Thinking out loud: Little stacks of scrap paper.......

Tuesday, April 8, 2008

Little stacks of scrap paper.......

I had quite a weekend this past weekend. One that ran the whole gamut of female-maternal-family emotions. It was like a roller coaster that you can't get off! Up and down. Worried then relieved. Sad then happy. Filled then strangely empty. Certain then confused. I'll start at the start.....

My kids' dad called me at about 5:30 on Wednesday, just as I was heading out the door for a combination open mic/going away party for Michelle, a woman who had moved here about the same time I did. She is a wonderfully funny, intelligent, talented woman. Younger than me, way prettier, and a great stand-up comedienne. She was leaving Friday to move to Chapel Hill, ready for the world and gainful employment! Dan (my kids' dad) called to tell me that my son Jacob was in the Emergency Room in Chapel Hill with a possible appendicitis. This started a series of phone calls back and forth between my son and me, his dad and me, my other son and me, my parents and me, my sister and me, the ER and me...... on it went until well after midnight. He did not have appendicitis after all. He had acute pancreatitis and was one sick and miserable young man.

I worked Thursday (and it got so busy and some intense and sad things happened there) until 3 (but didn't finish up until after 4), rushed home, threw stuff together to head south, cleaned up the house (one of my obsessions about travelling - you HAVE to leave a clean house), and hit the road just before six. It was, of course, raining. And proceeded to rain for the next 5 hours of driving. I talked to my son, intermittently during the drive, but he was doped up to the hilt and sometimes didn't make much sense! Drove straight to the hospital in Chapel Hill and got there a little after 11. Getting into the hospital to see him was a trip!! They took my driver's license and scanned it into a computer, took my picture like a mug shot!!!, and then plastered a sticker on my chest with said mug shot on it. I wasn't expecting to find him in Critical Care. This unnerved me.

I had little sleep the night before, worked my ass off all day, then drove five hours. I was pretty beat. I had one of those mysterious three beer hangovers, too. One you don't expect but get anyway. Jacob was not a happy camper when I arrived. He was upset about the lack of information he'd been given, unhappy about not being able to eat, tired from being in the ER for - get this all you long-wait-in-the-ER complainers - 12 hours!! (He wasn't even in a room during that time! He wasn't even behind a curtain! He was on a stretcher at the nurses' station!! The nurse himself told me that!). And he still felt like crap. He fell asleep awhile after I got there and after we'd talked to his nurse and got some information about what was happening. He was very anxious about missing classes (that how he is). And, like I said, he still felt like crap. I sat by his bed and watched him sleep and wondered at how so much time has gone by so damn fast. I thought, too, about how beautiful my children are - both of them - to look at, to know. I still can't believe I had anything to do with that!! I can hardly believe I'm their mom!

So bottom line, he's much better now. He was released Friday evening. He had nothing by mouth for two days, then they gave him liquids at lunch, then a cup of ice cream, then for supper macaroni and cheese, boiled carrots, and garlic bread (my God!! it's an epidemic!! this hospital food thing!). No pain thirty minutes later and he was booted out the door! From critical care to the front door to WALK back to campus! And discharge instructions?!! These were his discharge instructions in their entirety - "if you have pain, fever, or vomiting, come back to the ER." That was it!! TODOS! Nothing else. Not even "see your doctor next week." Lord, what were they thinking!! And, to top it all off, THIS is one of North Carolina's premier medical centers!! Yeah, right! Makes me very proud of our little hospital here on the Eastern Shore.

So that's my rant on that. I was furious. I was frustrated. I was scared for him. (I was not there when they discharged him - I would have asked a lot of questions. He's 20. He just wanted out!).

I realized, during the experience, that the letting go has already occured. I know that probably doesn't make much sense but, to me, it does. I mean, I'm still working on letting go. Moms hold on a bit longer (though his dad is a holder-on-er, too). But my son has moved further out than I had let myself understand. And it was an emotional thing for me. I mean....... I really DO have an empty nest now. It's permanent. It's not that I didn't know it before. I just didn't KNOW it before.

