Here I am, sick again. I was sick in February. Now April . . . relegated to the couch, bored out of my mind. Starting to get angry. What am I angry about? The paper I want to start, or Aunt Christy?
Between then and now, I've read all of Kathy Reich's books, and 3/4ths of Patricia Cornwell's. And decided that I want a parrot. I've been to St. George's Island and biked in a sandstorm. I watched Ed cross the Louisville Marathon's finish line in 3:35. Rick and I have semi-heard about appointments and have ordered robes. I now own Jill, the amazing GPS. Rick and I spent a glorious, expensive! day at Keeneland. I am now on Facebook and reconnecting with people from my past.
I am afraid of the future. How do I run a church? How do I deal with death?
Somedays I feel like cryin' . . . doesn't matter if it's rain or shine . . . feels like my heart is breakin' . . . at least a million times . . .
Between then and now - I've experienced heartbreak. True love. Wedding planning. Marriage. Future plans in a new place.
Just keep focusing on the happiness ahead.
But if I do that, will I never "deal" with death? How long can I push it away? It's been around every corner I turn these past few months. Aunt Marian, Clara, and Dotie have all passed on. Aunt Marion and Aunt Christy will, soon. I wrote my case study on death. And the the books I've chosen to read? I had nightmares for awhile. And then on the other hand, it's like I'm trying to surround myself with life. A baby lovebird (when I know that I can't guarantee that we won't kill it, with our non-stick cookware and candles)? Plans for kittens and puppies? Daydreams of lovely summer afternoons spent with toes in the sand, hearing the surf and wind?
Monday, April 28, 2008
Saturday, February 23, 2008
Flu
I guess it's more of the flu, less like a head cold. I don't have much energy. But somehow I made myself pull out the couch, vacuum behind it, redd up the family room, balance the checkbook, take out the garbage, and basically, order everything around me.
More or less to keep myself busy? I doubt that I'm organizing everything I can to compensate for what I can't control. To keep myself busy. The trip down and up the stairs sent me reeling to the couch, to tremble there for the next 3 hours.
I want to go the gym, get on the elliptical, and purge my life of everything. Just push push push until I've sweated everything out and washed it away. The frustration, the anxiety, the fear, the sorrow. The sickness.
Not mine, hers.
More or less to keep myself busy? I doubt that I'm organizing everything I can to compensate for what I can't control. To keep myself busy. The trip down and up the stairs sent me reeling to the couch, to tremble there for the next 3 hours.
I want to go the gym, get on the elliptical, and purge my life of everything. Just push push push until I've sweated everything out and washed it away. The frustration, the anxiety, the fear, the sorrow. The sickness.
Not mine, hers.
Friday, February 22, 2008
Broken Wings
It's been 3 months since I wrote. I didn't want to write. I didn't want to think about it. I clung to that slim thread of hope that everything would turn out ok and then I could resume normal journaling activities. But it's not ok. The chemo and radiation didn't even touch the tumor. It spread from the pancreas into the liver.
Aunt Christy is terminal.
We don't really know what that means, in terms of how long she has. A few weeks? Three months tops?
It's surreal. I'm down with a cold (maybe the flu), stuck on the couch, with nothing to do except think. I take my mind off of her for a few minutes, begin to feel happy and like everything's "ok" then I remember and spiral downward. Some minutes I can't believe it, and other minutes it's too true. I'm still in the numb phase. It hasn't started to hurt yet - not that true ache that we will carry within us for the rest of our lives. The ache of missing someone so bright, so lively, so special, so loved.
I spent a week with her in January. It was the best week she's had, physically, since Thanksgiving. Mom and Uncle John were amazed. She and I had a great three days. In between going back and forth to the hospital, we ate breakfast (Eggs Benedict!) at Eat 'n Park, made meatloaf, watched the snow gently float past their bay window and alight on the pines, we had long wonderful conversations in front of a fire, drank rum and cokes. We looked at pictures of Burke, Cassidy, and Katie, Aunt Christy reminisced about the time she colored Easter eggs with the girls in Georgia, fastidious Cassidy and dive-bombing Katie (No Katie! My egg! My egg's in there!), the time when she explained "putting down" Houlan ("we understand Granny Goose, you had to kill her" - "my granddaughters think I'm a murderer!"). We had an unbelievably dinner at a fancy, yet tiny, restaurant. We splurged on a fried cheese wheel. I had some sort of pork and root vegetables entree with a deliciously creamy risotto. We celebrated Uncle John's birthday with a pie from Eat 'n Park. Aunt Chris hadn't even bought him a card - she completely forgot. And that could be his last birthday with her. We took calls from Kelly, getting regular updates on Cassidy's "pussy eye syndrome." Katie came down with the pink eye a day later. We walked Maggie May around in the snow, while she took her fine time sniffing around for the perfect place to pee. Aunt Chris rescued a trapped baby bird, and we watched as he limped off into the snow. His wing was broken, our hearts were broken watching him. We knew he wouldn't last the night. But to take him inside would only prolong his death. I wondered if that's what the chemo was doing to Aunt Chris. We gave him up to Mother Nature.
