All this & Covid too!

In the ongoing saga of the ways in which 2022 is trying to strip me to the bone, Ray and I have Covid. (Could 2022’s string of losses and semi-disasters mean a new beginning soon? Winnowing the chaff? Unsealing the door? Some other bad metaphor?)

We were exposed, we believe, last Friday. On Monday, we both tested negative, though Ray was beginning to have symptoms—tired, sore throat, occasional cough. On Tuesday, we both tested positive. Ray’s symptoms were worse, and mine started.

The progression seems to go like this, at least for us: Day 1: sore throat, cough, fatigue. Day 2: Cough, congestion, sneezing, fatigue, fever (100.something at its worst for us), chills, body aches. Day 3: Much like Day 2. Day 4: Fever down to 99 or below, less of everything else. This is where we are today.

We tested at home, so we don’t know if this is Omicron B-52 Bomber, Omicron CUL8R, Omicron FU, or what variant it might be. What we DO know now is that people on blood thinners for heart issues CANNOT get the Get-Better-Quicker antiviral drug, and that you have to jump through many flaming hoops to get it IF you meet at least 4 criteria on the qualifying list (old, diabetic, hypertensive, can’t carry a tune, pimples, shoe size is 8 or smaller for women, don’t like cilantro, have insurance, etc.). I’m still waiting for the paperwork to go through, so I’ll probably be well by the time I get the drug, which I’ll save for the next inevitable variant…

I’ve mentioned before that I tend toward hermitism (my new word), so isolating doesn’t faze me. And I guess Ray and I are finally getting that quality “couple time” we’ve been after. We can gaze lovingly at each other from our side-by-side recliners, each of us under piles of blankies, a box of Puffs and a paper sack between us, re-watching Jack Ryan and Outer Range, the volume up to OLD-PEOPLE against the trumpety nose blowing. Gawd, we’re romantic fools.

So bring it, 2022. I scoff at you. I throw back my head and laugh at you. I spit in your general direction. I'll be well in time for Dad's funeral in a couple weeks, I’ve got a stash of coffee in the freezer, a laptop, plenty of inane stuff to Google, lots of Vitamin C and Zinc, and a return trip to Ireland to plan. Sure and you're not the boss 'o me.

Throw back your head and LAUGH!

Heading for Shore

This year. This ocean of release, of letting go, of trying to stay afloat. I think I have my head above water at last, though I’m still bobbing in the waves and have a bit to go before I reach the shore.

Dad

Mom

Dave

Polly Hester 

Yogi

Cindy

We celebrated Mom’s life at home last weekend, and it was everything Mom loved: A houseful of family and friends spilling into the backyard, our monthly gathering of the Sisters of Perpetual Disorder (our local women-of-a-certain-age potluck & good times group), a giveaway of Mom’s things, her four children singing together (first time since we sang rounds in the car as kids), poetry readings from Mom’s poems, my poems, and a piece written by a good friend in Mom’s honor, a plethora of potluck “comfort foods” (our SOPD food theme this month in honor of Mom), and much more music from family and friends. My three brothers all spoke (the teary part for me), and I tried to thank everyone, though I forgot many people, including Ray most of all, without whom I never would have survived the last few years of caring for Mom.

Here's a thought: let's have these celebrations of life BEFORE people are gone, so the dying can leave this life brimming with the love the rest of us get to feel at these events.

The next evening, I went to a friend’s house to try and help her husband up after he fell and got stuck. He’s a dear man who’s struggled with a lung disease for the past few years and was too weak to get himself up, and my friend has her foot in a cast and can’t bear weight. There were four of us trying, but we couldn’t move him, and he was less and less responsive. Within the next hour—after police and EMTs, after CPR, after my friend, her daughter, other friends, and I sat with him, held his hand, and called to him, he died.

My heart broke (again) for my friend and her daughter. But honestly, for me it was a surreal mix of shock at such a sudden death and my happening to be there at that sacred moment, and a calm from having become so accustomed to departures lately. Apparently, death has more for me to learn. I told my friend, jokingly, that maybe the Universe wanted my retirement plan to be “death doula.”

