Aaannnd he's up!

 So it happened again.

Anne Nygard @polarmermaid

 After two weeks of downturn he was up and awake from 11:30 am till 9:30 pm on Sunday and up a long time yesterday, as well.  He's eating a bit more.  He put on a pound.  After I came home from my evening off last night, we actually had a bit of a conversation!  It was amazing!  Although he looked really white and unwell, he was able to talk about his time at Idaho State University and instead of remembering it as a horrible place where people picked on him (which is pretty much how he presented it to me while he was working there) he said that "There were other um people like me?  Faculty and students who knew what I was trying to do."

He was remembering his years there with fondness. He couldn't remember how long he'd taught -- 33 years -- but he wasn't stressed about his lack of memory.  He was stumbling over words and his sentences were short, but we were actually having something like a conversation.  

I was happy to see him happy.  And I also feel like my kintsugi heart is just tired and heavy.  

It's a trip, I tell you what.

"In the clearing stands a boxer
And a fighter by his trade
And he carries the reminders
Of every glove that laid him down
And cut him till he cried out
In his anger and his shame
"I am leaving, I am leaving"
But the fighter still remains, he still remains"

 

I Believe

If I had the energy, I'd craft a full parody of "I Believe" but instead use aspects of the particular brand of Christianity to which I subscribe -- high(ish) church Episcopalianism.  Or is Trinity middle church?  I don't know.

But really, all I could think of right now as ridiculous was all the stuff I find beautiful -- the costumes, the holy hardware, the belief in the holiness of the priest and that metaphorically bonking someone on the head with a wand that has been passed on from the guy who bonked the bonker on the head - well - yes silly.

And that's what makes it glorious.  We cannot approach the great Mystery directly.  Those who do go mad.  So we place art and structure around it.

Gavin Creel as Elder Price at the Olivier's

I can't approach.  I place art and structure.  Might as well fucking own my beliefs and feelings.

I'm at my office.  It's 5:21 am and the sky is just lightening.  In summer, I miss most of the morning spectacle because the sun rises further north.  But in fall and winter, the sunrises are spectacular from my perch at The Haven - scarlet fading to peach, reflected in the river.  

I am blessed to have the money to do this.  I would rather have my Will as he was.  I would rather be living poor again and have his full mind with me, even if his body were just as wilted as it is now.

He stayed up yesterday from 11:00 am through the afternoon and evening.  He ate a piece of toast and two glasses of juice with ensure.  He sat in the wingbacks all afternoon.  He had a mild fecal leakage in one of them that became messy pants and bathroom.  But I got both the chair, him and the bathroom cleaned up. He had shit down his leg and I used the wipes from the Hospice to get him cleaned up.  He needs a bath today.  When I went downstairs at night to watch a Bette Davis movie (TCM's Month Under the Stars) I heard him moving around upstairs and he finally came down to watch.  Then we went to bed.

I believe this is where I am supposed to be.

"The scriptures say that if you ask in faith,
If you ask God himself you'll know.
But you must ask him without any doubt,
And let your spirit grow!"

-- Trey Parker

The Machinery

 

Kevin Noble on Unsplash

Yesterday began horribly but ended well.  The wellness was in part a result of having a good, long reality conversation with one wonderful, pragmatic friend and some supportive texts from another.  More help came from my terrific grief therapist, with whom I fortuitously had an appointment yesterday.  She reminded me of the reality that my body is material.  It is a system that works like a machine, but is not a machine.  And my brain is part of that system.  In other words, my body/brain is like a machine and it can reach a point where there's no more oil on the cogs, no more charge in the battery.  That I PHYSICALLY need to step back and not push on.  To soldier on when the gears are grinding and the tires are flat is to risk damaging the machine.

She told me that when I get that run down, I can ask myself what I must do and then not worry about the rest.

So my machine went into damage mode yesterday.  It didn't help that I'd watched my way through two seasons of a brilliant but ultimately deeply despairing series called The Unforgotten. A narrative with strong editing and visuals can usually get in my brain and this was far too powerful for me to reject.  Centered around a deeply wounded performance by the great Nicola Walker, this police procedural offered me much to feel depressed about.  Brilliant work but not so much for me right now!

Really, what I need is having a cute young fellow like Andrew Rannells come knocking at my door., saying "Hello" 

Part of what happens when I got into damage mode is the negative self-assessments start pouring in.  They are part of a dialectic with my experience of being alone and not alone, with my best friend-who-is-dying and yet so much of him is gone so I'm not with him.  He's here, not here.  I'm here, not here.  Although I no longer truly want to injure myself, the images pound through my head, reminding me of how quickly the physical pain of knuckles hitting the wall or the knife slicing the skin can erase the mental pain.  Thus, it's  helpful for me to say out loud that I don't want to hurt myself in argument with the images in my head. 

My good friend Stacey (Hi Stacey) helps me when my fantasies of self-hate spiral out of control by settling me back into reality.  "What's the real time data?" as therapist Sarah says.  Ultimately, we are all alone so part of what's happening to me is that I'm learning to deal with that existential reality as I wait for my best friend to die.

Hello!

 Hello! 

 

Screen Grab, 2012 Tony Awards