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,

9 thoughts on “Waiting for Ig

  1. loved this Marie – I meet my friends every Wed for dinner and still feel thrilled when I see them…they are my glue.  I understand the feeling of giving up a little…I  think I am going backwards in my grieving and it is unsettling me …nearly a year later.  we just have to cling to the joy we both have in our lives and suffer the bad times alone in our private moments – life is unspeakably sad at times but there is always joy to find in our day somewhere.  thank goodness we can both find it.   jan


  2. Marie!

    I am rushing off to teach a class but took just a moment to read your latest blog

    THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU … for your wisdom, insights, strength and BEAUTY

    Much love


  3. Dear Marie,

    As always, was touched by your post. I am a “read the last page first” sort of gal, too. And, waiting is hard. But, I am trying to do more of it waiting quietly so I can hear what God’s plan (and not my own) is for my life.

    Love how your thoughts, words and just way of finding meaning in everything. And, the perseverance and positive vibes that come through.

    No need to respond, just know I am sending lots of love and healing prayers your way – Zoom! Julie

    From: Adventures in Spiritual Living Reply-To: Adventures in Spiritual Living Date: Wednesday, September 18, 2013 9:43 AM To: Subject: [New post] Waiting for Ig

    WordPress.com Marie Colantoni Pechet posted: “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 jus”

  4. Another lovely post Marie – going through infertility and IVF and then adoption I think I probably became a terrible waiter, even though I had lots of practice. And waiting for something certain is so much easier than waiting for something you hope for that is out of your control. Good on you for seeing it as a gift – it is the only choice that will get you through. X

  5. What a wise, lovely, generous insight, as usual! I HATE waiting. In fact, the only real thing I like about my kindle is that I have not really figured out how to skip ahead and READ the ending wihtout totally screwing up my carefully jerry-rigged kindle routine! At any rate, waiting sucks, I think, for most people. In your case, it can’t be made easier by the fact that the stakes are so high and the journey so grueling. All of this rambling to say–
    no matter what horrible/amazing/enlightening adventures you’re sharing with us, you always manage to do it with authenticity, insight, humor, and endless grace. And THAT amazing ability of yours, to touch so many hearts with your unrelenting candor and kindness–THAT is a gift. Thanks for having the courage and spirit to share so much of your heart with the rest of us. You are a blessing, chica. The real deal. Hugs and smooochies. 🙂

  6. Dear Marie,
    I miss you, truly, and am so thankful for your blog so I can stay connected to you, in whatever way is possible. Technology provides the channel but it is really your courage in showing your whole self that allows me to fully realize your experience, or at least as much as words can convey. As I’m sure is true of all of your friends and family, I so wish there was a way to wish away the waiting, the uncertainty and of course most of all the big helping of pain and suffering that you are experiencing. I love your practice of finding some connection, some beauty, some SOMEthing in even crappy moments. While not denying that at the very same time the experience is also still crappy. All of it can be there at the same time. And you choose to direct your attention at the elements of learning and beauty and connection. Thank you and xoxo. Mary

  7. As I read this, I realized how little I wait these days and how impatient I am. Every day is fast – kids ready, work done, dinner on, etc. Reading your writing is one of the beautiful things which slows me down and gently nudges me to take stock. Your language – “then greeting the day with my heart as the sun rose above the horizon” and your spirit – “Thank you for your faith in all that feels good and special and important, in my life and in your own.” – are truly a gift. Love you.

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