Just sharing

[MyssAnne]

Joannie, I'm glad Chuck's home with you!  Hopefully he'll heal a lot better and faster with you around, too!!!

[Joanniebop]

Thanks Myss Anne for your kind words.
He's is soooo happy to be home!
I don't think he cares how he feels, just as long as he is not in the hospital.
Have a great day!
Joannie

[kitkatz]

Where is THEWIFE?   I miss your writing.  Are you okay?

[The Wife]

Thanks for thinking of my kitkatz.  I'm okay....just had a busy time for awhile.  I'll be back when I can sit and share again. 

[MyssAnne]

I miss you too, TW.  I sure hope LL is okay, that it's easier for you there in Canada lately.  Give your grandson a hug for me, next time you see him!!!!

[paris]

I miss you calming words, too.  Hope you are both doing ok.  Come back when you have time.  You are missed

[The Wife]

Well, MyssAnne, he'll be getting a hug from you tonight.  

LL's about the same...exhausted, body pain...ya know....a dialysis patient.

Me, ummm....what can I say?

Well, to start with, I actually asked the same question kitkatz did.  Bare with me as I share a bit of my sorrow with you.  Sorry Paris.  Not sure if these words will be calming, but I feel the urge to share.


"Where have I been?" I asked myself as I settled into bed, feeling as though I had just returned from a long journey.  I hadn't gone anywhere, except deep into my own heart.

Back into the womb of my soul where an embrace holds you, even when you don't realize you're needing to be held.  Deep, where thoughts swirl, like leaves that are lifted from the ground as a strong wind blows.  Deep and loud, like the cawing of a crow when it senses danger.


I listened to the crow as it cawed.  And cawed.  And cawed.  For three days, it cawed non-stop and for three mornings, just as the sun was about to rise, it started.  All I could do was watch as it banged it's beak on the branch where a raccoon settled into a branch, and into sleep.  For three mornings, I witnessed the raccoon gracefully climb up the tree, and on the final morning, make its way to the nest for its morning feast.

I have never heard such devastating cries.  The crows were inconsolable, and I, removed, yet somehow in the center of it all, thought of the raccoon that sleeps in our house.  In the house of illness where a machine keeps somebody alive.

When you witness a raccoon in a tree, sleeping, with it's cute little face, and with its paws wrapped around the branch, your breath deepens.  And when you witness the same raccoon destroy life, or hear the cries of those it has left devastated, your breath deepens again.

It seemed that wherever I looked, or whatever I listened to, I was reminded of death.  

Death.  

"Aunty xxx died last night."

My breath deepened.

"Take out the garbage!" I said to my partner.  I tried not to yell, but maybe, just maybe, if he'd get out and walk, he'd get stronger, better, some kind of life - besides sitting inside and doing nothing.   Maybe if I gave him a good shake, something would shift, change, become what it can never be.  

He took out the garbage.  

Exhausted.

Breathing much too hard.

Nearly collapsing when he came inside.

"What the hell I have done?"

A deepening breath - cleansing tears.  

"It's OK,"  I confided in myself.  "It's OK to cry."

[The Wife]

Let your tears slide down your face and merge with the earth. Let them merge with the flowers that blossom, upwards into the trees with expanded branches, and into your heart.

Let the embrace hold you, comfort you, love you.

Feel the gentle breeze as it blows through the opened window.  Feel the scent of roses as they carress your hearts.

Breathe and release your sorrow.  Breathe and feel the healing from within your very own heart.

[The Wife]

Can I really come here and share my deepest feelings?  Can I share my thoughts of death with those who need machines to stay alive? 

Even though this is the caregivers section, caregivers are not the only ones who read.

[paris]

What lovely words, so beautifully written, very haunting.    You can express what so many of us feel, but we can't find the right words.  I feel honored that you come here and share you deepest feelings; knowing you are surrounded by friends.   Your words are such a wonderful gift.  Even full of sorrow, they are comforting, in a strange way.  I am probably not making any sense.  I just really appreciate you thoughts. Your pain is real and  your joy is real.     We had a hawk take a baby squirrel from its nest.  For hours after, I could hear the mama squirrel cry.  I didn't know squirrels could make a sound like that. It was so very sad.  Did I ever even think that squirrels could feel or express their feelings?  No. And then reading your post, I see that you saw the same thing with the crows.  And you help me think about what me husband must feel some days.  I try to be kinder because I know he is worried about the future. He must get frustrated that the house isn't as clean as it use to be or the meals aren't as elaborate.  So, even in your dark days, you are helping me.  Thank you for opening up your heart and sharing.

[MyssAnne]

Oh yes. Share what you need to share. I agree with Paris. Your words are so haunting, so evocative. 

I care so much for you, and for LL. It's such a hard road for both patient and caregiver. Each has their own burden, while
trying to care for the other.

I'm sending you hugs for you and for LL, hopefully passing on encouragement that yes, it will get better.

[monrein]

 TW, I too hope that you'll always feel free and welcome here to share WHATEVER it is you're thinking, feeling, going through.  I know that I visit my deepest corners regularly and in fact I believe that one of the few "good" things to come from this burden is a heightened awareness of the brevity of our time on earth and the fleetingness of well-being, of happiness and of the opportunity to do things that really matter.  I, and I'm sure you too, would happily skip the chance to be so familiar with this sharpened sense of our fragile ties but we have it anyway so it would be wrong, in my opinion, to NOT honour our emotions by expressing them and connecting with others.

