Reset my mind

We had to euthanize our sweet greyhound girl this week.  I knew it was coming because she had kidney and heart disease.  We bought her a lot of time with trips to the veterinary hospital for fluids and medicines.  But eventually, the kidney failure was too much for her. We are both sad that she is gone but know that it was time.

I have been having a lot of flashbacks to childhood.  These are not dreams but happen when I am not highly focused on something. All of a sudden, there will be a vision of me standing in front of a bookcase in the old elementary school library, or me running down the dirt path leading to my cousin's house, or sitting on the stairs at my parents house looking out into the large front yard.

So many of these vivid flashbacks are occurring that I am wondering what it is about.  I have read that these can be caused by unresolved anxiety, or some form of PTSD.  But these aren't unpleasant memories at all--just very vivid and in great detail. I certainly would choose to be in the present and not have all of these thoughts about the past coming up and rushing through my head.  I asked my wife about it, and she said that she has dreams but hasn't experienced the vivid flashbacks that I am having while awake.

Sometimes I do wonder if I may not have inherited some of my family's tendency towards depression.  I hope not because it was a very hard road for both my mother and her father.  And it isn't any journey that I want to go on.

So I am going to stay in the moment by going on the boat this week. The weather is going to be cool.  It seems to reset my mind to go on the boat.  Right now, I am needing a reset for sure.

Sharing some photos of my greyhound girl when she was healthy and could run like the wind. I miss her a lot.

The past repeats

It's said that history repeats itself. So now Charleston has revisited its history with the killing of 9 people in one of the city's most historic churches.  The church, Emanuel AME, was burned after one of the church's founders organized a slave uprising in 1822.  Worship services continued after the church was rebuilt until 1834 when all black churches were outlawed. The congregation continued the tradition of the African church by worshipping underground until 1865 when it was formally reorganized, and the name Emanuel was adopted, meaning "God with us".

I, like so many, don't understand how a person could be among good people for an hour and then shoot them.  I don't understand what is in the mind of someone so filled with hate.  Some have said that the confessed killer should not be called "mentally disturbed".  I see anyone who hates as mentally disturbed. Not as a defense for an action but simply a statement that those who spend so much energy filled with hate are depleted in their humanness. I am tired of the hatred expressed in social media, on TV, and radio shows--the threats and ignorant jokes about the President, gays, liberals, and anyone that doesn't espouse the same ideals.

I was born in the South.  I grew up during the time of early integration.  And I was appalled at the hatred shown towards people of color.  Nothing much has changed.  Racism was still festering and for many years in this country, people were not overt about it.  There was forced politeness.  But in the last decade, especially since President Obama has been in office,  hatred and intolerance of those who believe, look, or act different from someone else has exploded.

I have read so many political comments on social media and in print over the past few years that I have been shocked and appalled at the hatred out there.  I know who they are too. They are people that I went to first grade with, people who live in my community, people who I have known for years.  And yet to them, I am a Libtard, a socialist,  a "nigger" lover.  It hurts my heart.

Very sad that such an appalling tragedy has visited our community. We cannot live in a racially divided country again. No more. Stand up and speak up when you hear or see intolerance.  I refuse to listen to slurs and hateful comments about anyone. I refuse to be passive when faced with overt bigotry and racism.  I want to make my actions clear so that there is no doubt about my boundaries.

I feel numb about what has happened here.  Yet, I am not shocked by the events in this city and state that I now call home.  It was just a matter of time that the picture perfect post card of a city would revisit its violent past.  Charleston is touted as number one in tourism.  It is a beautiful city, and there are good people who live here. But there is another side of this old city that isn't beautiful.  I sadly don't expect much from anyone anymore. All I can do is try to shed a little light and do my best on this journey to show compassion and love.  

You touch my life

I have once again been busy and have neglected this blog.  I feel as if I am repetitive because I am doing the same things that I have been doing for quite some time: going on the boat, working out, gardening, riding my horse, going to meetings, and generally having a wonderful life with my wife.

But I am often think of you out there who are writing and sharing. You have touched my life in many ways.  I just learned that fellow blogger, Cheryl H., over at Through an Al-Anon Filter died on April 22.  I started reading Cheryl's blog when she first began blogging.  Her death reminded me of how connected we are to each other.  Although we haven't met in person, we get to know each other through our writings and the special sharing that we have.  I know that those of you who read this blog know more about me than many people that I know in person.  That is an amazing thing to contemplate.  And when one of us dies, I feel a great sense of loss.  And when others stop writing without explanation, I wonder how they are and what they are doing.

I can tell you that life for me is good.  Spring has come to the Lowcountry.  The garden and grounds are beautiful with flowers and shrubs.  We have brought in lettuce and radishes for salads.  The pasture is amazing with buttercups.  So much beauty surrounds me.

And the weather has begun to cooperate for going on the boat.  I just returned from three days of being at the island anchorage.  I come back refreshed and ready to tackle what ever comes my way.  

My horse is a source of much joy.  My wife feeds him carrots and apples.  He has a birthday this week, and we are having a little party in his honor with an actual cake that the horses can eat.  There will be one for humans too.  

