Life As I Know It

Made It Through the Holidays!

2012-01-15T02:11:00.002-05:00

From this end it seems but a very short time since I last posted on my blog. The good part of that is we made it through with no major illnesses or other tragedies to contend with so the holidays went well and were as pleasant as we could manage to make them. A relief considering our track record of late.

We had a lovely Thanksgiving meal with one of my sweetie-pie's niece's and her family and other relatives, then on to a rather quieter Christmas with a smaller celebration at the Chinese restaurant than ever before without Mike, who really did seem to enjoy the celebrations there on Christmas Days of the past. Although a lot lonelier, it was still a nice Christmas - just very quiet - and we wrapped up the day by going to bed early and then snoozing late the day after.

We stayed home for the New Year in part, I think, due to remembering our last New Year here at home and all that followed (2010). But this year has started slowly and more calmly than that and we both seem healthier...I will hold that thought as I take it one day, one step, at a time into 2012!

There is still so much to do to get the house into shape and our efforts, although continuing in a positive direction, are slow and not yielding much in the way of space and satisfaction for the moment. We plod on.

The birds show up each morning expecting their viands al fresco on our back deck and the two cats seem to enjoy watching them now and again, although they mostly like snoozing in warm spots around the house even more than bird-watching. Fluff is a funny thing and sometimes wanders around the house meowing loudly. It reminds me a little of the wolves at the zoo howling. Sort of an eerie sound; other-worldly and beckoning. I always think of Patty when Fluff does her singing and try to get her to come over for pets and loves, just in case that is what she is missing. Samantha is a sweetie who seems to live for her naps and her munches. She really loves to eat and then goes right back to sleep, snoring softly and squeakily in her corner by my chair. They are wonderful pussycats! I just wish aging was slightly less cruel in its predations on all of us, though.

As for me, on a more personal level, I have been experiencing what I refer to as "luxury" depression. This is the depression I feel over the more ordinary trials of life rather than the incredibly intense traumas our family has been coping with for the past 15, or so, years. I understand why the illnesses or deaths of my loved ones makes me cry, but WHY do I have to feel weepy about the damned Social Security Administration, too???!

I guess my tolerance for poopoo has lessened considerably over the years. I also have more than enough fertilizer for my life's garden and really don't want anymore, so a newly delivered load does tend to frustrate me to tears when it arrives unexpectedly :-(

Here's to hoping your lives are less frustrating, but more challanging, less tragic, but emotionally brighter, than they have been for awhile - as I would like ours to be, as well.

God bless and keep you all.
Izzlebug

A Rough Summer But, Hopefully, A Gentler Autumn

2011-10-25T13:52:00.002-04:00

Hi! It has been difficult getting back here to write. Everytime I would get to the site memories would come flooding back, the tears would start to fall and I would woose out of trying to record anything at all about what was happening from day to day. Taken altogether, however, things have not been so bad of late.

Our two remaining geriatric cats are creaking along and my sweetie-pie is still working at a temporary contract position that he still can't belive he managed to land given his extended illness and other medical issues. He seems happy enough for the time being and I am hoping fervently that this will be a totally positive experience for him.

We are still working to dig out the many tons of stuff accumulated over many years of having lost track of what was coming in to the house while we tried to merely survive all that life threw at us, and will likely have some sort of an estate sale at some point. I confess to spotting things at other yard sales (not too many, I hope!) that I have snagged thinking that, "Gee, it's only two or three dollars and we could get more for it at an "Estate" sale!" I think this is part of my trap and I really need to stop getting stuff and justifying it this way, but it is really a lot of fun finding these things at yard sales and thrift shops! (Sigh!!!!)

My own health is not as good as I might wish; I need to lose weight before I develop full-blown type-2 diabetes. My great-grandmother had type-2, so it's important for me to really succeed at this diet...not doing so well at the moment, but the battle continues.

Friends and family continue to be a tremendous comfort and source of distractions while we try to piece our lives back together after the trials of the past three, or so, years and turn to face the responsibilities and issues our futures hold for us.

There! At least I managed a few words today. A positive sign for the things yet to come!

Love,
Izzlebug

To Mottle

2011-08-19T16:04:00.002-04:00

My sweet, soft, grey cat -
Rub, rub, purr, soft pat -
Loving friend and caretaker for many years;
Gone forever -
Memorialized in heart-broken, diamond tears.

Who will tuck me in at night
And gently purr me off to sleep?
Where is there another friend
Willing to take such a watch and keep;
Willing to snuggle into my hair,
Willing to scurry to always be there
For this bereft, so sad, eternally poorer me?

Mottle, dearest friend, where can you be?
Heaven? My heart? Are you that soft, soft
Whisper in the air?
You are all of these places, and more.
Any place Love dwells, you're there.

Finding My Way Back

2011-08-06T12:20:00.002-04:00

After the loss of our sweet, old Bootsie-cat and then my brother, we had to endure yet another loss two weeks ago today with the death of my special Mottle-cat. I found myself paralyzed somehow by her loss and that is why it is only now that I am posting about it. Her loss on top of the loss of another of our cats and the loss of my younger brother was a knockout blow I could not recover from as readily as the other two; if what I was experiencing from those two blows could be described as recovery in that they occurred so closely together.

Mottle was a very sweet little cat who had not had a very happy beginning in life according to the person who ran the shelter we adopted her from in Pepperell MA. When I first brought her home she could hardly believe she was being allowed in the house and on our beds. She was so ecstatic that she gave this funny sommersault of joy. From that moment I knew that what I wanted was to give this small morsel of kittyness as much joy and love as possible for as long as possible.

If it is true that you receive what you give, then Mottle must have felt like one of the most beloved pussycats on the face of this earth. For the last years of her life she took care of me. She always put me to bed at night, making sure I was settled in, then she would purr me a lullaby before leaving to let me fall asleep. We would have silly moments of playing hide and seek under the covers or times of just being nutty with each other. She was a "soulmate" sort of pussycat and it always puzzled me how anyone could have missed this about her and mistreated her at all. I miss her sorely and, although written, the poem I have created in her honor does not yet do her justice. I will work on it some more before sharing it here with all of you. Even now I find it hard to write about her and have been having difficulties with memories of Mike, Mom, and Patty, Paws, Bootsie, Pudge, Tiger, Callie, and so on, though mostly Mike, Patty, Bootsie, and Mottle to be honest - I just didn't want to hurt anyone's feelings...

Despite the recent losses in our lives things do seem to be looking up on other fronts. There seem to be some employment opportunities presenting themselves here and there, which will make life a little easier in many ways, and some items I crafted to sell several years ago were finally found again amidst all of the "stuff" we are still dealing with in the house, so maybe I will be able to sell some of those and make a little income there, as well. We still have two of our beloved kitties to look after and love, but the house seems pretty empty.

