It brought back memories of living life free and open to possibilities.  His arms and legs are waking up.  It's very slow.    I spent 30 plus years being an elementary school teacher.  I spent many a day explaining to collegues that I was a process person not a product person.  Thank God.  The product is not yet perfect, but the process is amazing and life enriching. 

Monroe

Monroe was born on March 23.  He wasn't alive.   We had such plans for him.  He had plans for us.  We wanted a little baby to love and hold and cuddle and rock, teach ABC's and rejoice when he walked.  He came with a different plan.  I cried for days when my plan didn't work out.  I cried for me. I cried for his mommy.  I cried for his daddy.  I cried because we wouldn't know him.  And then, I realized we did know him and he knew us.  He was the spiritual connection between us all.  He made us wake up and say, "oh, my, I so Love you!"  Monroe had a peaceful and highly respected visit to earth and his little life has made all the difference in everything.  He helped us recognize Love.  He helped us open our hearts and communicate.  He helped us know the value of life and the value of each minute and decision. 

Monroe was a little bitty boy who came through the womb of my womb and into my heart.  Nothing will be the same.  It will look the same and sound the same, but it will not be.  Monroe was here.  He was.  He was loved. 

Do Mirrors Lie?

The person I see in my mind and the person I see in the mirror are two different people.  Care giving takes its tole.  Be aware, we will all become care givers if we're lucky enough.  I mean, really, what's our option.  We either "grow up" to give cares to someone we love enough to give ourseves to, or we don't love enough to give of ourselves. 

So, in spite of the mirror, I move on.  Tonight I'm marinating fish.  Fish that was caught by a determined brain cancer "surviror" who fought wits to fins in a battle of "who's gonna live longer," and he won.  So, we will watch the Oscars with a new band of friends; ones who battle life daily, ones who have their medical marijuana cards and truely need it, ones whos hearts have said, "pay attention!" and ones who come with unawareness that life is a game of tricks.  We will eat that fine fish who gave his life to validate another, and we will laugh and poke fun of the mirror.  We all see ourselves different than others do. 

Mirror, mirror on the wall.  Truth is Jed and I have a remarkable life.  This is not what we planned or hoped for, but it is remarkable.  How do you evaluate a life, marriage?   It has to be in passion. Passion for saving what you have, and moving to a new growth place; leaving the old stuff behind and being open like a flower in rain to the new stuff ahead.  New vine.  We've been prunned.  Prunned of the old self.   Newness is a fresh baby not to be killed. 

My dear friend told me to get busy writing, so here it is.  Life is good and rich and worthwhile, and whether you are the catcher of fish, or the giver of care, or the see of it all, life is good. 

And God is in control of it all.  We are receivers of the big picture.  For me, the mirror says, " you are getting old and very fat,"  but it's okay.  This care giving experience that I have been provided,  has been glorious.  I have been taxed to my capacity as well as moved to the greatest emotion humanly possible.  We move on toward something beyond ourselves.  Anger, exhaustrion, indiffrernce, and self attack are lurking ever present.  But, the gift of knowing that we have loved, and been loved by someone enough to give ourselves completely is ever present in the grit of daily stuff. 

So, the person I see in the mirror and the person I see in my mind need to get together and have a conversation.   Hopefully it will be with a friend or two on a walk. 













 

How's Your Husband?

Human communication is weak at it's best, often awkward or careless, but seldom pristine.  Flawed as it is, it's a necessity for healthy existance.   So we keep trying.  Me, I get, "how's your husband?"  Well, it's kind of them to ask, but I don't think the askers really want to know.  So how to I answer?  Do I say, "He's doing fine",  or "He's making progress", or "About the same", or  "He's doing some walking", or "Amazing"?  Each gives a message that's part truth, part upper lip, part, "You really don't want to know." and part "I don't have time to really tell you how he is. 

So, how is my husband?  He's still a quadriplegic.  He still is totally dependent on others for everything short of a TV remote and a wheelchair joystick.  But that doesn't give an adequate picture, because that sounds pitiful and sorrowful and that is not how my husband is. 

On top of not being able to do anything for himself, my husband is in almost constant pain unless regularlly medicated.  But that doesn't give an adequate picture, because that sounds miserable and adgitated and gruesome, and that is not how my husband is. 

So, how is my husband?  Positive.  Supporting.  Encouraging.  Faithful.  Stimulating.  Imaginative.  Challenging.  Free thinking.  Creative and fun.  Which translates to "amazing." 

He gets physical therapy three times a week for an hour.  During that hour he walks.  Some days he walks 10 steps other days 60 or more.  He has no awareness where his feet or legs are.  It's called propreoseption.  He just doesn't have it.  So, walking is laborious.  It's a thinking as well as a physical challenge.   But he keeps at it.  He gets a little better, then not so good, then a little better.  Over and over, but the progress is real.  Minature but real.. 

He gets occupation therapy 2-3 times a week for an hour.  During that hour he picks things up.  Pegs, wads of newspaper, rocks.  He practices the movement of fingers and arms.  He tears pages out of magazines, wads them up and throws them in a container.  This is so strenuous that after 2-3 pages he's exhausted.  But he has the energy to smile, say thank you to his therapist, control the joystick to manuver himself to the car and get back home. 

We do accupuncture to stimulate whatever that can be stimulated, we do reflexology to keep the energy flowing, he is trying shots to help with pain, and on top of everything, he still makes me laugh and believe in the God which is the knower and controller of all. 

So, "How's your husband doing?"  Awesome!  He's my great gift.  I get tired.  He lifts me up.  I lose faith.  He builds it back and helps me find it.  I get discouraged.  He gives me kindness and joy.  I get scared.  He prays with me.  "How's my husband?"  No one could do what he's doing as well as he's doing it.