I drove from Raleigh back up to Emporia on Saturday (halfway home) to meet with the rest of the mission team making the trip to Russia. There are 20 of us going. There are 11 going to the orphanage in Chentsy and 9 going to the orphanage in Petrovsky. I'm on the Petrovsky team. Four of us on the team live on the Eastern Shore, four live in Danville, and one lives near DC. So it was the first time we'd had the chance to meet each other face-to-face. It went well, I think. It ought to be an incredibly neat experience, sharing this time and this work with this group of people. I'm looking forward to it. We met at a United Methodist Church in Emporia. A group of the women from that church fixed a luncheon for us. And they had pens and pencils on the table for us, and note paper for us to write on, and a stapler and other office supplies. I got a kick out of watching them get our lunch ready and appreciated their warmth and hospitality. But there was something about those little stacks of scrap paper that just moved me so, almost to tears. It was so thoughtful.

After the meeting, I drove back to Raleigh and scrubbed myself up to go out to the Arts Center with my mom and dad for an evening of Italian Opera. The North Carolina Opera company put on the performance. Their orchestra is amazing. The soloists were outstanding. They sang my mother's favorite aria, my father's favorite aria, and my favorite aria. I was sitting there in between my mom and dad, looking from one to the other, and listening to that incredibly beautiful music. And I was thinking about how ill my son had been and how blessedly quick his recovery was coming. And I was thinking about my mom and dad and how precious every moment I have with them has become. And I was thinking about going to Russia and meeting these kids in the orphanage and trying to be a disciple (me - little me, who I thought had so little to offer - I'm going to be able to try to be a good disciple), and then I got to thinking about those little stacks of scrap paper. Then it started. That crying thing. That MOM crying thing. I cried those tears that moms cry. You know, the ones you cry without letting anyone see you crying them. The ones that are made of silver and gold and pure love. The ones that the angels catch before they ever touch the ground. The ones that come from inside your heart not inside your eyes.

I spent several hours with Jacob on Sunday. He's still very tired. Still a little leary of any hint of pain. (It's horrible pain, that pancreatitis stuff). He's a little pale and he's lost weight (and he was already slender!). But he's going to be alright, and that's what matters. That was the hardest leaving to drive home that I've had since I've lived here on the Eastern Shore. I just wanted to stay for awhile longer. Hang out with him. Have a couple more good meals at my mother's table. Sleep in my mom's sewing room, and feel that wonderful relief from the homesickness that I get so often.

Baby, my sweet dog, kept me good company. It was almost like she knew some kind of something was happening. Every little bit, she'd lean her nose up between the two front seats and nudge me just a little. Just letting me know that she adores me no matter what. Dogs are cool that way. They know when you need some extra loving.

I've been battling with my computer for days now and I'm coming to appreciate why some people smash their computers into small pieces with sledge hammers. I had visions of doing just that last night as I was headed to bed. Could imagine the whole scene with great delight. Fortunately for the computer, I cannot afford a new computer or even a computer repair right now, so my computer is safe. (But just for now, you piece of junk!).

Enough of my ramblings for now. Best try to get this onto the blog. Wish me luck. If you see me out running the road with a sledge hammer in my hands and a wild look in my eyes, you'll know what happened!

Peace, each and everyone. It is a long journey - this road to peace. I hope to run into you along the way.

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Song Lyrics of the Week (or maybe the day)

I've been walking down a solitary road.

Looking for some open door, some comfort from this cold.

And I have been afraid I'd lose my hope

But now I know hope will survive.

I've been searching for a heart that is like mine.

A little taste of peacefulness is all I'd hope to find.

So I looked into the eyes of my child

And when he smiled, I could see it shine.

I do believe the dawn will follow the night fall

And I will not have to walk this road alone.

In the voices of my friends, I hear a light call

And the sweetness of that sound will lead me home.

Love is waiting there for me, it's in the pictures on my wall.

I hear it in my grandpa's clock ticking down my hall.

