Fear.

Fear. Everyone has at least a fear if not multiple. I have many. Nightmare upon nightmare has stacked up in my life. I spend the majority of my time over thinking about what might happen because of bad experiences that have now caused me to fear what may be.

One of my biggest and strongest fears is losing my mind. I watched my step-Grandfather lose every memory dear to him due to Alzheimer. The mere thought terrifies me. To wake up and slowly remember less and less of what I deem important is depressing. To not know people I care about, remember faces of people I love and to not recall where I am or how I got there is perhaps one of the most horrifying things I can imagine. It happens every day, dementia is on the incline and it scares me. I spend a lot of time memorizing new words to grow my vocabulary and learn random facts about different things. Aside from being quite useful in trivia games, it makes me feel better about this fear. Rational or not, our behavior is always influenced and our habits driven innately by our most precarious fears.

I am afraid of heights. I am also determined to break myself of this. Crazy as it might sound, I’ve rarely fallen or had a reason to actually be afraid of heights and so find myself daring to do things many would consider extreme. It is itself a part of my behavioral pattern now. Rational? Who knows, I certainly don’t. This innate fear of heights and the want and will to break myself of this has led me to some of the most exhilarating moments in my life. I’ve gone skydiving, bungee jumping, repelling, rock climbing, and zip-lining. I’ve hiked some of the highest mountains in the Pacific Northwest just to reach the summit and look over the edge. I’m still terrified! My best friend and I will be para sailing in just a few weeks. Even though I know there are risks attached, these have proven to be fairly safe activities, but I still have that nervous energy and those inherent fears of dying or breaking every bone in my body. Why? I’m not sure. I truly have no reason to fear heights, yet I climb 4 rungs on a ladder and sweat begins to pour out of my body and my heart starts to race. The thought of flying across the country makes me cringe. I would probably travel more if it weren’t for the need to fly to many places I want to see.

I also fear deep water. This fear, however, is not unfounded. I’ve almost drowned several times. Due to sheer panic, I find my muscles locking up if something unexpected happens while I’m in water. A false step in a riverbed or a splash to the face in a pool is all it takes and I’m suddenly sinking like a rock into a dark abyss. It’s not like I am unaccustomed to water activity. My family has spent years lake side, river side and deep-sea fishing. Oceans, lakes, rivers, pools. We are water babies. Whether fishing on the Rogue River, taking a dip in the Cow Creek River or tubing down the Umpqua, we do a lot of outdoor water activities, not to mention deep-sea fishing off the Oregon coast. For some odd reason, rivers, lakes and pools are liquid terror to me. More odd, is that being 40 miles out to sea with 100 fathoms of churning ocean below me, is fine. Doesn’t bother me a bit, even though if something goes wrong, it will be horribly wrong and I’ll likely not escape. The Pacific tends to be a bit unforgiving if you’re dumb enough to temp it, and temp it we do.

I’ve always wondered what makes some fears manageable and others paralyzing. Also what makes them, at least for me, seem selective. I can make myself deal with the issue of heights or water once or twice consecutively before my nerves are shot. Zip-lining, 60 feet in a tree and whizzing through the air, I completed 7 of the 9 runs I paid for. I was okay for a while, and then the slightest miss-step and I found myself stuck. Terrified beyond belief, thinking my heart was going to pound its way out of my chest. I am scared of the dark, or rather, not of darkness but what lies waiting in the dark. Perhaps my love of 80s horror movies tainted my brain as a child, but it seems like walking into a dark room or wandering around outside at night is foolish. I’m constantly waiting for something or someone to jump out and attack. Rational? I don’t think so. I’ve never been mugged or had my home invaded, but seeing and hearing stories from the media or through people I know has implanted a worry. A concern planted so deep that I lock doors immediately behind me, I carry pepper spray and almost always have some form of flashlight with me at all times. Safe perhaps, but sometimes it seems a little too paranoid. Handy for sure, light is always nice when you are trying to find a keyhole or walk down steps, but where do you draw the line? I have literally sprinted from my car to my house on many occasions just because I got wigged out in the dark. I live on a private drive, the last house on the road and the neighboring houses are filled with extended family members. An irrational fear? Maybe not completely unfounded, but why is it that our culture breeds fear? Why is the horror industry booming with gory movies and twisted thrillers? Why do people crave that intense sense of fear most of us get when watching a cutting edge flick?

I often wonder if its simply not because we all want to belong. We crave attention from one another, we seek out others that share our same twisted beliefs, our own weird quirks. People of the same breed. The same desires and the same interests. Yet we all want to be unique, different from others so as to stand out, stand on our own and create our own individual. Is it fear of being lonely? Or simple human nature to want to belong, to be in a pack. We are mammals after all. I’ve found I thrive when I have only a couple close friends and keep the majority of people at a distance to myself. Not to say being anti-social, I enjoy a good party the same as the next, but is it normal? Many people I know have a handful of close friends they are constantly initiating contact with. Why? Is it necessary, or is it that the fear society has implanted into pop culture is taking over? So many people are dependent on technology and social media for their happiness. It’s frightening to see future generations being born into a culture where actual human interaction is limited to whether or not you have WiFi.

My biggest question, really the driving force of this piece, is what constitutes fear? It certainly isn’t evolution. We are beyond that. We aren’t hunter/gatherers anymore, most people have no cause to fear being hunted down by larger predators. Yet we still have fears. Thousands of strange and unusual things. Fear of animals like cats and being creeped out by peanut butter. But why? For me a couple bad experiences is all it takes to make me wary. Is it just my nature? Or am I predisposed because of my heritage?