My sweetie-pie has said we can get another kitty when our final two geriatric pussycats finally have to leave us behind and, although kittens are adorable, I am thinking we should look at older cats first. Several of our cats have been adopted as adults and they have been the joy of our lives even if they are not quite as close to us in some ways as those we have had as kittens. The older cats also have a more difficult time finding homes, so I sympathize greatly with their plight and want to help.

Please keep us in your thoughts and prayers. I don't know how much more loss I can take before I go into some sort of stupor, no longer able to write or think; no longer able to cope with a life that has, in the last several years, seemed so severe that joy has been fleeting although still present, and happiness very hard to find.

Izzlebug

A Beautiful Day

2011-07-10T14:10:00.004-04:00

The weather is a little cooler and dryer today than it has been for the past several days, and it is a relief, to say the least! Blue skies and sushine are beautiful, although the drearier days of gray clouds and cool, dim skies also have a place here in New England and it would seem odd without the variations we have come to expect on a daily basis. While nature is often stingy with her cooling breezes, technology helps with that in the form of fans and air conditioning which, I suppose, is sort of cheating, but I am a comfort loving creature so I tend not to fell too guilty about that particular issue.

Time, tears, medication, and counseling are all having the desired healing effects upon the grief I have recently experienced in the loss of my younger brother, although each new loss seems to dredge up the feelings of past losses as well, adding to the burdens and the tears, but also to the sad sweetness I feel so touched by during these times, as well as memories both good and bad, funny, sad, poignant, making their way through my brain as the days pass; all of them welcome and comforting in a strange, sad way. It is part of the price we pay for surviving.

The kitties are a constant source of comfort and amusement and there have been many special, caring moments with each of them as they have checked on me, in turns, during the times when the tears refused to be denied and I could not stop the sounds of my grief anymore than I could prevent the sun's rising or setting. To have a furry, purring little being jump up to make certain you're going to be OK, with that inquiring, concerned look is a very real balm for a sore heart and I received many such "treatments" during the worst of the days following Mike's death.

My boyfriend has not been without his own tests and trials during these times. After having endured the liver failure and transplant, the prolonged recovery and the finally getting to come home then slipping and falling on the very last of the winter ice and injuring himself, he had to have a little more surgery to correct the injury. Phew! Fortunately all of that is resolved and he is well on the way to a full recovery from what ended up being only a same-day procedure (thankfully) so he never had to spend the night in the hospital. Of course, I was panicking on this end - I am not a nurse and have never had to help care for a freshly post-op, oozing incision before - eewwww! However, we both survived.

One of the reasons I have not been blogging much lately is because I felt I needed a rest. Given that we have had very little recovery time following these major losses and illnesses to ourselves and close family members, I really needed some time off, or thought I did. But during the time I was supposed to be "resting" from my blog and writing, in general, I kept thinking of things I wanted to write about! I would immediately squelch the thoughts because I was "resting" but some of the ideas seemed so good! Anyway, I am back at the keyboard and, hopefully, will be more obedient to my muse when the urge to write strikes again. Life is a little more interesting that way.

A lot continues to happen although there are often many quiet days in between right now, for which I am grateful. The controversy about some of the current news stories has me concerned, but trying to stop prejudice and stupidity is often like trying to dam a flood with pillows - it doesn't work. So here is hoping that the death threats being sent to people because of the results of the Casey Anthony verdict will never be brought to any sort of fruition; here's to the hope that Southern Sudan will succeed as a nation where Sudan has been so horribly wanting; here's to the hope that Libya will have its freedom from a despotic ruler who does not know when to relinquish command; here's to peace and personal freedom for the peoples of the Middle East; and, finally, here's to peace, political veracity, and tolerance here at home.

Love and best wishes,
Izzlebug

Dear Mom,

2011-06-28T16:07:00.002-04:00

It's been awhile since I last wrote. Sorry, but you must know by now what has been happening; at least, I hope you do. I am also hoping Mike has found his way to both you and Patty. That's half of our original family "there," and the other half still here. Please keep each other company until the rest of us make it to your new digs (terrible, terrible pun intended!), but please do not anticipate any of us too soon. We all like it here, as all of you did, and we hope to live to be very, very old and wrinkled before we journey your way. Always remember we loved you and will always love you - as far as love will last - you are forever loved!

Today has been a difficult day for me, Mom. One where I would really welcome your presence and advice, or just your shoulder to cry on. My heart overflows at times, or seems to want to, and I long for the relationship we had as mother and daughter, as well as the budding friendship I felt we were developing after so many disastrous turns during the biological relationship - read that as "teenage years."

What I want to talk to you about started with this really wonderful dream I had after my mastectomies. Not the time for wonderful dreams, as such, but I had one anyway. In the dream, for the first time in my life that I can recall, I felt truly beautiful. I do not routinely go around feeling odd and ugly and have, in the past, felt attractive, pretty, desirable, etc. I have also been happier than I ever thought I could be with my sweetie-pie, so I do not think the contrast within myself was the result of any neglect or lack of appreciation from the people who love me.

I think I just never truly believed I was beautiful and, therefore, was never able to feel beautiful. (I REALLY wish you were right here to talk to, Mom!) It was a wonderful dream. In addition to my getting to know what being beautiful felt like I also gained some insight into why so many women become obsessed with makeup, weight, clothing, men, and so on - to feel beautiful! In all of my fifty-plus years I don't know why I never seemed to twig to that.

In retrospect, my dream also has caused a concern for me. If it was possible for me to feel so beautiful, is it possible I could be instrumental in making my partner feel as virile and handsome as I felt feminine and beautiful? I admit I cried at the thought that I, we, were somehow missing a key ingredient in our relationship if we were not communicating this to one another. I love him so much, Mom! Perhaps we have just been through too much over the past few years; too much pain, too much illness, too much death.

Anyway, that is what has me missing you most right now. I admit it's selfish, but in this relationship I am the child, still and forever.

Please tell Patty and Mike I love them both very much and miss them every day. We all get on with our lives, but there are holes in our hearts that will never be filled until we meet again and greet one another with enormous hugs.

Your Daughter

P.S. Please also tell M. and P. I said, "MY Mommy!"

Life's Sweetness and Heartache

2011-06-10T21:58:00.002-04:00

As I reread my most recent posts regarding my brother, the tears began to flow and I was reminded, again, that it has been only a couple of weeks or so since he died. The memories of those first few days feel like an eternity ago, but the pain of losing Mike is still more fresh than I often realize until some small thing - some word or visual reminder - brings him to mind and then the tears start afresh and my heart feels broken all over again.