It's underneath the quilt my grammy sewed

And the sweet songs that I've know since I was a child.

I do believe that joy will come to find me.

And I'll know again how that pleasure feels.

And the scars that I bear are here to remind me

That I may love and lose but I will heal.

-----yours truly, Hope Will Survive

Gratitude Journal (a New Year's Resolution)

I am grateful for the many times that I have survived depression.
I am grateful for the memories I have of Morganton and our house there - the house where Jacob and Daniel and I grew up, and the many great times I had in that lovely space.
I am grateful for the red maple leaves blazing in my front yard and the few short weeks I have left to say, "Oh! look at that!" when I step out the front door.
I am grateful that I have learned to be alone and at peace with my own company.
I am grateful for the book of Job. One cannot feel sorry for one's self for very long whilst reading Job. And for that I am quite grateful, as I'm feeling sorry for myself today.
I am grateful for the opportunity I had to play music with Scott and Ken and Mary. Our group was a wonderful thing.
I am grateful for patience.
I am grateful for my nephew Matt and for the man he became in his recovery. I am grateful for the relationship that we've developed and the love that we share.
I am grateful for the sound of my father's voice - the way it echoes still.
I am grateful for dreams of the mountains.
I am grateful that I knew a part of Scott that was good and true before all the other stuff happened. It gives me the place to start forgiving and letting go.
I am grateful for my friends Jon, Lorna, and Bruce.
I am grateful for the week I had to sit by the ocean and listen to that ancient, pounding sound.
I am grateful for friendships that span miles and years.
I am grateful for giggling! You should hear my sisters and my little brother and my sons and me - we all giggle the same!
I am grateful for love that came later in life, even though it would not stay here with me and even though it broke my heart. I am still grateful that I knew it and it knew me.
I am grateful for my music and the way it saves me.
I am grateful for tears.
I am grateful for the voices of my sisters. They sound so much like my own, it surprises me everytime!
I am grateful for the way my kids hug me - with love and intention, warmth and honesty.
I am grateful for the beautiful, warm day yesterday (2/8/09) and the opportunity to sit out in the sun with my dad.
I am constantly touched and amazed and humbled by the courage of others. Thank you for that. Thank you to the young man who waited on our table down in Chapel Hill. Your courage inspires my own!

Good Music

If you haven't heard these albums, have a listen. You'll be glad you did:

Jon Zachary, Turn on a Point ("The Ballad of the Piper Cub" is indeed a very very fine song and an artist rendering on forgiveness. Worth listening to about a thousand times or more.)

Mary Gordon Hall, Wine Glasses and Wooden Spoons (with Christmas coming, listen to "Babe Alone", incredibly beautiful song)

Danny Ellis, 800 Voices (listen to "800 Voices" or "Tommy Bonner" first and read the liner notes, this is powerful music and will heal you way down inside if you open yourself up and let it)

Gillian Welch and Dave Rawlings, The Harrow & The Harvest ("Hard Times" is my current favorite song!)

Patty Griffin, Children Passing Through ("Up to the Mountain" is a song that I play and belt out when I think that I can't go on anymore.)

I could go on for days!!

My thoughts on finding pathways to peace

I have found that lavender candles or vanilla candles help. I light them when the sun goes down and I blow them out when I go to bed. Especially in the dark of the winter, that soft light soothes me and helps me feel centered. The vanilla reminds me of my grandmother's house when I was a little girl and the cookies, cakes, or pies she would bake when we came to visit. Lavender reminds me of the fields of summer and sitting on the edge of Linville Gorge watching the sun set. I never smelled lavender there but every time I smell it, I think of summer and the Gorge and the many days in my nineteenth, twentieth and twenty-first years that I spent there.