I’ve been contemplating fear all morning. Yet again, I spent the night up caring for my Mother. I love her dearly; she nears the end of her life with each passing day, and my largest fear is apparent when I look into her confused face now. She does not know who I am. She doesn’t remember that I am her daughter. That I am her youngest child. She is in a world of torment lost without the memories that have driven her to fight. To live and to fight. It’s all slipping away bit by bit, and I fear that this too may be my end many years from now. Irrational or not, it is fear and it is driving me. I’m scared for the future and the decisions I’m making. My world is upside down, I can’t seem to find my way up, but I know in the end I’ll land on my feet. I just fear the road that I have to take to get there. Fear. Simple, yet terribly complex. What are your fears? Do you face them head on? Or simply let them breed in the dark, growing into the monsters of the night?

Alice

Lewis Carroll is easily one of my favorite writers. Such wacky and creative ideas have come of his tales, the most notable is clearly Alice’s Adventures. So, as it is his birthday week, I thought I would write a short poem to show case my fanaticism. This is Alice. 🙂

ALICE

Down the rabbit hole into a world so wacky and cold,

A crazy caterpillar with plumes of smoke, weird inquiries and

Strange crackers that make you choke.

You shoot to the sky, just to shrink back down,

You must find a way out but through the keyhole you go.

Mad Hatters and mice in teacups, a hiccup for sure,

You move forward with a chance of losing your head

When you begin to unravel with dread.

The cat’s head, it spins, and you wonder if there is a way to win.

Flowers and butterflies are all around, but the sky seems too dark,

While the wicked red queen searches for her mark.

“Off with her head,” rings out and makes you want to shout.

Running as fast as one can, but still there is no reason to pout.

The heart-shaped soldiers abound and quickly you are found.

A trial? What’s this! How can one make a mockery out of justice.

Hearts and red roses, white-painted over of course.

What a silly way to create a world, when nothing makes sense

And everything begins to swirl.

Cheshire, the cat, leads you this way and that,

But what would happen if you simply turned back?

Would the caterpillar still be enjoying the hookah?

And the mouse sipping his sugar and tea?

Or perhaps the Mad Hatter would set you free.

Oh to be Alice, in such a plight as she tried to win her fight with reality.

To fall down the rabbit hole would be such a tragedy.

Worlds collide and fantasy unravels,

When we begin to think of that poor girls travels.

But what a delight to watch her might,

As she battles the Jabberwocky;

She wins freedom for the wacky world.

Giving credence to the white queen,

Who was banished by the wicked red queen and not to be seen.

As the red falls to the white,

Alice reaches the end of her fight.

The Mad Hatter, mice and white queen all celebrate,

For Alice has relieved them from their dire fate,

And turned to peace the nightmare of the night.

Chicago? or Bust???

It’s just dawned on me that it is already dang near February. The Superbowl is days away. Never in my wildest dreams would I have imagined being where I am today, but I think I’m finally starting to calm my head down a little bit. It took a cold chat to a piece of marble to sort things through. Deadlines are approaching. Decisions are about to be made. I’ve always worked better under pressure. I keep thinking there’s more time. More time with my parents, more time to plan. More time to figure my head out and there simply isn’t. Land will be sold, possessions will be packed and stored and I will have to have answers in just a handful of weeks.

I’ve seriously been contemplating moving across the country. Probably the first time I have ever really considered such a daunting idea. I love Oregon, I really do, it has been my heart and soul my whole life. I have spent summers away in California and Washington, but I’ve never ventured far from the Pacific Northwest. I don’t know anything else, but maybe this is my time to branch out; Step outside my comfort zone and make a run for it. I’ve never quite fit in here. I’m either yards ahead in thought and jaded beyond belief or so out of the loop its hard to understand the point of such monotony. I love the mountains, I truly don’t know how I could survive without looking out my windows to see rolling hills, vibrantly colored trees filled with birds and open my door to the sound of wind ripping through the forest that surrounds me with the trickle of water coming from the creek beds that lie on either side of my tiny cabin in the woods. I’m not entirely sure I want to trade all that for a city, that said, what I want, what I think I want, is to turn my universe as upside down as humanly possible. Nothing is the same anymore and I’m warming to the idea that it’s a good thing. A new perspective and a jumping off point.

The closest to a “city” I have lived in for any period of time is Eugene, Oregon. Eugene is an over-sized college town full of oddities and eccentricities, but not really a sky scraping concrete jungle. I’m currently planning a trip to Chicago. I’ve stopped off at America’s second city on my way through to other places, but haven’t spent more than a few hours there. I’ve studied the city from the days when it was a pit stop for the railway still spreading across the United States. I’ve looked at photos and pondered the different museums and attractions I might want to see if I found myself there. I am a historian, I’ve looked back into the lives and things that make a city, a city. Our nation was built on the backs of city men.  I’ve spent time on “Google Earth,” going from street to street looking it over, just to see how immense it is. It truly is a master artistry of mega proportions. Massive buildings created with the sole purpose of out-doing the environment and out-witting the elements. Temperatures ranging from freezing to boiling. It really is a fascinating place just in innovation and ground breaking architecture.

I’ve settled the last few days. My brain is trying to focus and I find that I come back to art. I love art: painting, sculptures, architecture, theater, music, nature! My family keeps asking me what I’m gonna do in the future and half the time I ignore the question and just start painting or writing or in general doing something creative. We’re all gaining weight because culinary art has been a passion of mine for years. So I’ve settled. I literally said, “Screw it,” just a few short hours ago and my planning and random “Googling” of ideas exploded into paying for class tuition to an “atelier” art school outside of Chicago. I’ve wanted to attend this particular school for at least a year now. An “Atelier” is a unique form of teaching that encompasses a master passing down techniques to a small group of students. It’s an intimate way to learn with hands on practical learning with accompanied lectures. So, this evening plane tickets were purchased, car rentals made, and in general a whole plan hatched to first scout the Midwest and potentially come home to Oregon just to pack and begin a trek across the country. If I enjoy the area enough I might just move there. I will be moving shortly, this I already know and with a little research I’ve realized I could move across the country and completely start fresh, or I could move somewhere local for about the same cost. Go big or go…home. I don’t know where “home” is anymore, so maybe I’ll just make a new one for my little dog and I.

