There have been nights of no sleep. Of wind on the roof and a dog pacing our bed. There have been days of droopy eyes and the lament of coffee long gone. There has been some laughter. Mostly, there has been this numb creeping of indifference.
My mother has been diagnosed with stage three cancer. I made the mistake of researching it online. I refuse to believe that she is going to be a statistic. There is no room for failure.
I flew to Ottawa at the end of November to settle her in for her first treatment, Christmas shopping, decorating, forced rally and tears. I returned to my own house, my own demands, exhausted. Someone said that Christmas was a whore who comes in all her finery but we don't see her slip out the back door... and I feel the coldness of her exit. This is usually my favorite time of year. I love the family of it, games and port by the tree. I love the careful preparation of dinner and wrapping... the meal planning and the execution of surprise. But all of this was swallowed by the creeping numbness and now it's after Christmas and I don't want to let go.
This too shall pass.
G.
December 28, 2009
August 27, 2009
When I Can't Sleep
The wind chimes are singing their off kilter song. The coyotes are loud and sound like they are laughing.
I lost two hours and thirty minutes of my life. Erased. A black hole where there was no comprehension of my existence. I have a hard time thinking that there was nothing in my mind, only that cold, quiet darkness. Was there at least one dream?
Leading to the surgery I dreamt in vivid color, exact detail. I was stood up by a ten year old boy in a parking lot, his hands holding a red Swiss Army knife. I can see the locks on the door as the police officer secured him. I purchased baby clothes for a friend, not knowing the sex of the child. Soft green and yellow.
Was this close to cramming for an exam?
I have had a troublesome few weeks. Maybe this not sleeping is a culmination of all these things rattling around in my sleep deprived mind.
A dear friend left his wife recently. A story I may tell more of later. But my own understanding of sacrifice, of destiny, of loss and longing have all been shaken.
And then there is the pain. I wish that old woman would quit gnawing on my body like a chicken bone. Let me free already. Push away and let the wind chimes sing me to sleep.
And I miss you. I miss you. Fragile as I am, it's hard to not. Everything feels more empty. Silent. Or is that the witching hour talking?
Send me peace. Make the laughing dogs rest.
G.
I lost two hours and thirty minutes of my life. Erased. A black hole where there was no comprehension of my existence. I have a hard time thinking that there was nothing in my mind, only that cold, quiet darkness. Was there at least one dream?
Leading to the surgery I dreamt in vivid color, exact detail. I was stood up by a ten year old boy in a parking lot, his hands holding a red Swiss Army knife. I can see the locks on the door as the police officer secured him. I purchased baby clothes for a friend, not knowing the sex of the child. Soft green and yellow.
Was this close to cramming for an exam?
I have had a troublesome few weeks. Maybe this not sleeping is a culmination of all these things rattling around in my sleep deprived mind.
A dear friend left his wife recently. A story I may tell more of later. But my own understanding of sacrifice, of destiny, of loss and longing have all been shaken.
And then there is the pain. I wish that old woman would quit gnawing on my body like a chicken bone. Let me free already. Push away and let the wind chimes sing me to sleep.
And I miss you. I miss you. Fragile as I am, it's hard to not. Everything feels more empty. Silent. Or is that the witching hour talking?
Send me peace. Make the laughing dogs rest.
G.
July 29, 2009
And here we are...
The heat has pulled me from my slumber. Hardly sweet... my heels have been sticking to the pavement as I move from one air conditioned bliss to another.
I am tempted my my neighbour's pool. They even have the honeysuckle that goes with it.
Sitting here, in the mid dark while sipping a glass that is mostly ice, I am reminded of how dreams cannot be merely pushed away as a used toy. How pervasive they are, whispering to us constantly their lover's lament of being forgotten.
I have such a dream.
The universe sends us signs, a good friend told me. There are guides along the way. If we turn our eyes from them, they too will eventually fade into the background. We see the signs, the path is well lit for us and yet we would rather choose the darkest corridors. The harder path. The one that contravenes our souls song.
It is so easy to muffle that sound. To turn away, resisting the climb.
Life is beautiful. Distracting. These last few weeks have been about the sensation and less about the mechanics of paying attention to the reality. This heat, the gentle desire of my mind, fingers, mouth and teeth. These desires haunt me. Now, is the loudest voice. The greatest music. The dream is lost in the heat of a summer night. (Notice how it sinks into your skin? Can you feel that pressure to lay down and just ... give in?)
But fall will come. She will come and shake the flowers from our hair. And then, and only then it seems... we will focus on the music of our soul.
First, we must dance with the seductress, desire. All 39 degrees of her.
G.
I am tempted my my neighbour's pool. They even have the honeysuckle that goes with it.
Sitting here, in the mid dark while sipping a glass that is mostly ice, I am reminded of how dreams cannot be merely pushed away as a used toy. How pervasive they are, whispering to us constantly their lover's lament of being forgotten.
I have such a dream.
The universe sends us signs, a good friend told me. There are guides along the way. If we turn our eyes from them, they too will eventually fade into the background. We see the signs, the path is well lit for us and yet we would rather choose the darkest corridors. The harder path. The one that contravenes our souls song.
It is so easy to muffle that sound. To turn away, resisting the climb.
Life is beautiful. Distracting. These last few weeks have been about the sensation and less about the mechanics of paying attention to the reality. This heat, the gentle desire of my mind, fingers, mouth and teeth. These desires haunt me. Now, is the loudest voice. The greatest music. The dream is lost in the heat of a summer night. (Notice how it sinks into your skin? Can you feel that pressure to lay down and just ... give in?)
But fall will come. She will come and shake the flowers from our hair. And then, and only then it seems... we will focus on the music of our soul.
First, we must dance with the seductress, desire. All 39 degrees of her.
G.
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