I do attribute much of what I feel to having been in Al-Anon.  It has helped me to lighten up, let go of trying to control others, and find joy in life.   My changed attitude is a result of recovery.  It is hard for me to remember how I was before being in Al-Anon.  But this blog documents the journey.  Thank you for being along with me for the ride. 

Pause when agitated

My wife had a good birthday, celebrating with a lunch out the day before and opening her presents on the day. This year, I got her an Italian pizza oven with accessories.  She enjoys cooking, especially out doors where we can sit on the deck or near the outdoor fireplace. And we both enjoy a thin crust pizza now and then.  She is going to try out the cauliflower crust soon.  Anyway, it was a good time, although much too short as I had to be on the road on the morning of her birthday.

I traveled to Raleigh to do some work.  In the meantime, I had a chance to go to the Al-Anon Literature Distribution Center where many of the books and pamphlets are shipped to groups in NC, SC and surrounding states. And I had an opportunity to go to dinner with my Service Sponsor, a person who guides me in the practice of the Traditions and Concepts.  I continue to do a lot of service work, but I also recognize that I can talk to this fellow if I have questions about whether I may be taking on too much.  I do have a tendency to say Yes to things that I really don't want to take on, but do so out of a sense of duty.  It's all about balance.  And it was a great chance to meet face to face with him.

When I got home on Sunday, I was catching up on news when I saw that a lady who was a passenger on a weekend cruise I captained had shot her husband during a domestic dispute.  As more details come out, it appears that she shot him and cut herself with a knife to fake self-defense.  I knew that she was a hunter and carried a gun.  She talked a lot about guns and her belief in being armed. I cannot understand the love of guns or the need to have them around.   I don't know what went on in her head to decide to shoot him, rather than walking out the door and leaving.  I don't think I can know how lives get so messed up.

I have thought about this tragic situation for the last couple of days.  No matter what, it seems that understanding the motives of people is baffling.
"...... when someone commits a violent crime, they always report in the news about his possible motive. As human beings, we need to somehow make sense of things. If someone murders someone, do you think it makes the family of the victim feel better to know the murderer's motive? No. Except for self-defense, there really is no excuse for murder. Motive, if there is any, is irrelevant. 

You want to know why. In many ways, you might feel like you need to know. But, if you could come up with a reason or a motive, it wouldn't help you." — Beth Praed (Domestic Violence: My Freedom from Abuse)

By no coincidence, last night's meeting topic was on motives.  It was a good reminder for me to examine my motives and understand what kept me in destructive relationships and accepting of negative behaviors and humiliation. What came across is that each of us is entitled to live without fear, uncertainty and discomfort.

Before Al-Anon,  I did not think about motives.  I had reasons to stay for many years with an alcoholic,  and those stemmed from beliefs that had been developed from outside influences and from poor self-esteem.  Then when I learned there were layers of truth underneath the reasons, I did not want to examine them because sometimes the truths about me were unacceptable to the mask I had created.  There was shame amidst my shadows.

Looking at the real motives and truths is an ongoing inquiry. My true motives may be unclear in the heat of the moment, but for the most part, I stay clear of people and those tasks that are unhealthy for my emotional well being.  I used to stick around for unacceptable situations simply because I didn't think that I deserved any better.  I stuck around to please another or because I was afraid of a negative reaction.  I let fear dictate my actions--fear of loss, of abandonment, of worthlessness.  Now, I do know that I can sort out my thinking in time, so that I realize what my motives were at the time I opened my mouth or made a bad decision.  It has helped me to not react until I have asked myself what my underlying feelings are at the moment.  "Pause when agitated" is a good mantra.

Happenings

I thought that I had better catch up here.  As usual, my excuse for not writing is that I have been incredibly busy and for the most part enjoying every day.  My birthday came and went.  It was a good day spent at a riding clinic, having lunch with horse friends and having a great dinner with my wife.  I had few expectations as birthdays go, but what resulted was delightful.

I spent three days on my sailboat during my birthday week, enjoying a few days of good weather in which the sun actually shone.  It was my escape to serenity-- a temple for me to rest, read, cook, and bask in the sun.  I came back feeling totally relaxed and rejuvenated.

On Sunday, I went for a 7.5 mi trail ride on my fancy dressage horse. He handled the woods, the scary farm machinery, the wide open dirt road--all of it, like he was born to trail ride. The ladies riding with me were impressed by his calmness and his being so level headed.  Every day I go to see him, he greets me with a soft nicker.  My wife is quite taken with him also.

On a more somber note, a young local high school student has died over an altercation with a fellow student about a Snap Chat message sent to his girlfriend.  The kid visiting his girlfriend told the other fellow to come over and he would kill him.  So the young man went over and was stabbed in a fight. Both are from affluent families, no drugs involved, and were not in trouble before. Now one is dead and the other is messed up for life.  I don't understand the anger that drives a 16 year old to kill a 17 year old over anything, much less a phone message.