My best friend is very supportive although sad that I need to run away. She understands. She knows the hell that revolves around my head. I don’t know how to not see the memories. How to stop thoughts from bubbling up and suffocating me. It seems like I’ve clung to all the sadness in my heart and I can’t let go. I see death and devastation every where I turn. It’s hard to enjoy my favorite places because I see things long past, friends gone, family members buried. Heart break that I know won’t go away, but maybe with a little space I can focus on the happy memories I’m desperately trying to hold onto.

My aunt and grandmother came today so I could run out and get away from the house for a little bit. I ended up sitting in the local cemetery for an hour. I found my late childhood friend and sat by his head stone talking to him about Lord knows what. Perhaps I just needed a quiet place to work things over. For the last 10 years or so I’ve gone to visit Josh on many occasions. He was my sounding board in life and in death he seems as resilient as ever. I’ve at least chose a direction. Contemplating it for the last 7 weeks has done me no good. Today, for the first time in a long time, I feel okay. I have a plan, something to strive for, a goal to reach. I might fall flat on my face, but at least I’ll know I made a valiant effort.

The world of special effects artistry is a monster of a challenge, but the idea makes me happy. Learning how to make all the creepy crawlies from my nightmares is half of my coping mechanism and the way I’ve made it through life. When you begin to strip things down and look inside, decipher why things are the way they are, magical things begin to appear. So whether its learning to make a cool Halloween mask or painting an epic portrait, I want to learn. I’ve always considered it a hobby, but I make money with my hobby, so why can’t I try to make it a career? I know it won’t be easy, nothing worth while ever is. It scares me to think about moving almost 1800 miles away from everything I’ve ever known, but maybe that’s what I need to do to break into my own.

So, I’ve chosen a direction, now I simply have to survive the sadness my family has been dreading. Take the vacation of a lifetime to Mexico I’ve planned with my best friend and then begin my own adventure. Risk is going to be the name of the game for 2015. Risk and letting go. I can’t hold onto anything else. God has proven to me that when your hands are too full to keep carrying things, you have to either share the load with someone else or let it go. Choose your values and let go of everything else. I’ve gotten rather good at saying the word “no,” in the last 6 months. That was last years lesson I think. I learned how to say “no” and set limits in 2014. Now this year, right now, I’ll start a new endeavor of stepping outside my box, letting go of what “might happen” and from here on out, I’m going to take a few risks.

Jelly Beans

I’ve been trying to write for days now. I keep coming back to the thought of not knowing who the hell I am right now. Not a clue. Kinda have a direction, scary thoughts and some wild dreams, but how do you find your way when you really just don’t know which direction to go? Up, down, all around. Can’t go backwards, but where to go on? I almost had it while trying to nap the other day, but the thought was fleeting at best. Entertaining for me, to be sure, is the random contemplation. Mom’s time is coming to a close. Hospice is now in play and the outlook, though dire, will ultimately give us all peace. My head on the other hand is a disaster. A funky, fun one, but a tornado of emotion and random thought.

It’s like a weird Willy Wonka/Tim Burton/Lewis Carroll/Dr. Seuss mash-up in my head. A plethora of colors swirling around in my universe but no two stepping-stones close enough to take a leap for. My psychedelic nightmare converging in real life misery. I seriously keep waiting for the Cheshire Cat to pop up and give me directions through the forest of life. I wouldn’t say no to a conversation with Tweedledee and Tweedledum either! Lord knows I might find some of the answers I’ve been searching for in my sleep deprived state of mind.

“I’ll write something. It’s weird, I write all day and I have no idea who the hell I am right now. It’s hard to find a voice. I really am optimistic about the future, but I don’t think it’s translating…”

I was chatting with a friend earlier. I asked him what I should write about and his answer was him. I could I suppose. I try to keep my friends’ secrets rather than blogging about them, but perhaps that’s why I end up in the same sad loop. Not sure that’s the wisest choice. Before I say anything to anyone about anybody I know, I contemplate what they know about me. Do I want that privileged information shared? Probably not. I have a very close circle. It revolves around my sisters, a cousin and maybe 3 close friends. I’m typically a very private person. This blog is definitely out of the norm for me. My online accounts are out of their normal parameters right now too. I receive so many messages in my inbox that I found mass spewing of private information is actually the easiest way to cope. Maybe that’s why I’m not sure who I am anymore. I haven’t done anything normal in 5 months.

Jelly Beans. I’ve been contemplating about candy and all the different flavors and moods one has to be in to enjoy the different flavors and pairings. Sometimes you might want that burnt popcorn taste and others it’s safer to stick to the pear. Like the fog drifting around the trees in the forest around me, I can’t see clear enough right now to know what flavor is right for me. Do I want salty, sweet, sour, chocolate, fruity, spicy…who the hell knows. The fun part is rediscovering I think, but what happens when you try something and absolutely hate it. Unlike jelly beans, life doesn’t offer many second chances and once you take that first step, is it even possible to return? I know I can’t go back. I was happy and now I’m not and it is up to me and me alone to fix that. But how far is too far and what happens when I get where ever it is that I decide to go? Life is a tricky bitch, luckily my folks raised me to stand up for myself and work hard for what matters. I guess this is the world challenging me to find a new place, a new reason to be. 

