Leave-taking

I just haven’t been able to write this past week. I am struggling to hold it all together and it feels like I am going to blow or break down but I keep on keeping on. Same old same old in a different house. I had it right the first couple weeks here, I had my little routine and I was writing nearly every day. Then I discovered that I can hop on an internet connection in the neighborhood and that routine was totally disrupted. My correspondence with J has me checking my email every half hour or less and because we’ve been poor and housebound for so long I am desperate again for the social networking of FB. I’m all off track. Over the weekend my son very nearly set himself and the house on fire (only my duvet cover burned) and that experience plummeted me into a dark funk. The next day my mom informed me that a friend of ours was diagnosed with less than two months to live because of a cancer they thought was gone. It had quietly invaded her insides and while she and her husband bought tickets to Puerto Rico, while she was cross-country skiing not two weeks ago, it was working its dark magic on her stomach. By the time she felt the pain it was too late. She and her husband have been my mother’s landlords for twenty-four years now. They live simply in a little house that he built with wood from their beautiful land. There are no electric lines running down the road and they have always used wind and solar to power the house. They’ve known me since I was eight. They found out the terrible news on Friday and she decided that while she was still with her facilities, she wants visitors. The kids and I drove to my mom’s cabin on Sunday afternoon, bundled up and walked up the dirt road. Neither my mother nor I could stop the tears and we walked silently with a comforting arm around each others waists. I thought of all the years and countless times I’d walked this road and how long it had been since I’d done it last. How far and fast we grow from people, even familiar people, when we hit puberty and gain a social life. Suddenly, in a situation like this, you are reminded how much a person means to you and how much you love them. It’s like a distilled experience, a distilled emotion because there is no longer the luxury of time stretching out indefinitely ahead of you in which you may have the opportunity to reminisce and express your love.
As we neared the little red house I prepared myself to follow her lead and I’ll admit it was a little scary waiting at the door, hoping you don’t break down in tears. Her husband opened the door and welcomed us into their warm, sunny home. There is beautiful wood through out the house, his loving craftsmanship in every detail. There is the smell of a homemade soup simmering and not an ounce of doom or gloom in the air. We pile into the sunny sitting room and when she rises to greet us I see how skinny she is, her eyes even bigger behind her glasses, but she is still beautiful in her serene way. The kids dig into the stuffed animals, unaware of any elephants in the room and we settle down with ginger tea and talk of Mongolia, where they had traveled in recent years and then more close friends arrive who have all known me since I was small. The atmosphere remained upbeat as if they were throwing a little mid-winter social instead of hosting friends who where there to say goodbye.
When the kids started to get too high maintenance I knew it was time to go and silently, as if on cue, the other guests quietly left the room when she stood to hug me. “You’re wonderful”, she said as we embraced and we held each other for a long time. I went into the other room to get a letter I had written her and as I reached for my bag I lost my composure and a sob escaped me. There was silence around me and someone lovingly rubbed my back while I took in a deep breath and struggled to compose myself. She was sitting quietly on the couch when I re-entered and I know she must have heard my cry but she showed no outward sign of it.
What I wrote in my letter to her was everything I needed and wanted to say. How much I love her, how she affected me and resides in me. She sent her husband up the driveway yesterday to deliver a card for me via my mother. What she wrote I want to keep private but she ended by saying, “ I love you too and I’m so grateful that we’ve had this opportunity to share what has always been in our hearts.”
I’ve probably lost three pounds of water weight from the tears that won’t stop leaking out and hours of sleep, laying and processing the whole thing. I think of what they lay awake at night discussing; how she wants to live her remaining days, how she wants to die, sorting out the business of death: wills, memorial, etc… I think of her husband who is being so brave and is not thinking about himself, “I’ll worry about myself later, right now this is about her.” he told my mom. They have lived just the two of them, in love, for so many years. They have a small table in their kitchen, just big enough for two.
I think it’s amazing how she is choosing to live her last days and I can’t help but wonder how I would live mine. It certainly encourages me to keep living authentically and to speak what is in my heart because we aren’t always forewarned that time is running out. Really we have so little to lose by speaking or doing what is in our hearts when compared to how much we stand to lose if we don’t.