One of the things I felt that I did not mention in my earlier post, following Mike's death, was that I very much wanted to go racing back to the funeral home with a blanket and cover him up with it, sort of "tucking him in" and making him "comfy." I know it was not rational, but it was one of the many reactions I had during the course of that miserable day. Even knowing he was gone and beyond my help and love I still wanted to take care of him!

Many of the roads I drive in our area now feel more lonely than before, since I would often traverse them on my way to visit Mike or to take him out to lunch. The first truly beautiful, brilliant day we had this Spring reminded me there would be no more picnics with Mike in the park, even if we just mostly ended up buying fast food and driving over there to eat it. Sometimes I was able to get it together enough to make the potato salad and sandwiches, as well as other treats, that constitute the more traditional picnic fare.

Mike would have been 52 this August. It will be difficult to keep myself from beginning the mental birthday shopping that has taken place every year of my adult life for so many years now. I will have to remind myself repeatedly that Mike is no longer here to enjoy any gifts I might find for him. Of course, those reminders are no guarantee the mental shopping will ever stop,as I still spot things now and then that I think Patty or my Mom would have enjoyed. It's only when the thoughts come in the present tense that they cause pain, and that does not happen so much as the passage of time heals and memories fade into soft pastels rather than vivid, bold, emotive hues.

The air tonight is soft and cool and caresses my skin, healing the reactions to the heat of the past two days. The feeling is soft; soft like a touch of love from my Mom - full of comfort and peace. Soft like the thoughts of love I have for my brother, my sister, Mom, as well as all those I have not yet had to say a final "good-bye" to, and I feel grateful as well as sad.

Putting my grief into words and placing them here has helped dry my eyes and calm my heartache. I only hope it may also help do the same for someone else who may need like comfort for the things happening in their own lives.

Love,
Izzlebug

Michael

2011-05-30T01:10:00.002-04:00

I sit before my keyboard tonight unsure of what I will be writing, just knowing it will be about or focussed upon my brother, Mike. It seems like an eternity since he died, but it has been less than one week. I thought we were all supposed to die in the order we were born, or something to that effect. So much for the childish logic behind that thought, but it did come back to haunt me when Patty died. Now I have had to say "good-bye" to another of my younger siblings so the thought and the accompanying memories of the child I was when I "figured it all out" are filtering through my brain again, making me long for the simplicity and safety of a childhood that seemed so free from death but that, in retrospect, were only free of the adult ability to grieve and remember it.

Since I was unable to attend my brother's burial yesterday (Saturday), I drove up to the cemetary in Vermont today (Sunday) to say my final "good-bye" and leave some roses on his grave. The cemetary is the same one that holds the remnants of my mother, sister, grandfather, aunt, cousin, great-grandmother, and others of our family. Mike was placed to rest next to our great-grandmother. The cemetary was more verdant that it had been for the buriel of Mom and Pattys' ashes, making it seem a softer, as well as lovelier, place. I keep handing out Forget-Me-Not seeds to everyone whenever we lose a family member in the hopes that the cemetary will one day blossom into a field of beautiful blue flowers - or at least be outlined with them along the stone walls and grave markers.

On my way up for the visit, I purchased flowers not only for Mike, but for my grandmother and aunt, as well. I found a particularly lovely bouquet of mixed flowers that I thought I would place on Mike's grave, but when I was almost there it came to me that Mike would have absolutely loved to have given those flowers to our grandmother, and I knew immediately that that is what he would have wanted, so much more than my placing them on his grave, and as I thought all of this it felt as though my wonderful brother reached down and touched my heart, just enough to say "Yes," that was what he wanted. When I got to my grandmother's room at the nursing home I took both bouquets in and told her the story. She cried a little, but I think she knew what I was talking about and she really seemed to like the flowers - the ones from me AND the ones from me and Mike. Just knowing I will never get to hear his voice again hurts so very much!

"Hello, Liz!" or "Greetings!" were the ways he would preface the messages he left on the answering machine. After leaving the funeral home on Tuesday, I came home and went through the messages on our phone hoping that, maybe, one of Mike's messages was still there so I could hear his voice just that one more time, but they were all gone, erased without any thought that he would no longer be able to leave any more requests for return phone calls any more. Oh, how much the simplest things can mean when they are no longer able to be a part of our lives ever again!

So many of the family stories are still sifting around in my head. Tales of Mike from infancy to adulthood, most from our lives together as a family , having been told and retold by our parents or recorded in their diaries or letters, but a few preserved here in my blog. Some funny, some poignant, but all of them speaking to the person that Mike could have been, as well as the person he was, despite the mental illness and the besotted devotion to his "medicinal" smokes.

It must have hurt Mike to breathe, especially those last few months, but he never said anything about the pain to me or, as far as I know of, to anyone else. He was so sure the smoking was curative rather than the cause of his illness (the emphysema, NOT the schizophrenia) and it was too late to prevent his death due to the effects of the damage to his lungs. I finally realized that we could make my brother grossly unhappy, hostile and beligerant by taking away his cigarettes and, perhaps, extend his life by a few more weeks or maybe months. Or we could let him go and enjoy his cigarettes which, despite the poison in them, did seem to bring him some measure of respiritory relief. I told our Dad I was not going to nag Mike and make him miserable during whatever time he had left. I did not want my brother to die, but there was nothing we could do to prevent that from happening far too soon. After his last hospitalization my heart just seemed to know that the next time Mike stopped breathing in his sleep, they would not be able to wake him up when they found him. That was what happened last Tuesday morning.

After Dad called to let me know Mike was gone, I called the home he was living in, a group home for mentally disabled adults, and asked them not to move Mike until I could get there. I just wanted a few minutes to sit with my younger brother before the onrush of death got too firmly started to yield to simple human need and emotion, despite the goal of its doing precisely that. They waited for me to get there so I could spend a few minutes with Mike before he was taken into the machinary of death our society prescribes. He looked pretty awful, though not as badly as he might have. I could not bring myself to touch his face, so I rubbed his chest and tummy instead - he was covered by a clean, white sheet - as I cried and told him how much I loved him, how sorry I was I had not been able to see him in the few days before he died, and how very much I would miss him. Even through the layers of sheet, the chill of death was obvious and I think that, though they may have tried to revive him, it was likely far too late when they found him for any hope of waking him up again.

Mike's memorial service was Friday, May 27th. The funeral home was able to make him look a lot better than he did when I last saw him on the day he died but, because thay were not embalming him - we were not having an open casket funeral - it never occurred to me they might have to freeze him instead, at least I think that's what they did. He wasn't just cold, he was hard all over, too. Sorry if this offends or upsets anyone, but it is just a part of the reality of what happened this past week.
It really upsets me, too, to think of my brother's brain being frozen and I am not sure why.