It’s not often you get to completely re-invent yourself. But given that my world has indeed shattered into the abyss, its time to start putting a more positive spin on life. I can do whatever I want. It’s not going to be easy and I’ll likely be broke before I figure things out, but I have an opportunity to change things up. I’ve lost my job, I’ll have to move soon, and most of my friends have deserted me, so why not?? Why not bust out of the boring ass mold I’ve found myself stuck in?

My creativity the last couple weeks has sparked, ignited if you will and I find that I take more chances now then I ever would have 4 months ago. I’ve come to realize that if I don’t relinquish control of some things I’m never going to survive this fucked up thing we call life. A jolt in the right direction? I keep coming back to Art. Painting, writing, photography. I would shrivel up in a corner without the outlet right now. I kinda dig it. Dark indeed are my thoughts, but there is a whole world of dark art out there, maybe I’ll tap into it. Put my misery on paper, paint it on canvas with just a hint of the happy that used to be. A direction…I think more like a life plunge, but I get closer every day to taking it. Lose ends are holding me down for now, but the wind is changing and I’m about to set sail on a wild adventure only my imagination can steer.

Conundrum

I’ve spent the majority of my time lately trying to escape my own life. I know eventually I’m going to break. So far I’m holding fast, but I feel the cracks begin to spread, like a china doll dropped to the concrete; the pressure from the world is pushing me down, causing stress fractures to form all the way to the base of my soul, my very being. I really don’t look for a pity party, but seem to keep finding one, each time feeling worse and worse about the situation. Trying to reconcile all the good and the not so good aspects of my life is pretty difficult right now. I don’t know how to deal with it, other than to write. That’s how I’ve always coped. Literally hundreds of journals and notebook filled with the random rantings of my mind. Lines of poetry I could stack to the ceiling ten times over.

My parents are dying. There’s nothing I can do about it, except accept that it will happen, if not sooner than later. In time it will be just me. I have my dog Abbigail Jean, but aside from that I am utterly alone in this world. My sisters are married off and have families of their own, and while I know I’d be welcome for a visit, it’s not the same. I have no one to depend upon but myself. My Mother has expressed great concern and regret over this fact. She believes she held me back, prevented me from spreading my wings and doing the things I’ve always wanted to do. I have taken the role of caregiver for the last 10 years. Lord knows my Mom deserves so much more than the pain and suffering she has found in her life. She’s not had a very happy life to be sure. Dad has spent the last 45 years doing everything in his power to take care of the family, and it’s all slipping through his fingers. Knowing the pain I know he is feeling, and yet keeping it together, not only shows his strength, but passes along to my sisters and I.

I feel like I’m exactly where I need to be. The path I was intended to be on is my current path and that soon, I’ll embark on the next adventure. Which leaves me with a conundrum. So what happens when I shatter? How do you glue the pieces back together when there isn’t enough of you held together to look in the mirror. I can try to rely on my past. Go chasing off after new dreams or try to bring to fruition my current wild thoughts. Go gallivanting across the country compiling research for a book I’ve always wanted to write, or run away to art school, go to grad school, the options are endless, I simply have to choose.

Artistically I have literally thousands of things to learn. I play and experiment constantly, but I think the real reason artists are always seen as “broke” and “scraping by” is because art supplies are so dang expensive. I dabble and buy things as I can, but I want to let the passion fly, so perhaps that is my next journey. Take the classes to learn how to do the things I want or at least build the foundations necessary that I’m not simply buying things just to throw them out when I don’t employ them correctly. How do you choose a path? I’ve always just tended to go with the flow and do whatever seemed right at the time. Not necessarily the easiest path, and at times sometimes the path with the most difficulties attached. I’ve always thought if something was easy it wasn’t worth my time because it didn’t present a challenge. It was something I had to work at to be good. Maybe I’ve been looking at life “wrong.” Perhaps its time I took the path of least resistance and just run away into the night. I surely want to.

My family has been tried and tried again these past few months, and even with all the support from family and friends, I know my sisters and I are all at breaking point. Is it selfish and conceited to run away when everything finally comes to an end? Is it fair to my family to disappear when they will surely need my support, as they have supported me? A conundrum indeed. I’ve spoken to a couple of family members about the topic, no one seems to fault me for the desire, but will they resent me in the end? Will they resent me if I finally throw in the towel and call it quits. I’ve pretty well lost everything that mattered to me at this point. I’ve only a couple of friends I can depend on, and they are miles upon miles away. My job and current career is pretty well down the toilet. Everything I’ve ever known is crashing to the grown with maximum impact. Maybe it’s a sign. A blatant force meant to steer me into the right path for my future.

So here I sit, listening to “Quasimodo,” by Lifehouse, my go to band that keeps me relatively sane when I can’t seem to regulate my thoughts into a simple manner. “There goes the world,” as the song says, only it feels like it’s in a rampant mudslide that is doomed to bury us all. I don’t know how to reconcile my wants versus my needs. How to determine what is necessary and what is simply a dream that may change with the next gust of wind. I know I’ll figure it out. I’m confident that years now I’ll look back on these pages of my life and be okay. Perhaps not whole, or proud, but okay with whatever outcome and choices I make.

The Beginning to the End

January 21, 2015

Midnight: Spent scrambling to gather vital road trip items, such as oxygen bottles, extra hoses, medication, food supplies, warm clothing and blankets, pillows, changes of clothes and general care items.

1 o’clock: Car is packed, wheelchair lined up and ready to transport Mom.

1:30 am: Dishes are done for the day, laundry is folded, counters are sanitized. I could sit for 5 minutes finally but I opt for a quick shower instead.