I don't know about you, but we settled things in a civilized manner--no fights, no knives, no guns.  Parents have so much to worry about these days. Drugs and alcohol, and more guns and violence than ever before.  It is a tough world out there.  And I often wondered how I made it this far--maybe because when I was a kid, I feared my father's wrath more than anything else; and as a teenager, I decided that not much was worth dying over.  And that attitude carried into college, although I did some reckless things. And for some reason, I am still alive. I feel a great deal of sorrow for the parents who are suffering the horrible death of their child and for the parents who are dealing with the horror of what their son did.

My little home group has been struggling with low numbers of people attending. Several meetings in the area have closed.  I wonder if this is simply a reflection of the time of year or does it bode problems for an aging fellowship.

Certainly, the number of those with substance abuse problems has risen.  And that means that a lot of families and friends of alcoholics/addicts are suffering from the effects of the disease.  But are they trying to tough this out alone?  I hope that they are getting some kind of help to cope with the anxiety, anger and fear of living with an alcoholic/addict.  They certainly aren't pouring into the rooms of Al-Anon around here.  What really matters to me is that people get some kind of help because it is a very lonely thing to deal with alcoholism/addiction on your own.

I hope that all is going well with you.  I think of you and will catch up some this week.

What's been happening here

It has been cold here for the last few days.  I went to the boat to spend the night in the worst of it.  And there was ice on the inside of the V berth bronze porthole when I awoke on Thursday morning.  I fired up the propane heater and the oven which helped to bring the temperature up to 70 F.

The cold would likely have killed a little puppy that I picked up off the highway when I was heading home on New Year's Day.  I had been to the gym in the early evening.  As I was turning onto our dirt road from the tarmac, I saw movement out of the corner of my eye.  It was a puppy, scared and a bit wet from coming out of the field ditch.  I brought the little one home, fed him, and picked about a dozen ticks off.  We both thought that he was the smartest pup because he did not once use his crate for pooping or peeing.

I sent emails to the local vets and rescue groups with his cute photo.  Several people called about him. Last night, he was adopted by a couple who seem to be a good fit for the puppy.  As with any animal, I told them that if he didn't work out, to bring him back.  He definitely is adorable and very smart.

Sadly, there is tragedy already started so quickly in 2015.  Sickening world news of senseless killing, martyrdom, and all the other crazy happenings that make me want to retreat to the island, boat or barn and isolate. 

And locally, a man who I have known for over 30 years lost his only son to suicide on January 6.  The young man, age 22 was a senior in college, and had been distraught because of a breakup with his girlfriend.  I cannot begin to imagine this kind of pain for the parents or the kind of despair that the son felt to want to die.  

And I keep thinking to myself that I am lucky to be here. To have survived this long in spite of so many things that might have also taken me down.  I hope that my luck in living continues.  And I hope that those who are in despair today will find some comfort eventually.  I remain upbeat today.  Happy to be healthy and to have a lot of living to do.   

I am not in·val·id

I am home from my journey. And I must say that the celebration of life far exceeded any that I could have imagined. There were many people there, some I knew but had not seen for decades and some that I had not met before.  Each person that I talked with had fond memories of my cousin.  I heard from them that he was a good neighbor, friend, golf partner, party guy back in the day, and highly regarded within his profession.

His wife did a fantastic job of having old photos scattered about.  And the memory book in which each person wrote of their remembrances of my cousin was touching.

But the reading of a letter to all of us by his wife was the most profound. She read about what their life had been like and that he wanted us to know that he was not an invalid nor was he in·val·id in any way during his illness.  And his words: "And so--I was not and am not an invalid. No one has to be. Invalid is an illusion. If you ever find yourself labelled as such, try to invalidate the judgment and seize the opportunity to discover your personal light to help heal every particle and cell on this planet. Start with granting yourself Forgiveness, Peace, and Unconditional Love: these qualities lead to physical and spiritual healing."

So I am glad that I went. I am glad that I shared laughter in memories of him. I feel as if the afternoon was filled with goodness--good people, good times, good food, good memories.

I will keep remembering his words that I am not in·val·id.  I will call that up when I feel small and cast aside in some ways. No I am not in·val·id.

I depart as air, I shake my white locks at the runaway sun,
I effuse my flesh in eddies, and drift it in lacy jags.

I bequeath myself to the dirt to grow from the grass I love,
If you want me again look for me under your boot-soles.

You will hardly know who I am or what I mean,
But I shall be good health to you nevertheless,
And filter and fibre your blood.

Failing to fetch me at first keep encouraged,
Missing me one place search another,
I stop somewhere waiting for you. ~Walt Whitman

Released this morning from all pain

During the darkest, most terrifying time of my life, an older man took my calls 24/7, helped me to think through my choices before acting rashly, listened to the rage and heartbreak that seemed bottomless, met with me when I was melting down, occasionally reminded me to get off my pity pot, and loved me fiercely through it all. He was fond of saying that he was a 19 year old spirit trapped in a broken-down body. This morning, he was released from that broken-down body. I am so happy for him, that his suffering is ended. But, I will miss him terribly. I have saved the emails and even the voice messages on my phone.  And I can read or listen to those to recall his presence.  And his voice remains in my head, recalling the last time I talked to him.