She read some of my BOOM paperwork and asked great questions. We talked about my heart for social justice; helping people get out of the church and into the community. She thought that was fantastic. I watched her as she napped, radiation being like one big sleeping pill. She looked so beautiful, so peaceful. I knew most of her days were, are, wracked with pain. I watched the digital picture frame flicker from photo to photo, filled mainly with Burke. There was a lovely shot of Aunt Chris and Uncle John, Burke cradled into Aunt Chris' arms. The girl who will never know her Granny Goose.
Will Cassidy and Katie even remember her?
They finally told the girls. The school called yesterday to tell Kelly and Sean what a horrible day Katie was having.
I called last night, everyone was gathered in her hospital room. They were waiting for the latest CAT scan results, to see if the embolism in her lung had dissipated. Mom gave her the phone. She didn't even get out a hello, choking through her tears, "It's bad, Lins."
"I know."
I didn't know what else to say. We both cried silently, connected through space by a phone line.
"I know I'm in your thoughts."
"Every single minute, Aunt Chris."
"Aww."
We both relished our time together in January. She voiced what I had been thinking, that we hadn't had time with each other in a long time. Probably since I was a teenager visiting her in GA. I wanted the tumor to go away. Either by chemo or surgery. I wanted her to bring the girls out this summer to DE, to have a week of fun and sun, wind, water, waves, sun, time to rejoice and praise God for the breath of life in our lungs.
But she's dying.
Quickly.
Aunt Christy is terminal.
We don't really know what that means, in terms of how long she has. A few weeks? Three months tops?
It's surreal. I'm down with a cold (maybe the flu), stuck on the couch, with nothing to do except think. I take my mind off of her for a few minutes, begin to feel happy and like everything's "ok" then I remember and spiral downward. Some minutes I can't believe it, and other minutes it's too true. I'm still in the numb phase. It hasn't started to hurt yet - not that true ache that we will carry within us for the rest of our lives. The ache of missing someone so bright, so lively, so special, so loved.
I spent a week with her in January. It was the best week she's had, physically, since Thanksgiving. Mom and Uncle John were amazed. She and I had a great three days. In between going back and forth to the hospital, we ate breakfast (Eggs Benedict!) at Eat 'n Park, made meatloaf, watched the snow gently float past their bay window and alight on the pines, we had long wonderful conversations in front of a fire, drank rum and cokes. We looked at pictures of Burke, Cassidy, and Katie, Aunt Christy reminisced about the time she colored Easter eggs with the girls in Georgia, fastidious Cassidy and dive-bombing Katie (No Katie! My egg! My egg's in there!), the time when she explained "putting down" Houlan ("we understand Granny Goose, you had to kill her" - "my granddaughters think I'm a murderer!"). We had an unbelievably dinner at a fancy, yet tiny, restaurant. We splurged on a fried cheese wheel. I had some sort of pork and root vegetables entree with a deliciously creamy risotto. We celebrated Uncle John's birthday with a pie from Eat 'n Park. Aunt Chris hadn't even bought him a card - she completely forgot. And that could be his last birthday with her. We took calls from Kelly, getting regular updates on Cassidy's "pussy eye syndrome." Katie came down with the pink eye a day later. We walked Maggie May around in the snow, while she took her fine time sniffing around for the perfect place to pee. Aunt Chris rescued a trapped baby bird, and we watched as he limped off into the snow. His wing was broken, our hearts were broken watching him. We knew he wouldn't last the night. But to take him inside would only prolong his death. I wondered if that's what the chemo was doing to Aunt Chris. We gave him up to Mother Nature.
