April, Come She Will

I've read, and others who understand have told me, that anniversaries can be hard. I know Jim's birthday back in January felt OK for most of the day but when I got nailed at a dinner party it nailed me hard. This grief shit is so unpredictable, sporadic at times and tough stuff.

I'm coming up on an anniversary and I'm getting nailed already. I was out at my mothers house to see my younger sister and her family who had come down from Bangor. The surf was huge, bigger then I can remember in a very long time; wild, surging, pounding and gorgeous. We had a wonderful day, I stayed for lunch and later in the afternoon the grand nieces all showed up and went to fly a kite out in the field. I couldn't join them. I could barely put one foot in front of the other. I was so incredibly tired that I felt a tremendous weight on me and an inertia that was sucking me down. My family was saying "Mary looks like she's going to fall asleep!", or "Mary, God you look so tired". And I was, so tired!

Rather then join in the fun of kite flying on a gorgeous afternoon I just got up saying "I gotta go home." I kissed my mom and then just waved a hand to the other family members in the kitchen at that time. No going around to give everyone the normal good bye hugs ... just a quick "bye" and I was out the door and heading home. For some reason I did not want any physical contact with anyone. What was that about?

That night, as I laid in bed, I got hit by one of those huge breakers I'd seen roll in to crash against the rocks earlier in the day; it crashed against me so hard that I had to curl into the fetal position and hang on. What the heck is going on? It's still more than two weeks to the actual one-year mark.

Ah, but it's April. When I scrolled down to my 2010 posts and then to the month of April here on this blog (yes, you can do it too.) I see that starting on April 26, 2010 all the big shit began to hit the fan for us. This was the beginning to the end; the ER visits, the hospital, the Hospice.

You know, it almost feels like PTSD (Post Traumatic Stress Syndrome). I work with war veterans doing acupuncture for them to help ease their PTSD and all the symptoms that are associated with this syndrome. I can't imagine what these folks have lived through but I hear of the flashbacks, the insomnia, the emotional swings and sudden angry outbursts. I am experiencing some of this now; all that pain, fear, weariness and unfathomable grief is resurfacing from all the memories in my cells.

As the Maple trees are coming into flower with those pretty little firecrackers of red and yellow explosions at the end of the branches and the crocuses are powering out of a still cold earth, and snowdrops wave their pretty white heads ... April in Maine still remains very cold and bleak for me.

"April, come she will"

Loving you all back,

Mary

Is this a movie?

I watched the movie "127 Hours" the other night. I was told by one friend "it gets tedious". I was told by another friend "it's good, it's all in the Canyonlands too, Mary" - an area dear to my heart. I knew the actor had won an Oscar nomination for the role. I figured if Tom Hanks could talk to a soccer ball for an entire movie then this kid could probably offer some interesting thoughts while stuck in a canyon with his arm smashed between a boulder and the canyon wall.

Here's the true story of Aron Ralston; a young man who does most of his adventure traveling alone, takes off for some fun in his beloved Canyonlands, which he seems to know like the back of his hand. He tells no one where he is or where he's going. A bit of a free spirit. I've been guilty of going for hikes alone with my dog, Ella, and not informing anybody of my plans. Although I've always gotten home safe I have questioned the intelligence of such a move on my part. Well, this kid never questioned it until he sudddenly finds himself in the worst of the worst scenarios. While running he stumbles down a tiny canyon, dislodges a boulder that falls down after him and pins his arm as the boulder lodges into the walls of this small crevice. His arm is literally trapping him in a canyon miles from anywhere, he's running out of food, has very little water and nobody knows where he is. As he says to himself "this is really bad doo-doo".

You can see the reality of the situation hit him over time after the accident occurs. And this is where the movie began to hit me like a ton of bricks .... in the past I would watch a movie like this and wonder what it might be like to have that kind of reality hit. What it would it feel like to suddenly realize the situation you were in is dire and you're facing life and death.