You do this well, TW, and I hope you never stop expressing (I'm sure you won't stop that) or sharing your writings here with us.

Gail

[The Wife]

It means so much to me to know that I can just be myself, that I can express whatever I need, process whatever I have to process, and not be turned away.

Thank you all so much.

I guess I've gotten used to being careful of what I say, and to whom.  When our own families don't want to hear, we wonder if it's OK to speak.  When so many who are lost in the world of the material, cannot face their fears or feelings in regards to death, dying, and illness, we wonder if it's better to remain silent.

And so we walk in silence.  We give short answers, answers that ride above the surface, while underneath, a current stirs, a passion, like roots growing underground.  In these roots, we reach and take hold to find the core of our very selves.

In our findings, we are not afraid to question, to face and hold the mud mingled with the roots.  We follow until we reach the place where the root touches the water, quenching our thirst.

[The Wife]

Listen. 

Listen with your entire being.  Feel the tone of life's song as it beats in harmony, and in time with your very own heart.  Feel the vibration as it soars on clouds that dance across the sky in free-form creation.

Step barefoot onto tall and uncut grasses, into clarifying streams.  Feel the texture of the leaves that dance upon your head.  Inhale the scent of the dewdrop that merges with the petal.  Exhale to expand the petals of your being.

Dance. 

Dance in the song of life.

Let your breath move you.  Let it slow and deepen.  Let it expand.

The sun has risen and we are blessed to know another day.

[The Wife]

The river of life pulsates as I dance in gentle moving waters and streams.  And I, in the silence of the morning, reach out to touch all I see before me.

I reach and hold, honour and love.

It is such a incredible feeling to taste the flavours of this stream, the flavours that moisten my lips like lemonade on a hot day, or tea sweetened with honey, or the juice of an orange as it trinkles down my chin.

Standing barefoot in the stream, I reach out and pick the ripened fruit.

Tasting life, I digest all of its flavours, and bow my head in gratitude for the meal I have been given.

[breezysummerday]

I bow my head in gratitude for the beautiful words I have just read. 

[Ohio Buckeye]

So glad Chuck is home.
Good to see you writing again TW.
Your words are so deep and thought provoking.

[paris]

Thanks TW.    I feel like I am standing with you; hearing, tasting,feeling,seeing the world around you.  Thank you for allowing us to read your personal thoughts.

[The Wife]

You know, I just want to sit here and give all of you a big hug.  How can I even begin to express what your replies mean to me?  Especially after I've spent time in serious thought about how to live my life.

That's the thing with having an ill partner.  We think about these things.  Well, at least I do. 

I used to have everything figured out.  (Or so I thought.)  I was going to work in the job I hated until I was fifty-five, pay off the condo I purchased before my partner joined me, retire, then write.  Oh yes, I would sit high above the street to see the city in twinkling lights.  I'd wear my favourite jammies and forget about combing my hair.  Music would be playing in the background, and words would flow with ease through my finger tips. 

It was a wonderful dream, all perfectly organized and perfectly timed.  Well, the condo was leaky and a huge financial and emotional loss; the job I wished I could leave so that I could write ended due to downsizing, and I'm still too young to collect my pension.  Instead of looking out at a beautiful city view, I'm sitting in a room with drawn cutrains.  And instead of beautiful music playing in the background, the sound of whatever my partner is watching on TV, seeps into my senses.

Ah, but I feel good.  I am wearing my comfy jammies, feeling my uncombed hair brushing against my face, catching the glistening of the sun as it tries to push through the closed curtain, waiting for the time when I can get to my pension, and writing.

I love to write, to let my thoughts fall in front of my eyes, to see that which I feel, to touch these feelings, and to touch others. And now you have touched me with your responses - with your hearts. 

Maybe that's what everyone in the whole world needs to touch.  And maybe we need to reach out and express what lives within our hearts with others.  Maybe that's how we lift each other out of darkness, out of the moments when dreams are crushed. 

I think about my future and wonder if my partner really will pass before I do, and if I will be able to walk through the sorrow that death brings or if I'll simply give up because I've had more than my share of hardship and heartache.

And then I think about all that swirls inside of me, like water getting ready to run down the drain.  And I think of this moment, these words, and those who gather to listen.

Perhaps, I have found my answer to how I would love to express the life I live.  Of how to make a living.  And maybe, just maybe, that which has fallen away has been for the purpose of making room to do what I have always dreamed.

My partner sleeps off and on throughout the day.  When I look at him, my heart cringes like the old dry cedars in the forest.  When I want to walk along the beach, he's not there.  And so I sit and write.

[The Wife]

Received In my email today:

"Feel yourself being quietly drawn by the deeper pull of what you truly love."   Rumi

[mysty]

TW.. I can tell you this.. whenever I feel lost, confused by work by son, by life.. I come here and read.. and re-read what your heart has written.. your words soothe me...and i thank you for that and so much more.

[paris]

TW, it is late at night. I am not sleeping again because of vomiting.  So I come here; looking for new posts by you.   And now, I will sit in my quiet house, but my mind will be walking on the beach, because I visualize your words. So, the water is washing over my feet, and the ocean will sooth me back to sleep.  Thank you.   

[The Wife]

 

[breezysummerday]

 

[paris]

Missing you, TW.  Hope you are doing ok.