Today, in celebration of my friend's life, I will do my best to seize the day, even though my back is in agony this morning.  I will remind myself that memories are made of small things as well as those occasions that are momentous. I will be grateful instead of stuck in fear or impatience.  I know that my friend is part of a great energy swirling around.  We came together out of a connection, felt deep inside.  And that connection we felt has made me aware of how much joy and gratitude I have in my life.  Rest easy, my friend.

Afterlife

My friend and mentor is dying. I went to see him today at the Hospice Center, knowing that his death will come very soon. He was unresponsive. I have read that hearing is the last sense to go, so I talked to him and read one of my favorite poems to him.

His birthday is in another week so I read Dylan Thomas's Poem in October. I remember how this poem touched something deep inside me when I first read it years ago. It has been a poem for me to gauge the passing of my years. My thirtieth year to heaven is long gone but these words still ring true:

"My birthday began with the water- 
Birds and the birds of the winged trees flying my name 
Above the farms and the white horses 
And I rose And walked abroad in shower of all my days...." 

Sitting next to my friend and watching his breathing in and out, made me think about what lies beyond death. I told him that I would see him on the other side. I don't know what the other side will be, but I know what I would like it to be. It would be what I experienced this week on the boat.

My ideal would be to see the sun rise over the ocean, as it pushed back the night and painted the sea with silver and gold, shimmering like diamonds on the surface. The way it flooded the dunes with an ambient magical light that was warm and beautiful, bouncing off the clouds.  I watched the dolphins cruise by and the seagulls fly overhead.  I watched the formations of pelicans soar on the thermal air currents as they flew in front of the waves.  I watched the dogs run through the surf wagging their tails and admired the reflection of the vast sky overhead in the tidal pools.  I admired the way the clouds changed color as the sun rose and how they drifted over the sea slowly and languidly changing shape and form.  I listened to the birds singing in the trees and marveled at how many wildflowers were blooming and how they covered the dunes.  I was uplifted to see the butterflies migrate down the beach, and the sound of crickets was music to my soul.  I appreciated life at the moment because it was beautiful and meaningful to me.  

So I don't  know what Heaven looks like and do not deny or accept how others see it.  But when I looked around and above this morning and felt the experience I had right then in that moment, the peace it gave me, I believe I saw my Heaven all around me.

The Shadow

Yesterday was one of those days that I would like to not have. I went to bed on Sunday evening watching news about Hurricane Odile on a collision path with Cabo San Lucas.  Now I have only been there one time, but the place was amazing. I thought about the open air restaurants, the simple houses where the residents live, the beggar lady Maria I met at the marina, the marina with all the boats, the horses at the ranch where I rode through the desert, the economy that depends almost totally on tourism.

So I awoke yesterday in the wee hours to see Cabo decimated by a Cat 3 hurricane.  I saw the beautiful airport in shambles, the barrios destroyed, the fancy resorts blown out and the marina trashed.  I heard some people being interviewed saying that everything will be cleaned up in two weeks. How is that possible when it is likely that power won't be back on for at least that long? Anyway,  seeing the damage in photos was bad but living through a Cat 3 gives a whole other definition to hell.

After looking as long as I could at the damage in Cabo, I checked email to learn that a long-time friend died in her sleep early Monday morning. She had just been at an event on Saturday with one of her beloved dogs.  Her last post to everyone on Sunday night was about how happy she was that her dog did well. I'm glad that she had a good two days and died happy.  She was a quiet, unassuming person who loved animals and her family.  She also suffered from rheumatoid arthritis which took her away from riding and competing with her dogs. But she still managed to get around with a cane.

I am not stunned anymore by people dying.  I am sad but realize that more and more of my friends are going to die as time passes.  Over the past year, death has simply been a factor in my life.  It is there like a shadow sometimes, especially on days like yesterday.

I prefer to not have the shadow near me and opt for bright sparkling water, ocean breezes and light days.  I keep the shadow away by traveling to the edge of the marsh.  The grass is going to seed, swaying in the breeze, changing color with the season.  It's an unsettled time of year with thunderstorms threatening in the distance, large cumulonimbus clouds building, and the light changing and moving like the leaves up in the trees.  At these moments, I am so glad to be alive, fully and with such a feeling of love deep inside my soul.

That's what I am feeling at this moment.  Love and peace to you all.

Letting go of Pandora

Today, we are taking our 18 year old cat, Pandora, to be euthanized. It is time. She has steadily been losing weight and what little she eats goes through her. Her breathing is labored and she is lethargic today.  We give our animals every opportunity to tell us when the time has come. And now it has.

Pandora belonged to my wife's parents who adopted her as a one year old. Mom and Pop loved that cat. We got Christmas and birthday cards from Pandora. And Pandora was the one who was with Mom when she died, having moved from the adjacent bed to lie next to Mom on the day before and the day after she died. Pandora then came to live with us, adapting to the other cats slowly but relishing the attention given to her.