What goes through your mind as it sinks in that this is really happening to you! While watching this movie I found myself understanding exactly what this feels like. I realize that this is something I feel almost daily .... still ... that feeling of "are you serious? This is my life? This is happening to ME?" Whenever I see a picture of Jim's handsome face I get hit with this reality again.

I feel like a bomb has gone off in my life. When that bomb dropped on us, those first few months after Jim was diagnosed, it was the cover your head and try to survive mode. It was a whirlwind of doctors, treatment procedures, medicines and twirling in circles while being told which direction to move once the spinning stopped. Like the movie, this was the part where we were falling into the crevice and didn't know that boulder was coming down with us to smash us against the wall and alter our lives forever.

The first few minutes, after Aron gets trapped, you could see he had hope that he could move that boulder. He struggled like a trapped animal but he still believed that he'd get himself out of that little problem. But, as the reality set in, Aron would tell himself to "stay calm, don't lose it man". While Jim and I realized that those brain tumors had trapped us we never gave up hope that Jim would be able to beat it. If we stopped to get hit by the reality of our situation then the fear could be devastating and panic would set in. You never want to panic because then you lose your ability to move and think rationally and possibly save yourself. So I would take one step at a time, and I would tell myself to "stay calm woman, don't lose it".

Aron Ralston, as you may know, ends up cutting his own arm off after being trapped in that canyon for 127 hours. And everyone who knows this story asks themselves, "could I do that?" "Would I do that?" With Jim, the left brain tumors severely affected his right side. But when he had hydrocephalus he lost even more control of his right arm and leg and he couldn't walk by himself at all. He refused to use a wheelchair, which would be admitting defeat. So I had to physically get him up and hold him from behind with my arms supporting his arms and my legs supporting his legs. Using my legs as a shadow to his I would push his right leg forward to force that leg to take a step. Jim would then step with his left leg as I completely supported him. In this manner of push the right leg, step, push the right leg, step - we would "walk" to where he needed to be. How could I find the strength to do this? I felt it from Jim. I felt it in me. I felt both of our incredible determination to take that next step. And I never stopped to question whether I could do it or not; I just did it. I just did whatever had to be done. I would indeed have cut my arm off if I thought it could have saved Jim from those tumors.

Aron Ralston is now one-armed, but alive, and still living a wonderful adventurous life. I still have both my arms but feel my heart has been cut out and wonder if I can ever get that adventurous life back; can I ever get that sparkle and laughter I had with Jim again?

This is not a movie ... this is my life now.

Loving you all back,

Mary

PS - I haven't figured out how to put a by-line on the photos when I upload them. The picture on this blog is of Jim's sister, Donna, me and Jim in the town of Moab - just outside the Canyonlands National Park.

Fear of Flying

It's not the actual flying that I'm fearful of, it's the no-fly zone; when flights get canceled and travel plans go down the drain. Traveling alone is hard for me these days. I'm flying for a vacation on Friday and the weather report is for a big storm, hitting the east coast Friday ... up to 8 inches in Maine! Damn, my anxiety is rising.

I've been incredibly spoiled when it comes to trips. Jim was a world traveler and able to navigate all the different scenarios that could possibly be tossed at you during an expedition. I remember when we were in Machu Picchu, Peru and standing on the platform to catch the train back down to Cusco. Jim spoke fluent Spanish and caught some conversations about the train being full. He went into high gear, went into the ticket counter and ended up behind the counter - in front of a line of other tourists - and negotiated our getting our tickets and getting on board. And the person he negotiated with was laughing and smiling with Jim. I also know that Jim didn't pay anybody off to do this, it was just his charming way that won us a seat on a too full train.

Oh, did I mention that this train, coming down this impossibly steep mountain grade, was having major brake problems? At every little stream or puddle the train would stop, several guys would jump out with buckets and throw water onto the brakes. We could hear the brakes hissing as the cold water struck them and smell the acrid, burnt aroma of over-heated brakes. Just a tad worrisome. But whenever I was with Jim it was always an adventure.

