The swirl and the puddles of life

Time passes with crazy, unbelievable events occurring all around me that often stun my heart. I don’t always feel calm, but if I can be still for a bit, I am lucky to find the calm center. The current calm I feel is not a peaceful calm, but more like a calm in the middle of the storm. I’m mostly watching and waiting – not sure for what.

Last weekend, a friend came to visit. She and I have been close for about 45 years (showing my age here!) and I love her through and through. We have experienced a lifetime of events together, such as our families moving during our childhood, our crazy teen years, romantic relationship stories, figuring out careers and how to live on our own. Our very different personalities gives each of us a different perspective on life. Among other traits, I admire her spirit and the swirl of activity that seems to surround her. I can talk with her about anything and her heart is generous enough to receive it in love, so we talked about how the swirl can be tiring for me at times, especially then, right after chemo.

On Monday, the last day of our visit, we were driving the kids to camp and a huge thunderstorm broke.

The rain was hard and fast, and we soon came upon a large puddle in the road.

I know the danger of these puddles. About 15 years ago, I drove my new Saab through a seemingly innocuous but deep puddle in the middle of a road. The water went into the air intake valve, causing the engine to seize. When my boyfriend (now husband) opened the door to get out and push the car, more water came rushing in. The car was totaled.

So on Monday, driving through the storm with my friend, I had flashbacks to that episode. I considered that this puddle might total my new car. I also considered that without my husband in the car, I myself might have to get out to figure out the situation and ruin my cute favorite sandals in the process. I considered waiting out the storm, but it didn’t look like it would end soon and I felt a need to get home. So we drove carefully in low visibility (holding our breath) through the large, deep puddle, and we exhaled when we made it through.

The rain continued and we were surprised to come to another deep puddle, then another. Each one looked harrowing, and after each one, we thought that would be the last and plowed ahead. We did this through countless puddles, each time navigating it carefully and then thinking we were in the clear.

My friend lives in California, which currently has a record drought. She marveled at how green and clean everything appeared, so I took a look around. Our slow driving enabled us to notice some of the beauty. For example, what we initially thought was a waterfall was actually someone’s front steps.

We were still navigating puddles when the rain stopped, so we took pictures.

Once home, we briefly wondered what we would have done if we ran into trouble and laughed with relief that we didn’t have to worry about it. We learned that a tornado had been passing through a nearby town, causing the intense rainstorm. We were amused by the thought of surviving another crazy new adventure after so many years, and happy that neither of us had to get our shoes wet. When we heard about the damage to the town where the tornado touched down, being in the rainstorm didn’t seem so bad.

Sometimes, it seems like I am in the center of the storm when really, I am just experiencing the side effects. And, like a tornado, events move along, even if it is at a snail’s pace and only changing slowly.

I appreciate your company through the many storms that happen in life. At each deep puddle, when I think that this is it, we somehow make it through and assess where we are. I like to think each is the last one and we are then in the clear, but then another seems to come along and we take a deep breath and navigate that.

I’m so glad to survive these all with you, and I appreciate that you help me to see the beauty in them.  Thank you.

Much love,
Marie

This post is dedicated to my friend Kathleen, whose spirit went soaring this morning. Fly high my friend. Blessings to you.

Waiting for Ig

Thank you for your prayers, both for the chemo working and for the session to be manageable in my life. As chemo weeks go, the recent one was decent. Regardless, I often reach a point in the middle of it all when I feel like it would be much easier to just give in and not go through all this. It is not that I want to kill myself. I just want the suffering to be over.

I’ve never been good at waiting for something to happen. I would often read the last page of a book ahead of time, and now I find that I want to peek at the last page of the story of my life.

In the meantime, my friend Ig came to visit. Basically, he had a 12-hour, overnight layover in Boston, but I was still thrilled that we would get even a bit of time together, and I didn’t want to miss a second of it.

When his flight landed, he texted his arrival and said that he would text again after he passed through customs. I estimated the amount of time he would need and drove to the airport.

After parking my car, I danced my way across the parking lot and into the terminal for international arrivals.

When I usually meet someone at the airport, I scan the sea of people walking toward me, looking for the familiar face. In the international terminal, however, arriving passengers get off their flight then go through customs in some unseen area, then pass through one door to officially emerge into the rest of the U.S.

I stood behind the metal crowd-control barriers and waited for my friend.

Typically, I like to keep busy while I wait. When I anticipate distantly future events, like vacations or special visits, I keep busy with daily life. When I wait for a shorter-term event – a red light, a doctor appointment, a phone call –  I distract myself by checking my cellphone, getting lost in thought or making a mental list.

Right now, though, I kept my eyes and mind focused on that door.

Passengers emerged one-by-one, usually pausing briefly before they continue forward and past the metal barriers to wherever they were headed. As each person passed through the door, my heart leapt with the possibility that it was him. When it wasn’t, my heart sunk, then immediately rose again with fresh anticipation as the next person passed through. In fact, each time my heart sunk, my anticipation rose higher, because with each person who was NOT my friend, I was getting closer to seeing him. It periodically crossed my mind that maybe I missed him somewhere along the line, but mostly, I stayed at-the-ready, focused on connecting with him the instant that he arrived.

Finally, Ig walked through the door carrying his backpack and luggage while I jumped up and down, waving and smiling like a lunatic.

I was thrilled to see him from the second that he arrived. In retrospect, I even enjoyed the uninterrupted, focused anticipation.

It reminded me of being in Brazil and going outside in the dark to watch sunrise. I loved waiting quietly as the sun slowly rose in the sky, watching the colors that meant the actual sun was getting closer, then greeting the day with my heart as the sun rose above the horizon.

As I think about the good feelings from simply waiting, maybe I can use that as I wait for the chemo to clear or for whatever is up next for me. To be honest, I am not quite sure how to use this. Maybe trusting that something great is in my future and I just need to watch each day the same way that I watched each person pass through the door. Maybe simply recognizing that waiting itself is a gift. Maybe some other way that I can’t see just now.

Thank you for waiting with me, for watching each special day, for recognizing the gifts, for trusting the unseen. Thank you for your faith in all that feels good and special and important, in my life and in your own.

Love and blessings,
Marie