Part of the memorial service was the showing of a DVD my (our) sister made about Mike's life and accomplishments - he was a talented poet - and it was not only moving and well done, but also so much "Mike" that I think it touched everyone who watched it. Part of the DVD included a song titled "Today," that was recorded by John Denver. Mike and I used to sing that song together before his voice changed. We sang it over the phone to our Grammy El, who said it was "sweet" and got all sniffly. Our shared genetic heritage, as well as our young ages, melded our voices into a sweet brother/sister harmony that seems all the more sweet, and heartrendingly poignant, now that Mike, half of that harmony, is forever gone. Our other sister has her special memories, as well, and has been struggling to come to grips with the loss of our brother from the perspective of a younger sister, while I struggle as the elder sister. Our brother Mike was special from both perspectives.

Dad no longer has to worry about what will happen to his only son when he is passes on, although he knows I would have done my best to help and care for Mike in his absence. It is truly sad that the cost of that burden being lifted from the shoulders of a loving and concerned parent comes at the cost of the life of his only son - what a crappy way to have a burden lifted! Poor Mike and poor Dad! The relief must not seem like relief at all knowing that Mike is gone and that is the reason the "burden" has gone, too.

As with any situation of this kind, there have been many discoveries for me about my brother. Most have been more reminders of things long forgotten in the onslaughts of life, although some have been revelations. I don't know if I ever knew that Mike was told his intelligence made him a "national resource," but it was mentioned at the memorial service. Mike declined to become a national resource, by the way. This was before the breakdown into the mental illness. And I had forgotten that Mike entered college as a sophomore because he had earned so many CLEP credits.
There were reminders of some of Mike's zanier moments, some of his more frightening episodes, and some of the heartbreaking times when a silly older sister found comfort in the thought that her troubled younger brother might have actually fathered a little girl that "Aunty Liz" would have loved to help care for and love. What a comfort it would have been to have a child of my brother's to care for in the wake of his death - and I am not even sure why this feeling is so strong in me!?!?!

From the time of his breakdown when he apparently was given some sort of hallucinogenic laced pot to smoke and was rescued from the highway by one of our uncles, to the weeks before his death when he insisted that he needed the cigarettes to help treat his "wet lungs," and no one could convince him otherwise, memories have been coming back, some creeping back slowly, others in a headlong rush. The winter Mike was lost in Concord, NH and the police couldn't find him anywhere during one of the worst snowstorms in years; he kept dodging into alleyways and other hiding places because he thought the snowplows were out to get him. He was terrified and so were we. We had to wait at home due to the weather, when what we wanted was to be in Concord searching for Mike, hoping we might, somehow, magically be able to find him where so many officers and city workers had failed.

Another time, again during a snowstorm. the state police found Mike walking down a very barren and seldom traveled road at night. He was convinced that he was Sir Somebody-or-the-Other and that he was heading somewhere he was supposed to, instead of off into the woods on a remote road maybe never to be seen again. There were the multiple hospitalizations and group homes; homeless shelters, soup kitchens, jail cells, apartments invaded by human vermin that prey upon people like my brother. There were multiple cats that ended up being rescued by one of us or by one of Mike's friends, not because Mike did not care about them, but because, in his illness, he was not able to care FOR them. One of his kitties, Dixie, gave birth to a litter of kittens that we ended up knowing for their entire lives - except for Streak. Dixie's kittens ended up being named Pudge, Paws, Edwin Muir, Charlie, and Streak. Pudge and Paws were my babies their entire lives, our youngest (and still surviving) sister had Edwin Muir, Charlie belonged to a friend for his entire life, and Streak was given to the people who bought my parent's house and, as far as we know, ended up living in that same neighborhood for his entire life. Tuxie and Bootsie were the next of Mike's kitties that I and my boyfriend adopted. Tuxie died fairly young due to heartworm. Bootsie died several weeks before Mike. Both Bootsie and Tuxie were buried with my brother. We had them cremated so they could be buried with me when the time came, but Mike had such a poverty-striken life in so many ways. The mental illness just stole from him what could have been his. Letting him be buried with two of the cats he had originally owned and cared for was the very least I could do for my brother. I hope they are teasing him for affection as I type.

So many thoughts! So many memories! Some inappropriate, some irreverent, most just sad and stemming from the indescribable lonliness that comes from having to say too early a farewell to a loved one.

So much more to one lifetime than can be expressed in one blog!

Mike, I will love you for the rest of my life!

Your sister,
Liz

In Memorium

2011-05-24T12:14:00.002-04:00

My younger brother, Mike:
August, 1959 - May 24, 2011.

If you smoke, please quit. If you're thinking of starting, please don't.

I loved my younger brother very, very much and will miss him sorely for the rest of my life.

Izzlebug

Heartaches In Abundance

2011-05-03T02:49:00.003-04:00

While much of the world, though far from all of it, rejoices at the demise of Osama bin Laden, in my small corner we are, yet again, facing the prospect of more surgery for my significant other, the waning health of my fragile and fading grandmother who, if she makes her next birthday will turn 92, and my hospitalized in ICU brother, who is the most gravely ill of the three.

It is difficult to put into words an adequate description of my brother. So much has been lost to his illness - the budding promise of genius, the powerful intuitive intelligence that made us wonder, the creativity that amazed and amused - and yet, he is still very much "there" in an extreme and strong sense of the word, and still very much my brother. And tonight he is perhaps closer to death than he has been before.

We realized when my mother died of primary pulmonary hypertension - despite having given up smoking more than a decade earlier - that it was likely we would see my brother go in very much the same way. It looks like he has entered that downward spiral from which there is no return. If there is any true justice in this universe, all of those people who worked so hard to get people addicted to smoking so they could make their fortunes will get to spend eternity watching those they love dying, time after time, in the same way my Mom died; which is now the way my brother is dying, too. I can think of no other end that would be suitable for such avarice and poverty of morality and soul.

I love you, little brother. Despite our mature years you will always be that to me. In my heart I will always be your older sister wanting to rescue you from the bullies and that skinned knee I know will hurt so much if I let you fall. Please wake up again and tell me about all of the wonderful books and discoveries you have made in them. Open my eyes to a world I cannot see without your help, your excitement, and your insight. If you leave now I will feel blind for the rest of my life!

Please don't go so soon.

Your loving sister,
Izzlebug

The Qu'ran Says That Mohammed Said That Gabriel Said That Allah Said... What Was That Saying, Now, About Too Many Cooks?

2011-04-24T22:44:00.004-04:00

I'm being a little facitious here, but I will forgive myself, as it is a reaction to the ramblings on the internet by both a secularist and a Muslim who have chosen to attack Christianity in the same way some people have tried, to Christianity's detriment, to defend it; by taking scripture verses out of context.