She read some of my BOOM paperwork and asked great questions. We talked about my heart for social justice; helping people get out of the church and into the community. She thought that was fantastic. I watched her as she napped, radiation being like one big sleeping pill. She looked so beautiful, so peaceful. I knew most of her days were, are, wracked with pain. I watched the digital picture frame flicker from photo to photo, filled mainly with Burke. There was a lovely shot of Aunt Chris and Uncle John, Burke cradled into Aunt Chris' arms. The girl who will never know her Granny Goose.
Will Cassidy and Katie even remember her?
They finally told the girls. The school called yesterday to tell Kelly and Sean what a horrible day Katie was having.
I called last night, everyone was gathered in her hospital room. They were waiting for the latest CAT scan results, to see if the embolism in her lung had dissipated. Mom gave her the phone. She didn't even get out a hello, choking through her tears, "It's bad, Lins."
"I know."
I didn't know what else to say. We both cried silently, connected through space by a phone line.
"I know I'm in your thoughts."
"Every single minute, Aunt Chris."
"Aww."
We both relished our time together in January. She voiced what I had been thinking, that we hadn't had time with each other in a long time. Probably since I was a teenager visiting her in GA. I wanted the tumor to go away. Either by chemo or surgery. I wanted her to bring the girls out this summer to DE, to have a week of fun and sun, wind, water, waves, sun, time to rejoice and praise God for the breath of life in our lungs.
But she's dying.
Quickly.
Sunday, November 18, 2007
5 Gallon Bucket
Ok, Tom said to use a bucket, Rick said to use a bucket, and Alton Brown said to use a bucket. Looks like we're going to use a bucket. It's not supposed to be cold enough Wed. to leave it outside our door (and I could just see one of our neighbors kicking it down the stairs . . . a flying turkey . . .), so we're going to use Alton Brown's method of icing it in the tub. Actually, AB has a great brine recipe using water, brown sugar, salt, vegetable stock, and black peppercorns that I may try. If my stockpot is big enough.
Saturday, November 17, 2007
Brine 'da Bird!
I almost titled it "Brine 'da Byrd." Am I thinking of "tyger tyger burning bright?"
Sweet relief. I began and finished a paper today. I have so much to do - part of me wants to start the next thing, and part of me wants to say "It's 7:00 on a Sat. evening, you just wrote an 8-pager, go watch a movie." Which I can easily do here at work - I rented "In Her Shoes." To top off the lovely feeling of accomplishment, I think it's a pretty good paper. I felt that my fiction work sucked, but that this social analysis somewhat redeems it. It makes it seem so much deeper than I truly intended. :-)
Yes, I desperately want to brine our turkey. Except I need a container that will hold 2 gallons of water, completely submerge our turkey, and fit in the refrigerator. I've been racking my brains, but I don't think it's going to happen. Even if I buy a plastic bin at Walmart - how am I going to wrestle it into the fridge? What am I going to do with the stuff that's been displaced?
I had the same problem with the Christmas tree. I really really really want a Christmas tree, ever since Mom asked a slew of questions pertaining to the holiday and I answered each one with a gloomy "no." She finally asked if we're going to have any holiday spirit, which I answered with a tentative yes. So it propelled me into plotting how I can get a Christmas tree into our house. I finally solved where our box of ornaments can go - somewhere in the top of the closet. Then I figured that we don't really need to open our dresser drawers for a month, so the tree can go in front of the window in our bedroom. The hitch came with the tree itself. If we get a fake one (one that already has lights on it, preferably), then where the heck do we keep it until June (unless we become those tacky year round Christmas lovers who never open their dresser drawers)? I had the brilliant idea of a real tree, but my brilliance has yet to be followed up with practical answers as to 1. where do I buy a real tree? and 2. how do I transport it our apartment and up our steep, narrow stairs? 3. do I really want pine needles everywhere?
Then I realized that I was potentially more excited about the prospect of buying an incredibly festive candy-cane patterned tree skirt than the tree itself, and I began to wonder if maybe I should scratch the whole idea. I stopped myself short of googling Pool Cities in the Lexington area.
So I'm back to a too-small refrigerator with a too-big container of a dead bird soaking in a salt solution.
Sweet relief. I began and finished a paper today. I have so much to do - part of me wants to start the next thing, and part of me wants to say "It's 7:00 on a Sat. evening, you just wrote an 8-pager, go watch a movie." Which I can easily do here at work - I rented "In Her Shoes." To top off the lovely feeling of accomplishment, I think it's a pretty good paper. I felt that my fiction work sucked, but that this social analysis somewhat redeems it. It makes it seem so much deeper than I truly intended. :-)
Yes, I desperately want to brine our turkey. Except I need a container that will hold 2 gallons of water, completely submerge our turkey, and fit in the refrigerator. I've been racking my brains, but I don't think it's going to happen. Even if I buy a plastic bin at Walmart - how am I going to wrestle it into the fridge? What am I going to do with the stuff that's been displaced?