But I'm not with Jim anymore. I'm flying solo now in every aspect of my life, including this trip to the left coast to see dear friends who have seduced me into staying with them for some fun in the sun. While the weather shifts from attempting spring with bright sun and crocus's, then back to winter in New England with threats of 8 inches of snow ... it's in the high 70's in the Bay area. I could use some of that heat and sunshine right now!

So, I'm facing my fears. I tell myself people older, more compromised and disabled fly alone all the time. I can do this. I can! Why am I so fearful? I don't know ... it's just not the party it use to be.

Life is not the party it use to be.

Loving you all back,

Mary

Snails Pace

I'm up too early this morning. I haven't had one of these wake-at-3:00 a.m.-with-my-mind-racing kind of mornings for quite a few months now. It use to be my normal rising time while Jim was sick. Looking back on those days I'm not sure how I functioned with so little sleep. I needed those early morning hours though; the only time when I was not being asked to do anything for anybody else. Today there are different worries racing through my head. We all have worries.

I'm reading a book that my sister, Jayne, gave to me, "The Sound of a Wild Snail Eating" by Elizabeth Tova Bailey. It's a beautifully written book with wonderful, simple illustrations of the snail. The author was suddenly stricken with autoimmune dysautonomia, a dysfunction of the autonomic nervous system, that leaves her unable to do much but lie in bed. Even sitting up is a huge drain on her. She has moved from her farm house in rural Maine to a small apartment where there is a "caregiver" tending to her 24/7. She has a few friends who come and visit her but as I get deeper into the book these visits are dwindling since her disease is dragging on and people have busy lives.

One friend had brought her a potted violet with a small, forest snail that she had found and placed in with the plant. This tiny snail is the focus of the book. The author can roll herself over from one side of her bed to the other, so she has days on end where she is able to just watch this small snail living out it's life. She has her caregiver go into the woods and gather plants and objects to make a terrarium in which to house this snail; a much better home then the original potted plant that allowed the snail to wonder at night and eat tiny, square shaped holes into stationary and envelopes.

What is so wonderful about this book is how the author compares her life to this snail. And, of course, I can't help but see comparisons of what Jim's life was becoming as his brain tumors took more and more of his abilities to function away. How hard he fought at times to come out of this encroaching shell that was isolating him from his much larger world .... how hard I fought to keep him connected in any way that I could. But there were those days when we just allowed ourselves to simply be, just let go of the fight. At these times we moved around at a snails pace always aware that the world was racing past us. Always aware that our world was shrinking as was our time together.

These early morning hours offer a simple world to me. No other lights on in the neighboring houses, no one else is awake, no phone calls to make as all the busy-ness that I must do today can't begin for several more hours. My world is a small shell; this wood stove, my coffee cup, a book.

And sometimes I wish it was this simple,

Mary

Camouflage

The other day I looked out an upstairs window and was staring face to face with a small, Sharp Shinned Hawk, sitting in the Oak tree. He was gorgeous and seemed very content to have me looking back at him ... unlike the family of Crows that I feed who won't tolerate my looking at them for more then a few seconds. After a bit of time he flew from this perch into the more wooded area that borders my yard and completely disappeared when he landed on another branch.

Jim was drawn to hawks. He had some amazing, mystical and spiritual experiences with hawks and thus felt an affinity towards this bird regardless of the species. Now, whenever I see a hawk, I will think of Jim and quietly state his name as I believe there is a message being sent to me on the wings of these mighty predators.

I spent some time with an old friend of Jim's that I'm just getting to know now. I asked her how she first met Jim and she said she had hired him to do some photography for her so many years ago. She went on to explain how Jim had the most amazing ability to walk into a situation and disappear if he was photographing an event. People would become so comfortable with his presence that they would soon forget that he was taking pictures of them. We both laughed because Jim could also walk into a social engagement and let it be known that he was there and the entire party would migrate towards him.

The magic of Jim Daniels; the ability to be the life of the party as well as just disappear when he needed to .... much like this little hawk I watched that day. This hawk, sitting on a branch in the big Oak tree stood out like a hovering hot air balloon on a clear summer day ... but when he flew a few feet into the more wooded area and sat in the shadows he completely disappeared.