1:50 am: Pill count. Morphine tends to run out too fast, the last few days before we see the doctor again are a nervous stretch. I’m scared to leave Mom in pain, but more terrified I’ll give her too much or run us out of the medicine before we receive another prescription.

2 o’clock: Gently wake Mom enough to take her long acting morphine so she can sleep awhile longer before pain wakes her.

2:10 am: My turn to nap. I climb into my make shift bed on the living room floor shared with the family dogs.

5:45 am: My alarm burst out, “I See Fire,” By Ed Sheeran. It’s time to wake and rush to work getting Mom up and going. We have to be in Grants Pass and hour South by 8 am. I get her medication lined out and into a mini-shot glass sized red solo cup. Make some quick strawberries and cream oatmeal, a guaranteed eat for my Mom. She eats her oatmeal every morning without much fuss. Next comes changing and cleaning her up while I try to help her bend her stiffening and achy limbs into warm pajamas. The drive south will be warm in the car, but the biting 34 degrees outside will do her bones no good.

5:55 am: Gram arrives to help with the trip to see the oncologist.

6:10 am. She’s finally able to sit up, though horribly tired, shaky and very dizzy.

6:20 am: We get her moved from the bed onto a sit and walk walker my dad now has to use. The wheelchair will not fit through the door jams in our old house. Improvisation. Key to anything challenging when shit hits the fan.

6:33 am: Gram and I manage to get Mom into the car without much incident. Though she can’t stand anymore, she is finally and unfortunately light enough I can move her with ease.

7:34 am: We arrive outside the Oncology Infusion Center in Grants Pass. It shares a parking lot with the hospital my mother spent 6 days in this past November.

7:50am: We unload the wheelchair and I lift Mom out of the car and into it as Gram bundles her carefully with blankets.

8:05 am: We check in and wait for the port draw. A port is a device inserted into a patients chest. It has a tube that runs from a half-dollar sized machine that connects directly into main arteries in the neck. This is used to administer the caustic chemicals and concoctions that are chemotherapy. It is also used to draw blood for lab work and administer medications and other drugs so as to preserve the integrity of other smaller veins.

8:11 am: We go see George. He’ll be doing our port draw today. We chit-chat as he works, I reassure Mom as it does hurt a little and it’s over fast. The port uses a connector that looks a lot like a phone jack to connect to the port. From this “jack” a lead is inserted and can tap into a patients vein. Quite invasive, but also very useful for long-term treatment.

8:20 am: We return to the waiting room and sit until our appointment with our doctor. I check Moms oxygen level and see it is running down. I run down to the car to retrieve a fresh bottle.

8:25 am: I switch the oxygen tap over to the new bottle in time to see the doctor. We would normally go to a side area first and Mom would be weighed. She is not strong enough to stand on the scale, so we have to skip the procedure.

8:37 am: Dr. Taylor comes into see us after a nurse aide takes Mom’s temperature and double checks her medications. Dr. Taylor appears quite concerned. She has not seen Mom in 5 weeks, her colleague saw Mom on our last visit as it was New Years Eve. Mom has clearly slid downhill since our last visit. The last time Dr. Taylor saw Mom she was walking, talking and laughing at stupid things. Now she can barely sit upright and has trouble even lifting her head to look up.

8:45am: Dr. Taylor compassionately tells us it’s time to give up the fight. There is no more that medicine can do, other than try to take away the pain. I sit in silence as the words echo around my head. I knew it was coming. I knew she could not fight forever. Her body is tired and broken. My heart aches for my grandmother who sits beside me trying her best not to give into emotion, to be strong for her daughter. I can feel every moment of the last 5 months come crashing down around me. I worry for my three sisters and I fear for my father. I know I’ll have to pass on the information soon. Messages will begin popping up in our private Facebook page.

8:50am: We begin looking at options. Denied multiple times in the past few months, hospice is finally granted and arrangements begin to be made for help in the home. I have mixed feeling about this. The home health nurse that had finally come by to check on Dad after his operation, a week later than requested, was not particularly helpful, but rather was either in my way of taking care of my mother or sitting on her butt watching TV. I suppose we will see how things go next week. Treatment is not possible as far as chemotherapy goes today. Her body is too weak to sustain the caustic infusion of a drug known as Taxal and not only the 7 hour infusion but the impact it will take on her already debilitated body would be detrimental. Accepting that it will do more harm than good, we decide to readjust at home pain medications and opt for an IV drip filled with saline, steroids, anti-nausea medication and morphine to make her more comfortable for the long ride home.

9:07 am: We go back to the infusion room to see George again. He and Tammi, his cohort for the day, get us set up with the IV after orders from Dr. Taylor are processed and we get Mom moved from the wheelchair to the recliner. The IV drip will take about an hour and forty-five minutes. In which time I spend updating family on social media with my phone and trying not to cry. Gram is particularly quiet and opts to watch our things off to the side, absently staring at a magazine I couldn’t imagine ever interesting her. Mom quickly drops into a fitful sleep moments after the IV begins. An extra shot of morphine makes her look the tiniest bit more comfortable.

11:42am: Mom’s IV is finished, we get her out of the recliner and back into the wheelchair. Bundled back up and ready to check out of the facility. It’s likely the last time we will be seen by the oncologist we chose out of the many we reviewed and the several we met with just months ago.

11:55am: We get her back into the car and strapped in. Gram, Mom and I opt to grab a quick burger at Burger King before hitting the road home. Mom is feeling pretty decent after the IV drip and ate some fries and the majority of frozen coke—the most she has eaten aside from pudding, jello and oatmeal in weeks.

12:15 pm: We hit I-5 North for the 40 mile trip home. It’s a beautiful sunny day and a nice drive back. Completely opposite from the last trip to Medford for chemotherapy which was a nightmare of ice, to say the least.