The secularist is , well, secular. Enough of that. But, to a certain extent I cannot really find it in my heart to blame the Muslim individual because of all of the attacks upon the Qu'ran that also appear within and without cyberspace, too. When one has an affinity for certain literature of a religious nature it tends to make one a bit prickly to have it castigated repeatedly.

At any rate, the verse/verses in question are part of the many verses found within the Christian Bible, mostly the Old Testament, that describe the negative or more violent actions or commands attributed to God. The first verse that always springs to my mind when dealing with this particular matter is Psalm 137:9 where it seems that those who delight in the Lord must also take equal delight in braining the infants of His enemies against the rocks. Not a pleasant thought by any stretch of the imagination, and a verse that has caused a great deal of consternation for the more peace loving amongst us. However, it was not comments upon that verse that drew my ire this evening, but upon Acts 13:11, which by itself does not give a very accurate view of the context within which it is found. By the way, it was the secularist, NOT the Muslim, who stuck his foot in my mental doggie poo tonight.

The following is quoted from an online copy of the New International Version of the Bible:
(The items in brackets are what I have added in an attempt to help clarify the context of verse eleven.)

Acts 13:...6,7 - "6...they [Barnabas and Saul] found a certain sorcerer [a.k.a. Elymas], a false prophet, a Jew, whose name was Barjesus: 7 Which was with the deputy of the country, Sergius Paulus, a prudent man; who called for Barnabas and Saul, and desired to hear the word of God."

Acts 13:8 - "But Elymas the sorcerer [a.k.a. Barjesus] (for so is his name by interpretation) withstood them, seeking to turn away the deputy [Sergius Paulus] from the faith [Christianity]."

Acts 13:11 - "Now the hand of the Lord is against you [this is Saul speaking to Elymas]. You are going to be blind for a time, not even able to see the light of the sun..."

The website of the secularist lists the eleventh verse under "Bible Atrocities." I have a feeling the Muslim individual might know better than to take this one on in his ramblings due to the differences in reactions that would have happened in a Christian versus Islamic sort of way; Saul merely blinded the man "for a season." Had Elymas committed a similar act against the teachings of Islam, the Qu'ran charges the Muslim to kill him without compunction.

Such is the yield, so far, of my foray* into a study of current religious issues.

*Check the definition in the Oxford Dictionary - the word somehow seems unusually appropriate here. (I am chuckling quietly as I type this - just so you know.) Life and the reactions of others yet to determine the final definition!

This being Easter Sunday may have a lot to do with my frame of mind tonight. I managed to help my friend get out to visit her family and then I took my brother some candy turtles to say "Happy Easter!" Then I headed further north to drop off an Easter gift for my niece. We chatted for awhile and I think she enjoyed her gifts, which included a bouquet of roses. As she, her little brother, and their dad are traveling for a week starting tomorrow I suspect the enjoyment of the roses will be short lived, but she seemed pleased by them despite upcoming events.

This Easter morning was beautiful. The sky was mostly clear, the sun was soft and bright, the breeze was fresh, the Spring flowers blooming in abundance. It also got up into the 70s, degree-wise. It was wonderful! Days like this, especially with today being Easter, have always made me feel the blessings of God far more than the burdens of life. He rose again.

Peace.
Izzlebug

Messy, Messy!

2011-04-13T14:39:00.002-04:00

Given everything that has gone on in the past few months I suppose it is not too unusual to have really messed up my sleep and medication schedules for awhile, neither of which has produced any positive results in my life. I am fighting to regain control of my sleep schedule (i.e. "was not up all night last night") and have managed to remember to take my medications for one whole day in a row, so far (yuck, yuck!). I am feeling better for having gotten more and better sleep last night and finally getting back on my meds - my thoughts do get REALLY wierd when the blood levels drop - so I think its not too early to start claiming a victory, barring any unforseen, yet to happen, horrid or horribly distracting event.

My sweetie-pie ordered some books for me one of which was the Oxford edition of the Qu'ran. I chose this one because I felt it was likely to be the more scholarly of the choices available to me at the time and I was disappointed to find that, despite my hopes, according to the introduction to the copy I purchased I now own the "rosy glow" copy instead of the scholarly tome I was looking for. Oh well! Hopefully they were able to maintain some of the poetry of language in this translation that is supposed to make certain passages in the Qu'ran so beautiful, as well as keeping the integrity of the original meanings of the texts, etc. In this same book order I also received some books by an author who is supposed to be an expert on the Qu'ran and Islam. I find him a bit sarcastic but he does seem to know what he is talking about, so I feel I have found the two extremes here for my intellectual consumption; rosy glow versus severely critical. It should be an interesting study.

It is a grey and rainy day here in New England and I confess the weather matches my mood quite well. I guess I am just really tired right now - tired of the insects; carpenter ants, moths, beetly things. Tired of the mice - cute and beautiful creatures that they actually are, they are also unsanitary and horribly destructive and belong OUTDOORS! Tired of the stopped up sinks and bathtub drains. Tired of the mold and mildew everywhere in the walls. Tired of trying to get ahead of the water damage to the house. Tired of being tired and in pain most of the time. I guess I'm just plain old tired!

Despite the above, there is still much to enjoy in life, and a lot to look forward to being able to accomplish. There are many warm, dear friends to spend time with, many relatives to visit with, the kitties to watch and love, and that is just the tip of the very long list. (Maybe that's what is making me feel so tired!)

Of the many projects that need to be taken care of here, I am hoping to manage getting an office space set up for myself upstairs. I will need help, and since I am not the only busy person I know, that may prove difficult, but hopefully possible. Once that is done I think I will begin to feel more of a sense of accomplishment than I have had to date, despite the huge amount of work that has already gone into getting this house whipped into some kind of acceptable shape for merely living in! (Sigh!)

I remember, well after I started this blog, seeing the movie "Julie and Julia" and thinking how nice it would be if people wanted to start sending ME money and gifts and stuff, too. Then I realized that what I needed most from people was their time and effort in helping to physically get our home cleaned up and rearranged - a VERY different situation than that in the movie! (Although money and gifts are still VERY NICE things to receive :-) and I would not be upset at some of those instead of offers of actual, physical assistance at the house - just to be clear.)

Anyway, enough of those meanderings. I need to sign off and get busy with errands and such. I hope all of those who may encounter my words here will be entertained and amused; assisted in some way to their advantage and, maybe, comforted.

Love,
Izzlebug

Thank Goodness For Distractions

2011-04-07T22:27:00.003-04:00

Given that things have been difficult to cope with this past couple of weeks, I have tried to distract myself by taking part in some interesting pasttimes and events. One of the things I chose to work on was a code that the FBI made public, asking people to take a look at it and see if they could help figure it out. It has flumoxed some of the very best in the code-breaking world and they seem to hope new eyes on the problem might gain them some new insight or a possible solution. Anyway, it did seem to help distract me from the loss of our sweet, old kitty - which was the point - and I'm hoping my theories, etc., which I emailed in to the FBI via the page they set up for that specific purpose, might be of some small help, or at least on a par with those who are finally able to solve the riddle of the code. It would be nice to find out I was good at something, anyway!