I believe in magic and animal totems and Jim checking on me with the sharp eyes of a hawk. I admit to having days when I wish I could just disappear, but I'm still here - for whatever reasons - missing the magic of that man.

Loving you all back,

Mary

Mourning Dove

The birds are acting differently lately; starting to sing and chirp, flitting and circling each other in the air and just being more visible in general. They must know something that the rest of us in Maine are only hoping will come again as we dig ourselves out from under another big snow storm that got covered with freezing rain and turned everything into an impossible ice block.

Spring, and renewed hope and rebirth. But today I am dealing with another death; our friend Reg died yesterday morning. Brain cancer beat the best again ... when it's a grade 4 it always seems to win eventually. A good friend asked me if this was giving me flashbacks. Yes, it is. And I'm grieving again for my friend, his wife, G, and his entire family that includes a ten year old spitfire of a boy.

On my early morning run today I came upon a bird kill; an explosion of feathers in the middle of the trail. No blood spots, no tracks so I suspect the predator to be the Red Tailed Hawk I've seen on several occasions in this area. I looked closely at the feathers, some kind of song bird .... and as I hovered over this mass of feathers, with the downy ones blowing away over the hard crusty snow, I heard the haunting Oo-wah-hooo, hoo-hoo of a Mourning Dove. How perfect, a Mourning Dove on this day when my tears are freezing to my cheeks. As I hunker over these Dove feathers I'm enchanted at how beautiful they are; one is small and brown with a dark eye-spot on it, another, a wing feather, is black on one side of the hard center vane and white on the other side ... the yin/yang of life.

Morning .... with the dove feathers scattered at my feet and a few in my hand ... mourning.

Jim use to hear that mournful call and say "Morning, Dove". I whispered this call to the lonesome dove calling from the tree line as the sun began to rise. I whispered to Reg to say hello to Jim for me. I whispered to my fist full of feathers how sad I was feeling with this new mourning.

Loving you all back,

Mary

Grief and Gifts continued

Magoo is the nickname my oldest sister has given our 21 year old niece. I'm going to refer to her with this name for her privacy ... even though she's given me permission to write this and to use her real name. Of course everyone who knows her will know who this is about but I'm sticking with Magoo.

Magoo is the youngest of three in my middle sister's family, and the only girl. She is also the only one who was born in Nashville. The family would come home to Maine in the summers and we would get to see how much the kids had grown, what teeth were missing and begin to hear the twang starting to seep into Magoo's dialect. At four years old she would sit in her car seat and wave a tiny hand saying "Bah, bah, y'all."

One summer day, when Magoo was maybe five, I got to babysit her for several hours. We went to a playground, we went to lunch where she entertained me and the waitresses and we stopped for ice cream on the way home. Sitting in the front seat (this was before mandatory car seats), not tall enough to see out of any windows, she looked up at me and said "Aunt Mary? I love you." That was it, this kid - who has the exact same eyes as mine - had stolen my heart.

This family soon moved back to Maine, to a small town two hours north and into the inherited family farm. There the kids became busy in all the school activities. During these years we headed north to see the school musicals, headed north so Jim could play ice hockey on the pond with the boys, and north to witness and celebrate the high school graduations. Magoo was around a lot more then her brothers, but usually we were there when my very large family gathered en mass so connecting was difficult. Close family ties and all, I had lost knowing who she was.

Until Jim was in Hospice.

When we went to Hospice friends and family circled the wagons; those who could take the time would come and go in order to be with us for the days we were there. Friends cooked dinners and brought them over so we could all sit in the dining area and eat ... while Jim drifted away in his room. I had such a hard time leaving that room, leaving him, watching him leave me.