I had the same problem with the Christmas tree. I really really really want a Christmas tree, ever since Mom asked a slew of questions pertaining to the holiday and I answered each one with a gloomy "no." She finally asked if we're going to have any holiday spirit, which I answered with a tentative yes. So it propelled me into plotting how I can get a Christmas tree into our house. I finally solved where our box of ornaments can go - somewhere in the top of the closet. Then I figured that we don't really need to open our dresser drawers for a month, so the tree can go in front of the window in our bedroom. The hitch came with the tree itself. If we get a fake one (one that already has lights on it, preferably), then where the heck do we keep it until June (unless we become those tacky year round Christmas lovers who never open their dresser drawers)? I had the brilliant idea of a real tree, but my brilliance has yet to be followed up with practical answers as to 1. where do I buy a real tree? and 2. how do I transport it our apartment and up our steep, narrow stairs? 3. do I really want pine needles everywhere?
Then I realized that I was potentially more excited about the prospect of buying an incredibly festive candy-cane patterned tree skirt than the tree itself, and I began to wonder if maybe I should scratch the whole idea. I stopped myself short of googling Pool Cities in the Lexington area.
So I'm back to a too-small refrigerator with a too-big container of a dead bird soaking in a salt solution.
Thursday, November 15, 2007
Movie Movie Movie!
I finished a BOOM question on evangelism; now I'm pondering my understanding of the teaching office of the commissioned and ordained, particularly in regard to the Bible.
Rick thinks I use semi-colons wrong, and I suspect my Strunk & White is locked away in the bottom of our closet, so I can't peruse the riveting punctuation chapter.
Rick and I have Blockbuster Online. Once you figure out how to navigate the site (it took us awhile), it's almost idiot-proof. Sometimes I still get a surprise, though, when I log into our queue and see titles have been added, like "The Tale of Ichabod and Mr. Toad" and "Rocky (25th Anniversary Edition)." I guess better a jolt here at the screen than at the mailbox. At least now I know not to get my hopes up for the next movie . . .
Rick thinks I use semi-colons wrong, and I suspect my Strunk & White is locked away in the bottom of our closet, so I can't peruse the riveting punctuation chapter.
Rick and I have Blockbuster Online. Once you figure out how to navigate the site (it took us awhile), it's almost idiot-proof. Sometimes I still get a surprise, though, when I log into our queue and see titles have been added, like "The Tale of Ichabod and Mr. Toad" and "Rocky (25th Anniversary Edition)." I guess better a jolt here at the screen than at the mailbox. At least now I know not to get my hopes up for the next movie . . .
Sunday, November 4, 2007
Cheeeeeeese
I'm hesitant that someone will find this journal . . . but my delight for the background and font outweighs my most intimate experiences being discovered, so here goes.
Last night, Rick and I went to Buffalo Wild Wings. I'm not sure what the big draw is; it's so loud that we have to scream at each other to be heard and even then, our conversation is like something out of a comedy movie. So really, Rick tuned into the football and basketball games, and I played the trivia thing which wasn't as much fun because the first 15 questions were all sports related. But it's worth it for the two tubs of blue cheese dressing. Yea, I know, most people go to wing places for the wings.
I know what my thing for blue cheese dressing is. It's the anticipation over biting down on an actual piece of cheese. My family is wild over cheese. Even Lailee is nuts over it. All you have to say is "Lailee . . . cheeeeeeeeese?" and she goes bonkers. Actually, so do we. I thought all families had our bordering-on-obsession-compulsion for cheese, until I realized that every other family I knew didn't take an annual trip to a cheese factory, lugging coolers with them to carry home the maximum amount of curds. For Keith's 18th birthday, I bought him blocks of different cheeses. Last year when Mom came to visit, she didn't bring anything useful for her cash-strapped, dish-washing-for-a-living-daughter, nope I got an expensive block of hickory smoked cheese. Which was incredible. I discovered last week that I can now buy these gloriously creamy, soft hunks of pepperjack in bags.