Another thing I decided to do, more to get myself up and out of the house, was to attend a dinner and lecture being sponsored by my alma mater's alumni association. The event was this evening and was a lecture given by a young man who has been the advisor on issues of security and counterterrorism to two past presidents. It was a very interesting evening but left me a little frustrated and with a lot of questions I would have loved to been able to ask - darn the time limits on busy individuals who know so much interesting stuff!

Anyway, I guess my main question/thought right now is whether or not the nations of earth will be able to maintain their own unique national autonomy and character while the United Nations maintains accountability of nations to/for one another and within and for themselves. I do not feel the world would be a better place if the UN ended up as the single, ruling/governing international entity - too many squabbles and too much corruption on an international level and not enough idealistic fervor on an individual level - and would, ultimately, threaten or destroy one of the two things that make nations strong, the first being unity, the second diversity.

Of the three cats we still have left (the "girls" are still with us) one of them is snoring softly on the footstool beside me under the desk. We had to keep the two pairs seperate due to negative interactions we could not seem to get around, but there seems to be more possibility that we will be able to fully integrate the remaining three given a little more time. So life goes on, a little emptier and definitely more forlorn for the time being, but moving inexorably forward.

Blessings and Peace,
Izzlebug

"Why does loss release Love's poignant song?"

2011-03-29T14:58:00.003-04:00

Despite the best efforts of all of us, owners, vet, and Bootsie; we had to let our wonderful Bootsie slip away while he was still under anesthetic only a very short time ago. What they found in his mouth besides the rotten teeth was too much for him to wake up to, we thought - probable cancer, very aggressive and nasty looking, so we let our pet, our friend and companion of many years, leave this life without more pain, to fly free. We will miss him sorely.

Although most religious material is somewhat mum on the subject of animals even having souls, I believe that God was not so stingy that way and gave them something a little more pure, more innocent and unrefined, than what we humans take so easily for granted and destroy with our own actions and words with so little thought or regard. Bootsie certainly had a great deal of love in his heart - I was on the receiving end of his affections many times, he was able to express concern for his people, as well as a variety of other apparent emotions and emotive processes that all lead me to the one conclusion the says, "SOUL." If there is anything this cat "owner" can do to help her pet find his way into the afterlife, it will be done, albeit with tears and heartbreak, sad thoughts and many empty hours for days to come.

He had beautiful golden eyes and loved to purr and rub - it was his way of snuggling. I went over to see him this morning and we had a "snuggle and purr" session that I wish could have lasted longer, but then I would have been in the way as the vet's office became busier with the needs of the day, so I had to leave, too early; too early.

To Bootsie

I wish I could sing for you, my friend
A song to take you to Heaven and back again
A chant to keep you free and clear
Of any obstacles you may now have to fear
Although I hope there are few, or none,
To block your trip to your new, and better,
Pain-free, home.

A lullaby to let you know, to remind,
Of the heartfelt memories and genuine love
You must leave behind, but please,
Take some small piece of my unworthy human heart.
Remember me, my loving friend
Though, in this life,
We must part.

Love,
Momcat

My Cats Are My Kids

2011-03-29T00:20:00.003-04:00

Unlike many of my contemporaries and one of my younger siblings, I never managed to procreate. Instead I have pussycats and right now the oldest one is at the vet's waiting for dental surgery tomorrow afternoon.

Bootsie is a sweetheart of a kitty with big, intelligent eyes and a gentle demeanor that is belied by his habit of picking on the other kitties because he is the biggest and can. I am, for the moment, calm but have been crying on and off because I am so worried about him. Not only is Bootsie positively antique for a cat, he is also in kidney failure - though stable and not in apparent pain, may be hyperthyroid - with an elevated heart rate that is a concern to our vet, and has a miserable infection from several broken off and rotten teeth that need to be removed in order to get completely rid of the infection - hence the dental surgery. I know there are some very powerful arguments for having an animal in this condition put down but I hesitate for one reason only, Bootsie does not seem to WANT to be "put down." He is still eating very well and loving being loved, so if we can get him through the surgery without incident (or, at least, alive) and get this infection cleared up, he may yet have several months during which we can love, adore, pamper and treasure our beloved "Boo-zilla." We won't know what's up until later tomorrow, so I sit here and type in the interim, hoping and praying for a feline miracle for my wonderful and loving pet.

It occurs to me that I may have embarrassed the vet tech this evening when I told Boots that "Mum mum will see you tomorrow." I do have some sense of humor about my besottedness where my cats are concerned but, as stated before, they are my only babies, my only children, which makes my emotional investment in them perhaps a little more intense than might have been the case otherwise; I really cannot say for certain, having always loved cats from the time I was a small child.

I do know that my unconditional love for my cats has everything to do with their unconditional love and acceptance for me and their absolute lack of evil or sin - those are things only for people to know in their hearts. Always innocent, I am ever mindful of their place in my life and their trust and need for my care for them, which I sometimes fail to render with sufficient concern or energy, due mostly to a lack of energy of my own or true ignorance as to what it is that is ailing them.

There, my "Mommy" creed and true confessions of a cataholic. I do not wish to ever take any of it back.

Izzlebug

Japan

2011-03-15T14:06:00.003-04:00

After waiting several days for the initial shock and grief to wear away enough for rational thought to prevail, I am still not certain that is the case, I now put "pen to paper," so to speak. It has been about thirty years since the last time I was in touch with any of the few people from Japan I have been acquainted with in the past; thirty years since their names and faces have crossed my mind at all. In the past several days, since the reports of the earthquake and tsunami, however, their faces are what come most immediately to my mind as I hope that they are all, somehow, OK following this terrible disaster in their native land. A short-term friend, two professors, a study partner, and a childhood Brownie Girl Scout companion; all Japanese or of Japanese descent with only one of them likely still here in the United States.

My "short-term friend" is named Kenji. He was here for a short while attending a class at one of our universities before returning to Japan and his employment as an executive in Japan's steel industry. He wrecked his knee playing soccer while he was here and that gave us the opportunity to get to know one another somewhat, otherwise he would have been off playing all sorts of sports and too busy to bother taking time to speak to an overly shy American like me - at the time. Upon his returning to Japan I presented him with a Gummy Rat for his nephews. I hope all of them are now safe and well. I hope none of his family have been lost to this horrible occurrence and that they will be able to overcome this time and thrive once more.