12:50pm: We roll into Canyonville to drop off the pile of prescriptions needing filled at the local pharmacy. It will take a while so I drive Mom and Gram back home. We get mom in the house and back into bed. It’s chaos of dogs running around and barking, things falling over and oxygen tubes getting tangled but we manage.

1:00pm: Dad shows me the mail and a new problem arises. We have been waiting several days for Ostemy supplies for my father to arrive from the VA. Instead what we get is a bag of every prescription my dad has ever been issued from the VA and a bill for $240 for things like aspirin at $24 a bottle. Needless to say I immediately tried to call the VA pharmacy. I then sat on hold for 20 minutes to talk to a pharmacist that had no idea what I was talking about and opted to try connecting my call to billing…where it disconnected almost immediately. I then called back, sat on hold for another 20 minutes to talk to the same person that then gave me the number for billing so I could call and tried connecting me to an advocate instead. I received a voice mailbox and left a message. We’ll see if they call back or if I sit on the phone for another stretch tomorrow.

2:14pm: I hop back in my car and head to town to get the prescriptions Mom needs after the visit today and the revisions we made.With Alice Cooper music blaring in my head I finally fall apart. I can’t seem to drive and not cry anymore. My car is my sanctuary when I am alone. I packed up all 3 dogs before leaving so they are chasing cars from the backseat and having a good old-time, normally this would make me smile, today I can’t seem to manage. 

2:25pm: I stop in at a local grocery store for a couple of items. Ran into an old friend and the former Chef I worked under years ago. Had a nice catch up chat in the milk aisle before racing through the store and picking up the prescriptions. All I can think about is when will this end and what am I going to do when it does?

2:50pm: I return home, let the dogs loose into the yard and head into the house to straighten up, change Mom, get Dad set with a snack and start looking at what needs to be accomplished by bedtime. Luckily bedtime is hours away. The house is a complete mess. It seems like I clean all the time, but much like having small children, between my Dad, 3 dogs and visitors the house is always a disaster in one way or another.

3 o’clock: I get mom settled and start in on a lotion massage to get her legs to relax enough to be comfortable after sitting up for so many hours. The phone rings about every 10 minutes and its difficult to actually get anything done.

3:20pm.: Hospice calls to set up an appointment. I still have mixed feelings about this but invite them over next Monday.

3:32pm.: The phone rings again, this time is a recording from the Douglas Country Sheriff office about an amber alert. I don’t know the boy in question but start down a whole other dark and dreary brain path revolving around childhood friend Stephanie Condon who was kidnapped in October 1998 and later found to be murdered.

4:08pm. More phone calls; some from family and a new sheriff’s office call with a recording saying the boy was found, amber alert over. I’m briefly thankful he was found and then dump it from my mind. I’m slowly making progress trying to clean up the house but it seems to just move from pile to pile more than anything. I finally give up and turn on my laptop.

5:11pm: I check my usual haunt of sites and have over 80 messages. Part of the reason I started blogging about my day. I can never seem to keep up with inquiries about my family. I write a letter to my Gram and get it emailed off and then start to tackle some of the others.

5:50 pm: I temped Mom with a doughnut for dinner and we all end up grabbing a raspberry filled powder doughnut for dinner. We eat our dessert first around here.

610pm: I get the dogs settled down with their plates of homemade chicken dog food. Spoiled beasts that they are I, bake-off chicken for them every few days. No puppy chow around here.

6:18 pm: Here I sit. Barely holding it together, tears running down my face trying to reason out my day. I hate that I seem to remember every little detail about every day. It has turned into a form of OCD. Apparently somewhere in the deep recesses of my brain, I have come to think if I forget any little detail then everything will being to slip away faster. Like the pull string on a bag of grain, the seeds of life will spill through my fingers with no way for me to catch them.

7:08 pm: I’m not editing this. I find I don’t care if there are typos. I’m not perfect and can’t expect myself to be. Tonight…is the beginning of the end. The end of months of torment, months of fighting, time to try to let go even though I know it will be one of the hardest things I ever face.

Where did the glory go?

For several days now I have been at battle. Literally at battle with local hospitals, Veteran Affairs and my employer. I expect in the next day or so I’ll be “let go” from the sad excuse of a company I’ve worked at for the last five years. I am just thankful I have not toiled my life away there as many in my area do. Although I am not fond of having my work reputation tarnished, I am relieved to be able to rid myself of such callous idiots.

My father was released from the hospital 4 days ago. Since then I’ve been on the phone with probably 20 different people trying to get the medical supplies necessary for his current condition. With severe complications from a bout of the flu, my dad, a Vietnam Veteran having served in the Navy, is reliant on the local Veteran Affairs hospital and health care system and being retirement age also has Medicare. This, quite frankly, is a battle I would not wish anyone to have to take on and many do. Trying to accomplish anything with such a broken system further complicated by an ill thought out current government initiative is ridiculous. My Dad spent 13 days of the New Year in a hospital having had diverticulitis with the result of a major and debilitating surgery to try to correct the damage done. In his weakened state from the influenza that just smacked the Pacific North West, he really is at the mercy of local medical facilities. That said, the hospital sent him home with limited colostomy/ostemy supplies and a promise that a home health nurse would come by and check on him. I am doing the best I can to care for him, but I am not a medical professional by any means. This was last Wednesday. It’s now Monday evening and after multiple phone calls Friday and today, nothing is accomplished. No one from the local home health service has come to make sure infection hasn’t settled in, we have no extra supplies to properly care for my father. We are making do with the few items he was discharged with, but really it is just not good enough. I utterly hate the state of medical affairs nation wide. I try to stay out of politics but really? Our veterans are shoved off to the side, our elderly are ignored and passed off from facility to facility; politicians are more concerned with their sex scandals staying under wraps rather than helping the American people. It is quite disconcerting to see our great nation failing at such important every day things.