So I nursed my blue cheese dressing, occasionally taking a bite of a wing not smothered in it, and then Rick and I went to the Liquor Barn. The Liquor Barn is fabulous because it has fresh breads and aisles of items you won't find in your typical grocery store. Like Asian ingredients and an entire chocolate aisle. Really, I'm surprised they don't specialize in cheese, to go along with the 1000 varieties of wine you can indulge in. I found something new - endangered species chocolate. The wrappers have pictures of adorable but endangered animals upon them, and part of the proceeds go towards foundations dedicated to the endangered animal cause. I wanted the Otter Chocolate Bar just because she (he?) was so cute . . . ah, a reason to go back!
Rick bought rye grain whiskey (he let me taste it - which I spit out - disgusting!!). For some reason or the other, he looked incredibly hot last night. He was wearing black, that's why. And he shaved his beard down to a goatee yesterday, which makes him look years younger and gave an additional cuteness to him. So I suggested he jump me. He did . . . let's just say it was a very . . . squeaky experience.
But to tell the truth, it was invigorating and exciting. Our sex life so far has been rough, because of me. I've been having trouble getting my mind into it - getting past that "sex before marriage is bad" mentality. It's not like flipping a switch once you're married, you have to recondition your entire thinking on the subject. So I've been dealing with these guilty feelings every time we get down to it - and really just wrestling internally.
I was pretty loose last night. I asked Rick what his favorite thing about me is. He said my humor - that while he's never sure where I'm going to go with it (and apparently that's dangerous), he said I'm pretty funny most of the time. I've noticed that I can make him laugh, and keep him laughing, while no one else can. It's something I've sort of prided myself on. I guess we are a match made in heaven.
Last night, Rick and I went to Buffalo Wild Wings. I'm not sure what the big draw is; it's so loud that we have to scream at each other to be heard and even then, our conversation is like something out of a comedy movie. So really, Rick tuned into the football and basketball games, and I played the trivia thing which wasn't as much fun because the first 15 questions were all sports related. But it's worth it for the two tubs of blue cheese dressing. Yea, I know, most people go to wing places for the wings.
I know what my thing for blue cheese dressing is. It's the anticipation over biting down on an actual piece of cheese. My family is wild over cheese. Even Lailee is nuts over it. All you have to say is "Lailee . . . cheeeeeeeeese?" and she goes bonkers. Actually, so do we. I thought all families had our bordering-on-obsession-compulsion for cheese, until I realized that every other family I knew didn't take an annual trip to a cheese factory, lugging coolers with them to carry home the maximum amount of curds. For Keith's 18th birthday, I bought him blocks of different cheeses. Last year when Mom came to visit, she didn't bring anything useful for her cash-strapped, dish-washing-for-a-living-daughter, nope I got an expensive block of hickory smoked cheese. Which was incredible. I discovered last week that I can now buy these gloriously creamy, soft hunks of pepperjack in bags.
So I nursed my blue cheese dressing, occasionally taking a bite of a wing not smothered in it, and then Rick and I went to the Liquor Barn. The Liquor Barn is fabulous because it has fresh breads and aisles of items you won't find in your typical grocery store. Like Asian ingredients and an entire chocolate aisle. Really, I'm surprised they don't specialize in cheese, to go along with the 1000 varieties of wine you can indulge in. I found something new - endangered species chocolate. The wrappers have pictures of adorable but endangered animals upon them, and part of the proceeds go towards foundations dedicated to the endangered animal cause. I wanted the Otter Chocolate Bar just because she (he?) was so cute . . . ah, a reason to go back!
Rick bought rye grain whiskey (he let me taste it - which I spit out - disgusting!!). For some reason or the other, he looked incredibly hot last night. He was wearing black, that's why. And he shaved his beard down to a goatee yesterday, which makes him look years younger and gave an additional cuteness to him. So I suggested he jump me. He did . . . let's just say it was a very . . . squeaky experience.
But to tell the truth, it was invigorating and exciting. Our sex life so far has been rough, because of me. I've been having trouble getting my mind into it - getting past that "sex before marriage is bad" mentality. It's not like flipping a switch once you're married, you have to recondition your entire thinking on the subject. So I've been dealing with these guilty feelings every time we get down to it - and really just wrestling internally.
I was pretty loose last night. I asked Rick what his favorite thing about me is. He said my humor - that while he's never sure where I'm going to go with it (and apparently that's dangerous), he said I'm pretty funny most of the time. I've noticed that I can make him laugh, and keep him laughing, while no one else can. It's something I've sort of prided myself on. I guess we are a match made in heaven.
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