To my former language professors and my former study partner, I wish the same things. I know my professors were not impressed with my efforts or skills, but I know my study partner and I parted as friends. I hope she and her family are safe following all of the upheavals of the past several days. I wish I could send her that hug we both felt like giving one another but didn't because it would not have been "the thing to do" in the middle of the UNH campus at the time.

The rest of my response to what is happening is still in the "Dear God!" range, so I will continue to wait; wait for some form of coherant thought, for some sort of peace, for a calming of my heart, but that will likely never occur or at least not for a very long time. My thoughts and prayers are with Japan right now and my hopes are for a speedy recovery and many wonderful rescues and reunions despite all of the losses and horrors still being discovered.

Izzlebug

The Supreme Court Clarifies Things Once Again - Life is Still a Two-Way Street!

2011-03-02T13:36:00.005-05:00

According to a recent news story received via the internet, it is legal for the ultra self-righteous amongst us to hold protests at funerals for soldiers killed in battle; specifically those soldiers who were openly gay. In my humble opinion, it may be legal, but it is far from "OK," as stated in the title of the article I just saw. (I think it was on MSN.com or UPI, but I'm not absolutely certain.)

Since when did a funeral become more about the former lifestyle of the deceased than it is about those left behind trying to find some comfort in their intense heartbreak by holding a ceremony to memorialize their loved one? For any group to so openly and savagely rejoice in the deaths of others' loved ones, particularly when those deaths have occurred during war time, in service to our country, is to invite retaliation. Haven't we seen enough of that in endless past examples from the Middle East, among other places and situations?

These protests need to be seen as a two-way street, and the fundamentalists who staged the initial protests at a gay soldier's funeral (I hesitate to refer to them as "Christian") should consider that there may eventually be those who will choose to rejoice and "protest" at the funerals for some of their loved ones. This latest Supreme Court ruling opens the door for that to happen LEGALLY.

Is my point getting through or am I muffing it here? JUST BECAUSE WE HAVE CERTAIN RIGHTS UNDER THE LAW DOES NOT MAKE IT OK TO ABUSE THE SPIRIT UNDER WHICH THOSE RIGHTS HAVE BEEN GRANTED! I do not know how to state this any more strongly. I hope someone is listening.

So, while it may be legal for me to protest at the funeral of someone I have strongly disagreed with or condemn, it is still an action that is provoking in its emotional overtones and aggressive in its nature. It is picking a fight with grieving relatives and friends and is extremely insensitive and tacky at best, and emotionally explosive if the situation races out of control and a mob mentality takes over, at its worst. THIS NEEDS TO BE AVOIDED, especially now that the law has stepped back and can/will no longer move to prevent such potentially eruptive situations from taking place due to such "protests" now being protected by Freedom of Speech.

Although people may disagree, fundamentally, with any public honors being granted to these soldiers, they can hardly deny that these men and women died bravely serving their nation without the presence of solid proof of cowardice or dishonor BEYOND the soldier's CONSTITUTIONALLY PROTECTED AND LEGALLY PERMITTED CHOICE of sexual preference.* The honors were, and are, legally and morally earned, something many of the "protestors" may have never experienced for themselves directly or collaterally. These honors should not be rescinded unless actual proof of some perfidy on the part of the honoree, directly relating to the honor in question, can be produced in a timely manner. THEN protest, with hard evidence, in court. The argument would be they did not serve and die bravely - despite their homosexual preferences - and therefore due to cowardice or dishonor should not receive, or have noted publically, honors for their actions. We already know they were gay.

The kindest way to handle this, I think, is to consider those whose gross insensitivity to the pain and loss of others, whose mindless cravings for attention silence arguments for kindness, patience, truth, civility, compassion, forgiveness, - traits of any person of good conscience (a "good Christian?") - as being misguided and/or ignorant. YES, the Bible condemns homosexuality and it IS considered one of the BIG sins, but IT IS HARDLY THE ONLY "BIG" SIN LISTED. Why aren't these people also protesting at the funerals of adulterers, abusers, rapists, murderers, thieves, frauds, gluttons, liars, molesters? How, in good conscience, can you be more tolerant of certain BIG sins than others? Why are these people so virulantly vicious regarding this particular sin while seemingly soft, publically, on the rest of the REALLY BIG SINS?

Perhaps it has to do with this particular sin being more public, as it has needed to be, in order for the people concerned to fight ignorance and prejudice, cruelties and inequities, and to claim their Constitutional rights as adult human beings and United States citizens. Perhaps it has to do with fear on the part of those protesting; Christians are not supposed to walk in fear. (Note: not everyone is Christian and feels or understands repentance or sees the need to sincerely repent.) Homosexuality is as forgiveable a sin in the eyes of God as any of the other, more secret and subtle, sins listed equally beside it. Maybe homosexuality just isn't SNEAKY enough anymore to squeak by the protestors like all of the other sins. If homosexuals were to become more quiet about their lifestyles once again perhaps the protestors would feel differently about the whole issue. The matter certainly deserves more thought and attention, more compassion, before things run out of control.

Also, to pinpoint accutely, to so thoroughly isolate and concentrate, your efforts in one single direction is to magnify an issue OUT OF PROPORTION and to MISUSE VALUABLE RESOURCES that could be having more of an effect elsewhere. THAT OTHER SINS ARE JUST AS, OR MORE, HEINOUS AND IMPORTANT TO FIGHT AGAINST than the issue of a decent and respectful funeral for a fallen soldier who also just happened to be gay, is unarguable. The funeral and the honors, the grief and the loss, are NOT the sin!

It should also be noted, for the record, that whereas homosexuality/lesbianism is NOT CONTAGIOUS, hatred, ignorance, and often violence, seem to be. A little more food for thought.

* Presumably, these people have not victimized, deliberately harmed, killed or deprived others of their freedoms and Constitutional rights and legal priveleges because of their choice of sexual preference - which takes homosexuality out of the realm of a sexual perversion, such as pedophilia or sadism. Again, my humble opinion.

Thank Goodness Others Are There

2011-02-27T03:03:00.002-05:00

I am so glad someone was keeping an eye on things and called me to task about my slip up with the names of two very different women in my last post. "Thank you!" to Anonymous for their time and trouble in contacting me so I could correct the mistake in my blog!

Izzlebug

A Missing Child

2011-02-26T01:38:00.003-05:00

This week my attention has been grabbed more by the ongoing story of the little boy from Oregon, Kyron Horman, than my own packet of woe and misfortune. That he is likely dead, and has been so since he went missing, is certainly tragic, but the ongoing grief of his parents and the so far seemingly fruitless efforts of law enforcement to make any significant headway in their investigations make the entire tragedy even more raw and horrifying. Now the easy to dislike step-mom has to contend with Kyron's mom in full-attack mode as Desiree Young carries her battle into Teri Moulton's home territory.

