November 2006

Well, I knew November of last year was a downward turning point for us. Robin had been recovering from the radiation and chemotherapy. Right after Thanksgiving was the pre-surgery visit where Robin was diagnosed with aggressive, wide-spread metastases. Later in our hometown an oncologist would state that she'd never seen such a long PET-Scan report. It was about eight pages in which the imaging folks had attempted to document the extent of the disease progression. Even at it's length it still used phrases like "numerous focal points" in this area, or that area, because there was way too much to detail it all. I mean really, at some point you think they'd just stop reading the films and say "hey your obviously in god's hands now, you don't need us anymore". I guess that's pretty much what the treating doctors did tell us after reviewing the results.

I went back to the blog pages from November of last year. I was struck by how Robin looked in those days - thin patchy hair. Those images have (thankfully) long since been drown out by my memories of happy, healthy images I have of her from our lives before the cancer.

Grieving at Nine months

Well, the grieving feeling happens much less often these days. Two weeks ago I sat alone on the couch watching television and it just hit me for no apparent reason. I let myself feel it and it passed after a few minutes. Last weekend it happened on a vacation to New York City. My friend asked if it was hard for me to see some of the places I'd been to with Robin. I said no, I'd been to the city twice last Spring and I think I kind of got over seeing those places again. Then I told her about the New York City bike ride last Spring and letting the picture go off the bridge. That made us both cry a little.

A couple of nights ago I saw a story on "Frontline" about the business of Undertakers, and well, basically about death and dying. It followed the stories of several families, the stories about their losses, the stories about what they got out of the services they held for their loved ones. Several of the stories had to do with chronic diseases - because how else would they find families who *were going to need* funeral services. It was interesting to see a commonality in the way folks talked about an impending death. Those awaiting the loss of a family member had a somewhat optimistic look as they talked about the upcoming change, then afterwards they had that characteristic sadness in their voices and in their eyes. The older folks who had been anticipating their own death exhibited a sense of calm and even a sense of excitement as they talked about making their final arrangements. I suppose at some age you really start to understand how your own death doesn’t necessarily separate you from the rest of the world, maybe it even brings you closer to it.

Anyway, when I saw the program was on it was one of those instances where I knew I'd have to watch it. I knew it would affect me emotionally but then the last nine months I've been drawn to those types of things. I figure anytime something calls to me and I avoid it, I'm just repressing the feelings. And buried feelings never go away. They simply fester and eat you away from the inside. So I watched the show, let the tears flow and felt better for it.

http://www.pbs.org/wgbh/pages/frontline/undertaking/

Early Christmas (Cactus)

I honestly had expected to kill off all the house plants by Spring. Much to my surprise some of them are thriving. Who knew? A friend had suggested that it's better to water plants too little, rather than too much. Evidently my frequency of watering suits some of the plants very well. In fifteen years I'd rarely since flowers on this Christmas cactus and now it's covered!

Puzzles

For a couple of hours this evening I've been working on a puzzle. It's a picture of owls and baseballs and baseball bats. The pieces take up two card tables. It doesn’t have a straight border - even the edge pieces look like they connect to something. The puzzle comes with five extra pieces which don't fit anywhere.

When I dumped it out of the box a couple of weeks ago I thought it might be impossible. Why not, that was part of the puzzle's title. I started by trying to sort out the baseballs - big, medium, small. Then I had to sort each of those three piles into two more piles - dark and light stitching. There were so many pieces in each pile that the exercise seemed fruitless. Next I began sorting out all the owl pieces. Then pulling out the pieces with large feathers. Then pulling out the large feather pieces that had some piece of an owl's foot. Even though nothing seemed to help, just the act of sorting through things and compartmentalizing parts seemed to be a worthwhile effort. A few of the things I seem to have in abundance are time, persistence and faith. Even though I sometimes have trouble trusting in faith it never seems to fade very far away.

None of the sorting strategies seemed to be paying off in the first couple of weeks. Now suddenly there's a couple of feet together here and there. Owl bodies are coming together, slowly. I no longer have any doubt that the puzzle will come together. I've never considered how long it will take, I've got time to spend on it.

It's kind of a rare night to myself, one in which I can indulge myself with this type of activity. I never work on the puzzle for very long at one time. Maybe five minutes before I take a break to go do something else. Then I gravitate back, wondering which area would be best to focus on for the next few minutes. Today I've put together about a dozen pieces. In any previous effort I was lucky to find two pieces to fit together. It's obvious this is going to take an investment of time, so there doesn’t seem to be any pressure to rush it.

The reorganization of my life seems to unfold in much the same way. I still see Alex once or twice a month. I talk about what's been going on and he asks me questions. In the beginning we'd focused on what I was thinking or feeling in the previous few days - typically it was all about grieving. Later we moved on to the subjects of relationships and dating. The last visit we talked about the things that make me tick. Now when we talk about a topic it seems to have connections everywhere - relationships, work, past, present, future.

I was describing to my friend how the discussions with Alex have evolved. I noted that inbetween appointments many of the smaller issues that now come up in my life I'm able to think through and take care of myself. She asked if this wasn't the point - in all these meetings it hasn't been simply that Alex has wanted to hear me talk. He's been teaching me the process of being inquisitive, of questioning my own thoughts and ideas, of questioning what I'm saying. The revelation really stunned me at first. Of course that's what we've been doing. It's so much more profitable teaching a man to fish than simply feeding him.

Your number one fan...

Life can be very funny. Most of us spend the majority of our time with a partner whom we learn to lean on when times are tough. Maybe we switch partners over the years but at any one time there's often one other person who helps us de-stress. Whether we share our thoughts or we "unload" our day on them. Whether our relationship is smooth or sarcastic. Even when they can't know everything about us, deep down they know more about us than anyone else in the world. Even when you have an extended support network of family and friends, your partner is probably still at the top of the support list. You spend time together, you do things together.

What can I tell you. When that person dies things really suck for a while. It doesn't make a difference if you had time to contemplate it ahead of time - you really can't know what it's going to be like without them until one day they abruptly disappear.

Like the giant old tree that grows for a lifetime. You never know how deep and thick it's roots have penetrated the earth until it's upended by the wind.

Not only are you thrust into the greatest stress of your life, but your number one fan is nowhere to be found. I suspect the shock and the depth of grieving is what drives many people to extremes. Some claim they'll never meet anyone again - they'll be alone for the rest of their lives. Others can't stand the feeling of being fractured and in pieces and they can't wait to fill the void - immediately.

Somewhere in the middle ground there's room to heal a bit, recover your balance, put your own pieces back together (if they even fit anymore), think about what you have to offer and then start exploring. When will you be ready? I expect that's a question for you to answer.