It seems oddly coincidental that Pandora looks like a skeleton, having lost so much weight over the past month.  She is the cat version of what Pop looked like before he died.  "Failure to thrive" seems to happen to both humans and animals when life has dwindled to the point where the body is wasting away. Every time I look at her now and stroke her bony frame, it tears at my heart because I am reminded of Pop's last days.

I don't have much more to say about this. Our love for animals is huge.  But the animals tell us when they are sick and suffering. Keep us in your thoughts as we carry on with letting go of Pandora.

Pandora on the bed after Mom died

In a different state of mind today

Father's day came and went. No one mentioned it. My wife is away with her friend in Nantucket, enjoying one of her favorite places. I miss her.  I miss our talks and just sitting together without talking. I miss holding her at night, spooning and touching. But I am happy she is having a good time.

Tomorrow will be the one-year anniversary of Pop's death. When my mind goes back to last year and all the death that happened, I see now that no one could have helped me to move through it.  I simply needed to have grief run its course.

A Jewish friend mentioned that probably what I longed for was something like shiva.  I needed to have a supportive community around me. And since that didn't occur with visitors at the house,  I did what I needed to do which was to feel miserable without a time limit. To allow the feelings to be there and to not shut them off. To crawl back into bed and curl up into a ball.

I am in a different place now.  I miss those that aren't here, but I am not grieving. I am glad to know that for this day, so far, all is okay. I have stayed busy with the garden, picking blueberries, getting a new tire on the car, taking care of the animals, and working out.  At night, I am tired in a good way. A deep-boned kind of tired that let's me know that I have done a lot of things that needed to be done.

On Father's Day, I took the boat out and sailed for five hours.  It was a bright, summer day with good wind.  There were little sailboats in a regatta and a lot of other large sailboats on the water.  The time was peaceful.  I wish my own dad had been there.  He would have liked the sail.  But I was simply glad for the opportunity to be where I was, enjoying the "whump" of the genoa as I backwinded it and came about.  Simple pleasures. Summer in one of the most beautiful places.  A different state of mind from last year---thankfully.

Rainy Easter Weekend

I have been off the grid for about four days on the boat.  My wife and I decided that it was a good time to spend a few days away.  The weather wasn't good with small craft advisories.  We decided to go anyway and enjoyed relaxing anchored at one of our favorite secluded spots.  The magic of being on the water never ceases to amaze me.

I went to see my first sponsor on Thursday. He was doing well that day and was waiting for me to arrive.  We sat outside for about an hour before going into the elegant dining room for dinner. He seemed to enjoy the visit. I have to say that I am dreading the day when he is gone from my life.  I can accept that his decision is to not continue with chemotherapy.

I re-read some of Dr. Sherwin Nuland's book on How We Die.  I need to read the words: “The greatest dignity to be found in death is the dignity of the life that preceded it. This is a form of hope we call all achieve, and it is the most abiding of all. Hope resides in the meaning of what our lives have been.” And then this: “But the fact is, death is not a confrontation. It is simply an event in the sequence of nature's ongoing rhythms. Not death but disease is the real enemy, disease the malign force that requires confrontation. Death is the surcease that comes when the exhausting battle has been lost. Even the confrontation with disease should be approached with the realization that many of the sicknesses of our species are simply conveyances for the inexorable journey by which each of us is returned to the same state of physical, and perhaps spiritual, nonexistence from which we emerged at conception. Every triumph over some major pathology, no matter how ringing the victory, is only a reprieve from the inevitable end.” I needed the reminder that treating a metastasized disease like stage 4 lung cancer is not an option for some people whose quality of life isn't good on chemo.

I missed a week of meetings. I've noticed that some of the meetings which were filled up last year have fewer people in attendance.  Some meetings lose their flavor over time and attendance drops.  I received an email recently from a person who was concerned about one of her meetings dwindling in attendance. She wrote: "We are sometimes too small a group, and although we talked about this at a group conscience, the only change was that someone new agreed to do some service, but we just have so few people attending regularly. And I'm starting to feel overly responsible. I think the group is not being self-supporting, in a way. Those who do go regularly have told their own stories a lot, and it's starting to feel stale, to me. If you have any experiences with working through this in a group or suggestions about changing the format to make it work better for a small group, I'd really like to hear about them."

My home group is small, with about 6-8 people on average each week. We use a format of a step of the month study, a tradition of the month study, a literature topic, and an open discussion meeting each month.  It doesn't seem to get stale because we use a variety of conference approved literature.

In meetings that need rejuvenation, it's a good idea to have a group representative who attends the district meetings and can report on the health of the group.  If a meeting needs some help, other member groups in the district could attend and perhaps add an influx of new topics.  I am an advocate of being the change that you want to see in a meeting. Chairing meetings, bringing in guest speakers, and having the district representative attend are ways to add new life to meetings.

When I think about how many people are affected by someone else's drinking, it would seem that meetings would be overflowing.  That isn't often the case. For the past few days, I've been taking calls on the Al-Anon information service phone line.  A lot of people are calling in to find out about meetings and wanting to know how to get help for their loved ones.  The idea that Al-Anon is going to provide help in curing the alcoholic is a pretty common one. Explaining that Al-Anon is for those affected by another's drinking seems to be something that is hard for some to grasp.  But one of the great things about Al-Anon is that our changed attitudes towards the alcoholic can aid recovery.