I still have more sorting of my mother’s stuff and 100+ years' of family photos, our friend’s funeral next week, and my father’s service to get through early next month. But in the meantime, I’m writing again, and I’ve heard word that two of my poems will be published in upcoming journals. I have a much-anticipated family wedding coming up, and a couple other joyous adventures planned with Ray and with BFFs from my youth—things to look forward to.

So I can see those beach loungers, that big striped umbrella, and ice-cold watermelon mint tea on the table, and I’m dog paddling for the sand.

Celebrating Life

Dear Universe:

I get it.

The last time I saw my dad before he died in June, he asked me what I believed in. Dad thought of himself as a born again, evangelical Christian. He believed he had a close, personal, speaking relationship with Jesus, and I’m pretty sure he was sincerely worried about my soul. I tried to give him the Readers Digest Condensed version (you have to be really old to get that reference) of my beliefs, and he seemed satisfied, or at least less worried.

My beliefs are amorphous and constantly shifting. This makes sense to me, since our beliefs are shaped (or SHOULD be) by new experiences, personal growth, insight, new information & knowledge, letting go of ideas that prove false, and a constantly changing world.

I don’t believe in a personal god. I do believe there’s order, intention, and evolution in the Universe (the Universe is the name I give to this order, though any name we give it is misleading and inadequate). I believe our planet is a living being (just look into trees and fungi, and you’ll see why). I believe there’s a collective consciousness, and until everyone figures this out, humans will fight and compete with each other. I believe kindness is a warrior skill. I believe there’ve been wise teachers among us who’ve tried to show us better ways to live—Buddha, Jesus, Lao Tzu, Thich Nhat Hanh, Black Elk, Blanche Devereaux, Marceline the Vampire Queen, Charlotte the spider, and others.

One belief that’s remained pretty consistent for me is that in every situation and experience, I’m presented with the opportunity to LEARN something, which is as close as I can come to believing we have a “purpose” in being here. And I believe that if I’m too stubborn or too dense or too distracted to learn what I need, the Universe will give me the “lesson” over and over until I get it. If need be, the Universe will eventually kick my arse with the lesson.

Take, for example, my stroke in 2012. I had the information, and I’d had a million opportunities, to figure out that I wasn’t coping well with stress, that I needed to quit smoking, and that I needed to ditch the procrastination and 3-day grading marathons, bent over a table in weak light, drinking bottomless pots of coffee, eating Doritos or nothing at all, with occasional smoke breaks. But I didn’t get it until the Universe kicked my arse with just enough of a stroke to pull me out of my stubborn stupor and force me to re-evaluate.

Now, in this freaky, hellish year, I believe the current lesson has to do with DEATH. Mom, several friends, Polly Hester, Dad, school children, Ukranians…they just keep leaving. Now Ray and I are deciding whether we can stop being selfish and let/help our dog Yogi go—he’s 14 and has a mast cell tumor on his foot that’s recently and rapidly grown to the point where he can’t put weight on his foot. But he still eats, jumps in Ray’s chair to nap, sticks his happy face out the window on car rides, gets in line for treats, so we’ve had our lalala fingers in our ears to shush those niggling voices…

I believe this death lesson might have to do with letting go. Tragedies, crises, and missteps have been coming so fast and furious (they should have stopped after the first one; maybe the second) that I haven’t had time (or haven’t made time) to process these losses. I may need to let go of my parents and admit to my orphanhood. I may need to admit how much I adored my mom, and how badly I wanted my dad to be the kind of dad he couldn’t be. I may need to admit that whatever questions I still have will go unanswered. I may need to bury my dog. I may need to hole up, let go, and crycrycrycry.

But in the meantime, I’m in my typical hyper-responsible, “I’m okay” mode, planning funerals, putting together photo boards and slide shows, cleaning, sorting, organizing, writing. And I’m praying (to the Universe) that I’ve already HAD my kick in the arse; I think I get it. I get it.