It is often easy to set aside a hurt or an offense or a wrong doing that someone throws my way, intentionally or not. Most of us, I think, can set things aside, take a deep breath, control our tempers. The harder part is to leave it aside! To not allow ourselves to take it back up again and carry it around like some sort of blazing badge upon our chests. Letting go means leaving it behind. That's a hard task sometimes. I have found that taking things back up again or carrying them on and on and on significantly diminishes my peace potential. So how do I keep from picking things back up again? Injecting either humor or music into situations of conflict helps me a lot. i try to talk things out with someone I trust and I try to make it funny if I can. I love to tell a story and the funnier the better. I try to make big hurts into little hurts by breaking them up with humor. I also will send a little sound clip in most all the time. I have a constant, unending, soundtrack playing in my head. I have the remote to that soundtrack and I can switch stations whenever I want. There are particular songs that I play in my head that help me feel peaceful or calm or loving or generous or sensitive or, on the flip side, angry, combative, vengeful. You know what I mean? You have these too? Most of us do, I think. I use that music in my head. When I am tempted to fight, I flip a switch and turn on some internal music that either expresses that anger for me (here's an example - "No Bad News" by Patty Griffin. Awesome song. I turn that song up loud in my car on really really bad days when I feel like I might explode - and I explode into that song and wail it out!! and am much the better for it - without doing anybody harm!! 'cept maybe my poor ear drums!) or soothes that anger down (here's another example - "One Love" by Bob Marley, or from Playing for Change. "Let's get together and feel alright" or "Imagine" by John Lennon. "Imagine all the people living life in peace"). It might sound crazy. It might sound meaningless to you. But it works for me. Try it. Turn those songs on in your head and see what happens. If you don't have the right one, go looking for it. It's a powerful tool.

Gratitude has saved my life.

Service has saved my life. I wish that the Feds would give everybody a tax break for doing service work. Like you do some service work, you get a receipt from wherever or whomever, and you attach it to your income tax return and you get a 2% tax deduction or something like that. Plant trees around a local park, build trails on the Appalachian Trail, serve mashed potatoes at a local soup kitchen or bag groceries at a local food bank, write letters to an orphan in Somalia, volunteer to read to a kindergarten class, mow your elderly neighbors' lawn, clean cages for the Humane Society. There's a lot out there to be done. Big and small. Might be life changing. May just be something to do on a rainy Saturday afternoon. But helping others helps me. Helping others takes me out of my little solitary world and opens me up to the blessings that I have and puts my world into perspective.

Prayer is powerful. And it works. When I moved to the Eastern Shore in 2006, I rented this great big old farmhouse. It was beautiful and I loved it there. But the nights could be painfully long. The house made so many sounds and popped and creaked and groaned in the wind. I was sometimes quite spooked. And my peace seemed to run away and hide under the bed. Sleep was elusive. I found there were nights that I could not remember the 23rd Psalm, though I had learned it by heart when I was just a little thing. Sometimes I would simply say, "The Lord is my Shepherd, I shall not want." Period. That was it. That's all my mind would let me remember. And so that became a mantra and a prayer and I would repeat it over and over. And peace would come stealin' over me, slowly, gently. And I would feel my heart slow down. And the popping and creaking and groaning of the house would fade into an ambient sound that did not startle me. And I would float on that prayer into a peaceful state where thoughts came clearly and my voice, the voice of my heart, would talk directly to my God. And my God would listen. I have to work at finding that place. It does not come easily to me. But I work at it and when I find that place of stillness, I find that talking to my God is as easy as talking to my own mother or my closest friend. And my prayers are a conversation that is left unended, to be continued. The peace that I find when I pray is a peace that stays with me as long as I am willing to acknowledge its presence. Because it is always there. I just only need to remember.

A dog, a cat, a horse, a cow, a bird. Study after study has shown what great benefit there is in having a pet: lower blood pressure, less pain, less chronic disease, higher self-esteem, lower rates of depression. I am a believer. I know it to be true in my own life and in my own house. Sitting quietly, listening to a book on tape, knitting or not knitting, with my dog curled up next to me, leaning against my legs. My vital signs stabilize and then mellow, my muscles relax, my heartaches ease, and everything feels alright. Just touching her soft furry head and listening to her sigh. Wow. What a simple thing.