She's Been Struggling a Bit, but She's Here.

Lois and Bruce, thank you so much for putting out a call. I have four drafts of entries that I've not finished and may not finish.

Life sometimes inserts itself in ways that I cannot successfully fight, at least when it comes to trying to write some sort of blog entry that I think anyone might want to read.  Three people who are close to me, part of my family (one of them is related, even) are facing life and death illnesses, and the likelihood of at least one of them being here at this time a year from now, two years at the most, is very, very slim. Possibly all three.  It all came down in the space of about a month and I've been numb. First distraught, then angry, now numb.

I find it hard to write when I am in the midst of a mess. When I have written then, I've written too much of my fragile heart.  I prefer to write about chaos from the perspective of calm. That way I can monitor what I share in such a public way. Does that make sense?

One of them is Aunt Ellen, my Alaskan aunt. Now, she is going to be 98 this year, so I cannot say that my feelings just now are rational. She has lived and IS living a life that is rich by my standards. What are those? The woman is beloved by many in Fairbanks because of the love she and her late husband have given, over and over and over. She is one stubborn, opinionated, sarcastic woman and always has been. She is difficult, to say the least. She is also generous, funny, brilliant, interesting, and terminally curious. She hates to show emotion, but has given to anyone around her who has been in need. Her husband was the same. They were miserably happy together.

She had a stroke in March and I just found out about it, which is fine. The woman I spoke to is Brenda. Now Brenda has been a daughter to Aunt Ellen for more than a decade. She comes back East with Ellen every five years. They came back three times in five years around the time when my sister died. Once for the Wheaton reunion, then to see my sister before she died, and then again, after she died, to be with me. That was five years ago, in 20008. Aunt Ellen was the oldest living alumna of her school. This year is the seventy-fifth reunion of her class.

To give you an idea of my aunt, she said, "Oh, I hope I'll be the oldest again this year!"

Long pause on the phone. Then she said, "Oh, dear now that was stupid, wasn't it! Well, I'll be the SUPER oldest this time, won't I! I wonder what the next oldest person will be, whether it will be that old woman from four classes behind me. HA! Old woman. I'm the old woman, aren't I. Oh, well, yes ... I do confess I rather like all the pomp and the circumstance and every little attention in between. They walk me down to the front in a special cap and gown and I bow left and right and wave like the queen... Yes. Well, perhaps this time they'll drive me down. You don't suppose they'd put me in one of those little tiny hybrid cut off cars? Maybe they have those, what do you call them sun roofs and I can just pop up and wave to the crowd as they drive me down the aisle? That would be a picture, wouldn't it? I wouldn't be able to sit down again, probably, if they COULD get me standing in a car. Old lady gets stuck in car roof at college reunion. Film at eleven.

"Oh, yes, well ... did I tell you about the town meeting I went to when old Johnnie Phelps just couldn't shut up to save his life? well, it wasn't so bad for me, you know, because I could just turn off the hearing aids, but oh, my. He can just go on... wait. Where is that cat? Come Down from there! Oh. What was I saying? Oh, never mind. It doesn't matter. It will probably come round in my head in a minute.

"But did I mention that the garden club meeting's going to be here in ten minutes? Now, I do think that's a little strange, because I don't think I am even a member, but Betsy Gardner just wanted to be sure I had food for tonight so they are all coming in. Oh, wait. What's that in my refrigerator now? Brenda was here and it seems she left me more food. That's a pretty wonderful thing, you know. Every night Rita comes over and asks me what I'd like and she reads me off the names on the food containers and I pick something out just like a restaurant. But the clubs meeting here. Sometimes that is a little strange. I don't lock my door anyway, because everyone has a key in town anyhow, so what's the point. But, I'd better go now, Jeannette, because I hear Betsy's voice outside my door. I must have turned the aids back on. Well, yes, I would have because I called you. It would have been silly for me to try to have a conversation without my hearing aids on. But, well, I don't think you've done any talking anyway, so maybe not! Well. Gotta go. Nice talking with you, now. Bye by."

Click. And that's pretty much how we go on the phone; I love it.

I love my aunt. I want her to come back East again. I want her to live to be 125. I am a Seven year old kid and I want her to come HOME. Every year, not every five.

The summer I turned five she came to our house for her annual visit and she brought kimonos from when she'd been in Japan, shortly after the bombs... She brought Japanese combs, too, and a jewelry box for Mom. She brought Eskimo things, too! A genuine Eskimo yo-yo and stories and pictures. I learned about blanket tosses and the Northern lights. I learned that they did not have BEES in Fairbanks, so she had to hand-pollinate the flowers. And the mosquitoes were so big, they all saddled them to go for rides. She showed us a life-size picture of one and told me that, yes, the mosquito bites were huge, so big that they looked more like baseballs on your arm!

I went to kindergarten and for my first show and tell, I took in the little Eskimo things she'd brought me and talked all about the summer trip to Alaska. I told them all about watching the children be tossed into the air on the blankets the women of the village had made. I told them all about how they knew HOW to make igloos, but the local tribes did not live in them. They had houses and everything. And I talked about being up very late at night and how it had never gotten dark, so my aunt had given us all little blindfold masks to block out the light. And I showed them one, like Halloween masks without eye holes. The class applauded me!

My teacher called Mom to say what a good job I'd done and asked her about Alaska. She was shocked when Mom told her I had never set foot in the state. "But she made it come alive for us, Jean. It was wonderful!"

"Yes, well, perhaps Jetty will one day write a novel. But for now it was a lie. What would you like me to do?"

"Oh, dear. Just talk to her, but I am not going to say a word. We enjoyed the story too much. Was she telling the truth about the state, though?"

Mom told me about the conversation and was sweet enough to let me know that she WAS proud that I had listened so hard, but that I still was not going to get dessert for the rest of the week, just as a reminder that story-telling is NOT the same as lying and I'd leaped over the line.

I still remember that, trip, though, that's the kicker.

***
Anyway, I AM here. I'm just sort of numb and sad and trying to do what I can to help with my friends here, and listen to Brenda, Aunt Ellen's caregiver, and back her as she tries to get Aunt Ellen whatever she needs. I know Aunt Ellen is in good hands... LOVING hands. And Brenda is a nurse as well. I worry for her, too. And for my friends here, one facing cancer with liver failure and the other liver failure with little chance that she will qualify for a transplant.

And I am exercising and have lost thirty-five pounds out of the seventy I want to lose. I could lose more than that, but I'll be happy with seventy. I am stronger and can do more during the hours that I am relatively mobile, but as yet, I have not been able to build MORE mobile hours into each day. Patience, they say. The ubiquitous "they." It is now part of my life; it is a habit. When I am too incapacitated to follow my five hours a week regimen, it bothers me. I miss it. THAT is when you know you have built something into the fabric of your days--when you MISS IT.

And I hope to finish the drafts. The subject matter moves me, but I search for my flow, for words, for the heart of me.

I am here. I Do not give up. Not even a little. But the creative parts of me have been sort of MIA. This happens, I think. I miss feeling excited about sitting here to write, about sitting to paint. I DO SING. And I have written three songs, as I may have mentioned. I have three more in the works, so the creativity is there, lurking about.

Thank you for not giving up on ME. My life has always been this way--some good years and then a clump of crises. Right now, it would appear that the crises are hitting again and have been for a while. It started with my getting worse last summer. I think my OWN problems are fading again, but I cannot help but turn toward the people I love just now. And I don't think any of you would want me to!

Til next time.