Tomorrow is Easter Sunday.  We have been invited to brunch by a sailing friend. The rain continues to come down.  It has made the trees and bushes burst out in full leaf flush.  The catkins have been washed to the ground along with the oak pollen.  Spring has arrived here.

Challenges to meet

I can't seem to find much time to write here.  Every day is filled with something new to do and challenges to meet. So here's what we have been doing to live life on life's terms.

I spent a day at the local medical university and found out that I am okay. My CT scan indicated "no intracranial pathology".  Good words...but if only they knew! Seriously, it's good to know that I can do Cross Fit without worrying. Got checked with blood work and a general physical too.

I am concerned because my wife went in for her mammogram and has to have a biopsy on Tuesday. The docs are 98% sure that this is just a benign thing, but both of us will be much happier once it is over. Please keep her in your thoughts.

We had a glorious afternoon on the small john boat yesterday, traveling to meet up with friends in a nearby creek for lunch.  The day was warm and fun which is what we needed to keep our spirits upbeat.

I have talked with my first sponsor many times since his diagnosis of Stage 4 lung cancer. He has taken his first chemo treatment and isn't feeling so good.  I am hoping his spirits will uplift some.  He admits that he is doing the self-pity behavior now.  I know that whether he decides to continue with the chemo or decides to go into palliative care is his to make. I have read Kathleen's blog Sittin' on a Porch since she started it. I admire her fighting spirit that wants to live life to the fullest since her diagnosis of Stage 4 lung cancer.

Speaking of fighting spirit, I met a fellow the other day who has pancreatic cancer and is now in his fourth experimental treatment.  He has traveled from Tucson to Georgetown University Hospital to participate. This treatment isn't working so he is next going to try another one in Detroit. He wants to live another day so he keeps trying to fight the disease that he knows is going to kill him sooner rather than later.

I don't know what I would do in either case. But I believe that I would want to fight to live. Every day matters in some way or the other.  And if a person can have one more precious day that's good. I think though that quality of life is a big factor. Watching both of my wife's parents waste away in their last few months of life was terrible. I know that my sponsor will make the decision that feels right for him.  We all have challenges to meet and how we work through them is deeply personal and individualistic.

I have been hoping to get around to commenting on more blogs. You all write a lot!  I don't have it in me at the moment.  Too much gardening to do, people to think about, waters to roam--indoors is not my favorite place to be as spring comes to the Lowcountry. Soon enough, it will be too hot to enjoy being outside during the day.

So I'll leave you with some photos from the past week.

Last rays of the sun as night is coming on

Spectacular sunset 

My good girl on the boat

Landscaping almost done

We have spent several evenings out here relaxing

What's Going On

Here's a recap of what has been going on here.

• The state Al-Anon convention was a great experience.  The speakers were inspiring. One workshop was exceptional. These conventions are run like those in AA with speaker meetings and workshops going throughout the day. We have several raffles which are fun.  Each group brings a basket filled with all kinds of things.  One of the groups I attend did a dog theme basket. There is also a general meeting theme, and this year's take home message was service. I came away with wanting to do more service work. Thinking about starting an Alateen meeting on the nearby island and a downtown meeting at the city hospital (only one downtown meeting now). I actually contemplated putting my name in for the District Representative, but decided that the time spent on the road to the state capital would be more than I could bear for three years. Made that road trip too many times in my career.  So I sent in a resume to be on the regional literature board. Do more, get more. 
• The anniversary of Mom's death was Feb. 27.  The day passed quietly on the boat as I thought about the feelings of grief we had last year.  It seemed at the time that we would never feel good again because everything was so overwhelming. Pop was sick. We were grieving. The house needed to be sold. So much all at once. I'm glad to have moved past that difficult time. She isn't forgotten, but the acuteness of the grief is gone. We can look back and take comfort that Mom lived a long life, and we have the memories of her to smile about. 
• The birthday of my cousin who died last June from glioblastoma multiforme is tomorrow.  His wife has moved on with her life, reconnecting with old lovers from her past. I'm glad for her because she had no life for the 8 years that she cared for my cousin. She has also been caring for her 96 year old mother for years, but she has finally decided to move back to her country home in Virginia and has told her sister that she can no longer be the caretaker for their mother.  Sounds to me like she is now taking care of herself. 
• Landscaping has been moving slowly with the weather.  It's either rainy or miserably cold. So the back yard is all torn up. The birds are going crazy with feeding and mating.  Male cardinals are seeing their reflection in the glass and flying into windows all day trying to drive off a competitor. We call them the "crazy cardinals" because they seem to not get that there isn't another male. 
• Speaking of crazy, the town is all fired up over a new reality TV program called "Southern Charm" that stars a bunch of characters that live the high life in the old city.  One of them, Thomas Ravenel, was the state Treasurer until he was indicted and convicted of cocaine possession. Now he spends time playing polo and living the life of a wealthy bachelor. I wish that some of the intellectuals of the city had been featured, but I suppose people would much rather watch a train wreck than learn something about the train. 
• I have come down with a cold and am generally feeling lousy. This too shall pass.  In the meantime, I am drinking hot tea and not doing much on these rainy chilly days.  I did build a fire yesterday which pumped out heat. And I took a nap on the couch.  
• Last night, I chaired the Al-Anon meeting. It was on Step Three--Made a decision to turn our will and our lives over to the care of God as we understood Him.  I don't think of my Higher Power as being a male or female but rather something greater than me. I am not religious, but I believe in the spiritual connectedness we have to each other, animals and Earth. A lot of people in meetings are religious and take comfort in religion. I think that is good.  It took me a while to come to believe in something other than myself. I share honestly about my struggles with finding a Higher Power--at first, it was the group, then my sponsor and eventually, it was a feeling of freedom and release, of empathy and compassion, and connectedness to others.  