Aside from the frustrating factors associated with our broken medical system. I now get to battle yet again with our mixed up and confused insurance system. I can think of far better ways to spend my time. Apparently paying for Cobra Health insurance to continue medical coverage after employment ends is pointless. For several months now, my family has scraped together $880 each month to continue my Moms health insurance. She was terminated from our employer, she and I both worked for the same company though different departments, while on a stint of Family and Medical Leave. The way she was terminated was cold-hearted and callous to say the least. I am likely going to be terminated this week in a similar manner. Although I accept responsibility for my actions of posting a public announcement much like I am now, I am also currently protected by the Family and Medical Leave Act, though I highly doubt it will concern the Native American Casino I work for. They really do not care about their employees past, present or future. They have made it abundantly clear in the last several months how much they value the capital they could make over the lives of the people they employ. To the company, we are all apparently mindless workers that couldn’t possibly know our rights. Challenge accepted. This is a battle that will likely continue as I’ve publicly declared I will not sit back and let it continue.

Cobra laws surrounding health insurance are fairly simple. As long as we pay the monthly fees (outrages as they might be) insurance cannot be terminated. This past weekend my mother was running low on anti-nausea medicine. She has been battling a stage 4 cancer that has metastasized to nearly her entire body. I called the local pharmacy to order a refill on the necessary medication. Something very routine for my family right now. The pharmacy then informed me that the insurance had been canceled on the 14^th of January. This had occurred in the month of December previously with Seven Feathers Hotel and Casino Resort, my current employer having canceled her insurance after receiving and CASHING our check for $880. I then spent nearly a week and a half arguing with Nesika Insurance Company, the private insurance provided to employees, about reinstating the insurance under Cobra Laws. So, to sum it up, we payed $880 to keep my moms health coverage just to have the company wait until the check cleared and then cancel the coverage anyway. Having reached 100% coverage after meeting the minimums we were responsible for ($6300 per person) and in addition paying several thousand dollars overall to insure there would not be a laps in coverage.

The company took the money and then terminated the coverage. Not once but twice. In both the months of December 2014 and January 2015, this company has been happy to accept payment for their private health coverage, wait about two weeks and then cancel the coverage after the check clears. Needless to say I’m a little upset. We sent the last payment by registered mail after making the mistake of not doing so the previous month. We made our payments in November with limited issue. We did not have any problem while we were paying 20% of the medical bills, however, the day after we paid our portion and were due to receive 100% major medical coverage, problems began. My mother was terminated days after reaching the maximum with a non descriptive reason even though she should have had several weeks of FMLA protection remaining, we assume with the hope that we wouldn’t press the insurance issues. Eight hundred, eighty dollars is a lot of money and I highly doubt many people can afford such an onerous task months after month. Well, we make do. The literally thousands of dollars in the multiple surgeries, procedures and medications needed to keep my mother comfortable in her final days would break us without decent health coverage. So over priced or not, we will do what we have to for her. She deserves so much more and so much better from a company she invested 16 years of her life in.

The frustration lies in jumping through hoops when we are already mentally, emotionally and physically taxed from months of dealing with heartbreaking doctor appointments, time spent in and out of hospitals and traveling to reach better and more specialized medical care; just to be smacked down again and again by heartless corporations looking to make a buck on peoples suffering. It truly is instances like this that make me sad to be an American. When money and power mean more than the individual, where do you find hope? Where is the brighter future I’ve been fighting for my entire life? Why are things not better if we are such notorious nation? Where did American glory go?

Harvest Moon

I don’t usually share too much of my poetry, but I feel it’s time for this one. I wrote this shortly after learning my Mother would soon not be with us. It’s never an easy thought, one I’m still battling 4 months later. Her time is drawing to a close. I’m ever so thankful to have had these last few months. In ways it would be easier if she had simply slipped away into the night, BUT I am very thankful to have had the time to tell her all that she has meant, the values I learned and remember the good times we had. To have the opportunity to ask the hard questions and do my best to make her comfortable. This is Harvest Moon. Though she’ll pass under a winter sky, Autumn I think is a favorite time of year for my whole family. Halloween, crunchy leaves, a lot of anniversaries and birthdays, it will remain magical for me, as sad as some memories will be.

Harvest Moon

The sun shines bright in the October sky, it erases all the questions in my mind, and brings peace to the thoughts that make me want to cry. How many months until she will die? I don’t know that I could ever know a reason why.

The light, it shimmers on the green and gold, pushing away the brusque fall cold, the breeze is light and gently caresses, the sun hangs low in the clouds, and the autumn season grows bold and begins to unfold.

Fall colors, vibrant and bright mark the ground, they bring a blast of color to the sight. Lighting up nature all around. Red, Gold, Green and Yellow, this autumn makes me feel so mellow.

But churning deep inside are thoughts that swallow me whole and make me feel so cold. Dreary and dour, my world has gone sour and not a soul can fix this, there is no one with the power.

Thunder storms interrupt the night, they wash away the clear days delight, and brings such a sense of urgency to the moonlight. Terrors and fears bubble up inside and I look for a place to hide. My mind takes me back and I try to relax, memories from the past to keep me safe from the tragedy lurking in this storm.

Remembering better days, at the beach, in the trees, out for a run. My body is distant and seems disconnected, but I think it’s just the way I reacted.

The warmth of thought sinks into my skin, and last all throughout the night, preparing me at last, for the war that will ravage my mind in the night. A battle will shortly take place, for in my mind there is much causing distaste.