Magoo was in her final exams at school and had several days when she didn't have to be back. She asked me if she could stay and be with me in Hospice. Her mother added, "Mary, you'll find she is very helpful!" My response was, of course you can stay! And you should just show up in the morning and hang in the room, don't wait to see if it's OK to come in, just come in, camp out and you will soon become part of the ebb and flow, the rhythm, the pulse in the intricate energy of the room. And this is exactly what she did.

Jim went to Hospice the first week in May, with the days warming and daffodils popping. During those days I could only leave the room for short periods of time; to sit in the sun, to eat a bit of food, to see friends who were gathered outside and wanting to see me. The days were incredibly long and yet timeless. On most afternoons Magoo would look at me as the shadows were lengthening and the sky was turning pink and say "Time for a walk Mary."

"I don't know, maybe I should stay and ..."

"Nope, let's just take a short walk around the neighborhood. It's really nice out. We won't be gone long!"

And thus, she would get me out and she and I would talk about what was going on in her life and not talk about what was going on in mine.

Magoo had to leave while we were still on watch in Hospice. She had to go back to school and take her last exam. The day she was getting ready to go I went looking for her and her mother. I was told they were out in the parking lot so I ran out to find them. Magoo jumped out of the car and came running, literally, into my arms. She was crying and shaking and bubbling a verbal stream of consciousness, "I don't want to go ... I want to stay with you ... I want to get to know you and I wanted to get to know Jim and I wanted to be able to hang with you when I finished school and get him to help me learn photography and maybe travel with him and now he's gonna be gone before I even get back and I'll never know him and you have so many friends and I want to be a friend even though I'm family and I'm just gonna be around now and I hate to have to go, this stupid math exam and I'll never see you again and .... "

"Whoa, whoa! Hey, I'm still here! I will still be here when you finish this damn math exam and you are welcome to come be with me at any time!" Never have I said words that were more true. We were both crying now. I hugged her and said, "come say goodbye to Jim." As we entered the room I asked other family members if they would mind leaving for a few minutes and went with her to Jim's bedside.

"Magoo, I truly believe he still hears everything, even at this point. So say what you need to say to him ... he loves you. No regrets, OK?" And she did. And then she left ... and I missed her horribly.

Jim died two days later on May 7th. I went into robot-like motion that allowed me to do all that needed to be done to celebrate the life of one amazing man. All that needed to be done to bring our amazing circle of friends and families together to put closure on a life that was so big, so full and ended so early. As some of you may understand, things are too busy at the end. But then the dust begins to settle, people go home and you're left alone with that hole that you try to walk around all day long but keep falling into regardless. And this is when Magoo came to be with me. She moved into the TV room and asked nothing of me. She and I would sit and read over coffee in the morning and she would allow me to stare into space for short periods of time before she would say,

"Hey, what do you want to do today?"

"Huh? Oh. I don't know"

"Well, how about we go .... " and she had ideas, and she got me moving and off the couch and got me out ... again. She was just there, just being with me, just getting to know me better and allowing me to get to know her better; a small piece of joy in my not so joyous life.

She's still here. She's doing her student teaching in Portland and staying with a friend of ours just down the road who has an extra bedroom. She calls me up to see if I'm around, comes over to make cookies, have dinner with me, help to move a wood pile, sit by the wood stove and read.

She is a real gift. In all the horrible things that were going on for me in May of 2010, she is the biggest gift Jim brought back to me.

And with this said, I have to add that all my nieces and nephews have rallied around me in amazing ways. They all loved Jim and they reach out to me; another niece, JW, asking me to do acupuncture and attend the birth of her little girl, my grand-niece (that was amazing and a huge honor! That little one was born one day before my own birthday ... we may find she and I are a lot alike!). They all are helping me in far more ways then I can mention here and being there for me in just as many ways.

So, there are gifts that come from cancer and from the death of a loved one. In all that darkness there are tiny beams of light. And many of them are in hindsight ... but many of mine are here now in the present, and I cherish them all.

Thanks Magoo,

Mary

PS - the photo is of Magoo and her two uncles, Jim Daniels to her right and Jerry Sanders on her left. The little sentry in the back was a friend who was visiting.