Excuse the stream of consciousness writing. My head is foggy and it's time for me to take something to help with the cold.  Hope that you have a good day. 

Sad death of a young man

We were back from the boat after three full days out when I received a call from an Al-Anon member telling me that the son of a couple who attends one of the meetings I attend had died of an overdose. The memorial service was to be held in a few hours on the beach near a neighboring island.

As I drove to the service, I thought about the many sharings the couple had made about their son.  They were struggling to not let their anxiety about him ruin their lives.  They loved him so much but didn't know what to do to help him. Others shared about how detaching with love had helped them with loved ones who were addicts or alcoholics.  How they had learned to not toss and turn with worry but realize that their loved ones also had a Higher Power.  Some how those words seemed hollow to me when thinking about the loss of their 33 year old son.  Would I think that there was nothing I could do after such a loss? Or would I be thinking that perhaps there would be one more thing I could try? Somehow it all sounds right when the person is alive but once they are dead from the disease, what then?

All of that changed though when I heard the couple and their remaining child, a beautiful young woman, share their memories of their son.  They all said what a big heart he had, and how much he cared about others, and what an important part music had in his life.  He was funny, intelligent, articulate, talented, and loved life and his family.  The parents talked about their son with so much love and with calmness and peace. They said that they hoped that he had found his own peace now.  Their words indicated to me an inner peace and acceptance and even joy as they shared stories about him. His sister regretted he would not be there to share her life, or joke with her.  She said that she didn't want to give the impression that he was being exalted too much because he could be a jerk as a big brother at times.  There was laughter and tears and so much love.

I listened to their words and those of others expressing how loving and good this young man was.  How utterly normal he sounded with his love for music, family, friends, pizza, goofy movies, and singing.  I watched the pelicans flying over, heard the waves on the beach, and saw the sun shining on the water.  And I thought that maybe some people are just too good for this world--too sensitive, too caring.  Maybe his heart was big and his love was big, but somehow he didn't really feel a lot of love for himself. I don't know.  But he sure sounded like a person I would have liked.

Just away

We had Pop's memorial service on Saturday.  A handful of people came. But I know that they were the ones who mattered:  M., who made sure he got to mass every Wednesday at the nursing home and said that he was her favorite, was there; R. who we both worked with for years was there; G. who is our housekeeper and also worked for Mom and Pop was there; P. who is a trusted Al-Anon friend came and did one of the readings; and Mary who is my wife's first cousin drove from another state to attend the service and spend the afternoon with us.

My wife gave Mary the little gold mesh rosary pouch that held one of Pop's handmade rosaries.  He would sit in his chair for hours, before he was sick, and make rosaries to send to missions around the world.  I gave the remaining beads to one of the Catholic senior centers that can use them.  All of Pop's clothes have been given away.

We kept one of the crucifixes and will be giving the large one to his brother who is dying of cancer.  Dear C. is leaving on Tuesday to travel to visit two of Pop's brothers who live up North.  Brother F. has just been brought under the care of Hospice and Brother J. has a bad heart condition.  It's important that she get to see them sooner rather than later.

I liked what Monseigneur had to say about Pop growing up on a farm where family members were taken in when needed. There was plenty of food and a large house to take in relatives who were sick or having a bad time of some sort. This was the essence of the nuclear family that cared for each other.  How fortunate Pop was to grow up where family mattered so much.  Sadly, people are scattered now and the family unit doesn't seem as cohesive. I liked that Monseigneur described Pop as a man of the earth and of the sea. He was both, carrying vegetables on a truck from the farm into New York City and then joining the Navy to be on landing crafts in the Pacific during WWII.

I feel a sense of time suspended because I think about the way things used to be before they were sick.  Visits, phone calls, dinners, holidays--none of that anymore. I know that we are still grieving.  Every day will get a little easier for us.  I talked to Pop's sister about the loss of a child and her husband as well as parents and now two brothers.  She said that she thinks of them as simply being away.  And that brought to mind a poem that I recall from school by James Whitcomb Riley:

I cannot say, and will not say

that he is dead. He is just away.