The moon shines on through the clouds, illuminating the sparkling dew drops on the grass. It seems that all else has become crass, while the trees outside the window rub upon the glass. Wind is screeching through the night, I wonder if ever again I will find something to delight. Tears they form faster than I can prevent, a dire outlook, I cannot deny, is present.

The emotions burst from my inner being, doing their best to be free. Why is God taking something so precious from me?! I try to justify and consider the past, but really, I don’t think that an answer will ever come to pass. Eerie sounds abound in the night, but finally, for once, at the peak of the storm, everything is alright.

The great owl hoots in the dark and his voice carries on the breeze, as the mighty wolf cries from somewhere in the trees. Life’s circle will be complete, and the world will still revolve around the sun, with the moon and the stars high above. An angel, ready for flight, prepares, for the time is coming near, to retrieve a new soul and guide them home forever in the light.

This autumn atmosphere is a magical force, you see, and all the beasts and ghouls, faeries and nymphs, and angels too, well, they are a friend to me.

Soon the leaves will fall, scattering the ground, and the wild ones will all heed my call and come round, because most important of all, is the beautiful glory of the Fall and the journey of learning to stand tall.

My heart

My Heart

You hold me tight, pressing into me deep,

The harder you push, the more I want to keep you.

Safe from harm, you’ve won me with your charm.

Kisses and cuddles, you bring such delight,

With your warm embrace and trusting eyes,

You greet me always with such surprise.

Forever cheerful and pleased to see me,

You’re my heart and soul, my laughter and my rain.

The daughter I love so much, you keep me sane.

I was wrong to leave you, and never shall I mistake again,

The bond between us, you’re my very best friend.

I hope you can forgive me, for I know how much you depend,

The life you have is a gift, which I will always be ready to defend.

Our worlds collided, with chance and luck,

That fateful trip that brought us close,

And such a life it would create,

And so much more I have to appreciate,

In my darkness and all the hate,

You have given me another chance to realize my fate.

Everything I can give you and a lifeline for me.

I wish I could give you more time and attention.

But instead you have the best of care, toys and freedom,

But no, time is always wasted; no matter how I try,

I love you like no other,

You’re my greatest treasure in this kingdom.

Beautiful and devout, you stand by my side,

You’re precious and perfect, so alert and alive with curiosity,

You give me hope and feeling of security.

Never doubting; only trusting,

With those beautiful brown eyes,

I know the world is full of lies,

But you create a safe haven from all the deceit.

Playing hard, sleeping heavy,

I’m so glad to give you such a happy home,

With mountains you can roam,

And great places for you to see.

I truly do hope you know how much you mean to me.

The Waiting Place

It’s a foggy winter day in Oregon. The mist is hanging in the tree line as I gaze out the window. My grandmother and aunt have just left after visiting Mom and I. Bills are paid, dogs are fed…time is slowly ticking by. Running through the list of daily chores, I know the dish washer needs unloaded, the floors need swept and vacuumed, firewood needs brought in and laundry needs started. I just did all that yesterday, but I’ll do it again today, more for something to do rather than necessity.

I’ve been staring at my art kit for a while now. Pastels, pencils and brushes that have been calling my name, but what to create? It eludes me. Now and then I’ll start something, only to be dissatisfied in my progress and toss it to the side. I always think I will come back to it…instead I have a handful of canvases stacked in the corner of my tiny cabin.

I’ve not been to my cabin for more than picking something up or dropping it off in almost two weeks. It seems weird to miss a place so much. The house I grew up in is as foreign to me right now as a strangers place. I’m in the pictures on the wall, but they come from a different, happy time that didn’t have the air of foreboding I’m surrounded by at present. It seems like we’re all just waiting. Waiting for my dad to be well enough to be released from the hospital, waiting for my mothers poor ravaged body to finally give out.

“Oh, the places you’ll go,” by Dr. Seuss is by far one of my favorite childhood books. My oldest sister gave me a copy as a graduation gift when I finished high school, within it lies a note about what to expect as I packed up and readied myself for the coming year of college. We both graduated from the University of Oregon, although she was some years ahead of me.

In the book I always remember staring at the pages about waiting. The waiting place as it was called. Which is exactly where I sit. I’m waiting for time to do things, for dates to come, vacations to finally arrive, and people to pass away. It’s incredible to me that I am waiting for such fantastic and horrific things at the same time. I knew eventually I would come to the waiting place…everyone does. It’s inevitable. Just like in life, death is inevitable. Whether it is a great fear or something we can rationalize, it’s gonna happen. How and when is the only real mystery.

The waiting place. Waiting for a promotion at work was the last game I played. Pointless really, I’ll soon seek a new job, a new career perhaps and begin fresh. Again, waiting for the appropriate time. All this waiting makes me wonder if people in general do anything but wait. Whether it’s waiting for a lunch hour or the correct moment to complete a task, to return home for the day. Waiting for a red light to turn green or a movie to start, a song to end….

If life is a waiting game, then what is the purpose of waiting? Wouldn’t it be better to forgo simple rules of conduct and plow right ahead. Something in the back of my mind is pondering great people of the past. Would we have electricity is Benjamin Franklin was too impatient to wait for a storm? Or telephones if Alexander Graham Bell decided he didn’t want to tinker? On the other hand, they were creating magnificent things, while waiting for the correct moment to employ particular pieces of the puzzle, I think the idea in general is that without the waiting game, a moment to stop and think, we would never achieve.

Perhaps the idea of waiting is to stop, smell the roses, adjust your personal compass and get ready to charge ahead. I suppose I’ll have to look back at this chapter in my life and see what the waiting game brings me. For now…I’ll wait and see.