With a cheery smile, and a wave of the hand,

he has wandered into an unknown land

and left us dreaming how very fair

it needs must be, since he lingers there.

And you-- oh, you, who the wildest yearn

for an old-time step, and the glad return,

think of him faring on, as dear

in the love of there as the love of here.

Think of him still as the same. I say,

he is not dead-- he is just away.

Flowing like water

Cooking up a pot of soup made with fresh vegetables from the garden trying to stave off worsening of a head cold. I have felt lousy for a few days, mostly only going out for those things that are necessary: picking vegetables, checking on the boat, and visiting a garden center to select urns and live plants for the funeral mass on Saturday. 

The deluge of rain and thunderstorms continues, flooding streets downtown and making our dirt road a soggy mess. But temperatures have been in the 80's which is bearable for this time of year. The plants are lush from the rain. It was magical going to the garden center where all the yard fountains were gurgling, echoed by the rain hitting the tin roof. I could simply have stayed there for an hour in meditation. Now we are thinking about getting a couple of these fountains for the yard and one for the deck.

In the process of losing three people whom I loved in the last 3.5 months, I have had a lot of time to think about living and dying. As a scientist, I know what happens to the body as we age. I have seen the ravages from disease. And I believe more than ever that prolonging life for the terminally ill is a reflection of fear and denial. So next week, I am going to meet with Hospice's volunteer coordinator and see what I can do as a volunteer to help those who are dying and those who are watching a loved one die. 

I hope that my time spent in working the twelve steps of Al- Anon will help me to practice the principles in this volunteer endeavor. I feel a strong need to do this--to give back and offer my experience, strength and hope to others who are struggling with impending death of a loved one. I feel this as strongly as I have felt the need to help others who are struggling with alcoholism in a loved one. 

Maybe this is another way for me to face my fear of loss and abandonment--a way to let go and simply be okay with the hardest kind of loss. 

Now it's time for more honey ginger tea and to make an eggplant casserole from the many plants we picked this morning. The rain is starting again. The dogs are inside, dried off and the cats are curled up in the big wing chair. All seems to be flowing like water from a beautiful fountain today.

Moon struck

I just got back to land after three days out on the boat. It was restful and rejuvenating. I slept, read, walked on the beach and took photos. These are the activities of a person who is grateful for no emergency phone calls or drama. The most exciting thing that happened was a thunderstorm that I watched from afar.

We have scheduled Pop's memorial mass for the week after July 4th. I thought about him a lot on the boat. He was sick with complications of liver disease for almost two years. He bled from varices in the esophagus. He was in a coma several times from edema and ammonia building up in his brain. He had a damaged heart from an infarction years ago. A part of his aorta had been replaced due to an aneurism. Yet, he lived to be 92. Amazing really. 

And now Mr. Mandela is near death after a life of fighting for freedom and rights and the betterment of all. Old bodies wear out no matter how much will to live one has. I wish for a kind transition for the old warrior and statesman. Others will continue the fight for equality on all fronts. We still have a ways to go but progress continues to be made in the face of fear and bigotry.

I am tired now. It's very hot and humid back on land. Tonight more storms are forecast. And the moon that shone so brightly last week is now waning. It's blood pull no longer disrupting my sleep. I was moon struck for a while. Now I feel peaceful. Time for me to take a nap for an hour and then finish up with cleaning the boat. 

Photos from the week:

Methodical progression of the living

I have been doing as much busy work as I can over the last few days since Pop died. And in the evening, I fix myself something to eat and then read until I am sleepy.  There is healing in the methodical progression of the day.

Yesterday was the most difficult so far because I looked at a photo of him as a young man of ten years--a school photo in his emblemed blazer and tie, no sign of anything but innocence.  We are so young and then we get to be so old.  In between, we have so many choices on how we live each day.  I feel badly that Pop didn't have much of a choice in the last couple of years.  A nursing home was not his choice. And that hurts my heart.

My wife has been calling several times a day.  She too is feeling sad.  Tomorrow she comes home.  I wish that she were staying in that healing location with the sea and sand a few more days.  I believe that the loss will hit her harder when she comes home.

I am going to pick up all of Pop's things today at the nursing home.  That way the room will be vacated and readied for someone else.  I would like for there to be another way for the sick and aged to live out their final days.  Mom died at home. But Pop's medical condition with late stage liver failure was just too dire for home health care. He needed to be in a place where there was nursing care and a doctor on staff around the clock.  At least, that is what I am telling myself to assuage my guilt.

I think that this morning, I'm going to a meeting.  I have let the fellowship know what is going on.  Once again, the local AA's have not called.  I have heard from a few Al-Anon people, expressing their care and concern.  But this time, I expected nothing based on the lack of response when Mom died. When the funeral staff gave me a little book so that I could write down what people brought to the house in the way of food, etc., I thought inwardly that the book will remain blank.  And so it has.

Death is an uneasy subject to think about. And so much death in such a few months is even harder to imagine.  At the moment, I am really okay with just being by myself, going about my day, listening to the birds, the rain coming down.  It's all okay for me because I have lowered my expectations of humanity.  We are just people trying to get through life until we ourselves die.