I was a little concerned that I, too, was getting on some sort of witch-hunt bandwagon where the boy's step-mom was concerned, until I remembered that she, herself, brought most of this grief on her own head. Her lies, her infidelities, her refusal to cooperate, her "tough" demeanor, to name just a few characteristics and actions, have certainly made her very easy to dislike and have placed her squarely under the microscope of public scrutiny and suspicion. I also felt the same way initially about Pamela Smart - that she knew more than she was letting on about her husband's death - when they first interviewed her on television. Sometimes my first impressions are not so far off base, but that is hardly proof of the type required to issue arrest warrents or win convictions in court. I just hope that justice will prevail this time, too.

I guess the things about this case that stick most firmly in my mind are the impression I had that Teri Moulton was NOT talking about Kyron but about her older son when she said she missed her son - strange because it was in the midst of the furor over the initial disappearance of Kyron - and the feeling that she, too, knew more about the case than she was telling. I also recall an interview with Kyron's mom where she said that Kyron had begged her not to make him go back home with Teri. I had heard or read not long before that about another child who had been murdered by someone he had begged not to be made to go with as well, so her statement hit me a little harder than it might have otherwise, although now I can no longer recall who that other poor child was or who killed him (or her).

As more recent circumstances have disposed me more to prayer than I ever anticipated taking part in at this point in my life, I find myself praying for Kyron, his mom and dad, and that, if innocent, his step-mom finds peace. Otherwise I hope that when Kyron is found, where and how he is found will clearly point to what happened and who is responsible and that they will, at the very least, spend the rest of their natural lives in prison, because I do not think Teri Moulton could have done this so completely on her own I use the plural.

Kyron, I hope you get to come home soon.

It's Been Longer Than I Realized!

2011-02-13T03:01:00.002-05:00

So much has been happening over the past months and weeks I totally lost track of how much time had passed since my last blog entry. Of course, losing the internet connection yet again did not exactly encourage me in my efforts to keep track, but we now seem to be back on line with some certainty of remaining there for the moment, so I thought I would go ahead and blog for a few minutes.

On February 7th, my boyfriend got to come home!!! The last time he was at home was last May or June some time, and I was a little apprehensive that it would seem odd, after all of this time, to have him back in the house. Nothing of the sort! In both good ways and not-so-good ways (grrrr!), he is back home and it really feels pretty normal despite the concerns about the new, and permanent, health issues following his liver transplant. Bootsie punished him for about a day and a half before climbing up on his lap to be petted and purr like he had almost forgotten how. It was funny and touching to see the cats each greet him when he sat down in the living room for the first time, after everything had quieted down that afternoon.
I am not picking on him too much because I think some of what is a little aggravating is just him stretching his wings back home after having been in the hospital for such a long time. It must feel pretty good to get to choose what you want to eat, instead of just what happens to be available that day on the menu, etc. He is also regaining a tremendous amount of personal space and privacy that are simply not possible when you're in the hospital, as well.

I, on the other hand... (think in terms of picking up after a very big, very happy, very messy kid).

My hopes for the house project being completely done before he came home were dashed by the reality of the situation. There is still just too much to get done to have everything fall into place yet, but things are getting there and help does seem to keep arriving from unanticipated directions that keeps things moving forward.

Recently there was the (remote) possibility that I might have gotten to be on a reality-type show about people with hoarding issues - not the more spectacular ones, but a new show that is supposed to be a little more clinical (?) in its approach - but it turns out they really want someone they can start pretty much at the beginning with, and I am actually much further along than they are interested in documenting. Oh well, I guess my fifteen minutes of fame will have to take place elsewhere and on some other level. Maybe it was because I told them we would have to get a different color of mold for the basement since the black, icky stuff we found several days ago doesn't bring out the color of my eyes at all! Sigh!

My absolutely gorgeous niece is participating in some sort of talent/beauty/dazzling white teeth pagent this weekend, but I ended up not feeling well enough to attend, which stinks. I figure if she complains about my not being there I'll just lay it on thick about my throat being all phlegmy and gross and at least she didn't have to hear me gargle out "There's my niece!" to the entire audience! It really was a little more serious than that though. Over the past four weeks I developed pneumonia, started to recover from that then developed a really miserable sore throat while on the antibiotics for the pneumonia, and found out I had mono! My initial reaction was, "How did I get mono at my age? I haven't been making out with teenagers!" That one made the doctor chuckle and I ended up learning a lot more about mono than I ever wanted to know. My throat is finally feeling better, but only just, and I am spending quite a bit of time trying not to "spread the joy," so to speak.

I really should sign off now and get some rest. I've ended up keeping some very odd hours lately, but things should become more normal now my Pookie Bear is home! (That is what I call him when he complains about my other pet names for him. It reminds him that things could be worse - perhaps something we all should keep in mind when facing life's onslaughts.)

Blessings and peace,
Izzlebug

Finally, I'm Back On Line!

2010-10-28T04:56:00.002-04:00

The miracle of our electrical and internet connectivities has come through again and I am able to blog once more. Maybe that's good, maybe not, but it is certainly a relief for me. My significant other continues to improve, although very slowly, but it's definitely RECOVERY instead of the horrid and insidious decline he was experiencing before - essentially death - so we will take it, and I hope anew each day for more signs of his being able to return home and our lives returning to some semblance of normalcy at some point in the relatively near future.

The kitties are all a joy and a trial - at the same time - and it will be good to have "Daddy Cat's" steadying influence back in the equation again. Bootsie, in particular, misses him, and I hope they are able to get together soon for snuggles and rubs as they both seem in dire need of the therapy they offer one another during their sessions together.

Things with my brother have gone quiet for the moment after having gone a little ballistic for a week or two. Likely causes were his refusing his meds and his feeling neglected - which he has been, at least by me as I have struggled with trying to visit my "s.o." and get the house cleaned up and ready for his return home - a VERY major effort due to several years accumulation of "stuff" that went largely ignored while we were being battered around by life these past few years. It has ultimately resulted in a hoarding issue that is taking a lot of effort on my part AND on the part of several very kind people to try to resolve so my "s.o." can come home to a clean and healthy home when he is ready. What a mess and what a project it is!! The one really good thing that I do notice for me in all of this is that I am really getting a lot of my priorities straightened out and I am becoming more focused as the project progresses. So, in the mean time, Mike has been sorely neglected and is running low on his quota of fast food lunches and one-sided conversations. He does seem to enjoy joining me in feeding french fries to the sea gulls, though.

I truly hope and pray we never have to find out how to deal with anything worse than what we have already been through. I think cancer, death, leukemia, breast cancer, liver failure, and the house falling apart around us are sufficient for one lifetime, thank-you!

We in New England are supposed to be having a couple of beautiful days coming up and I hope the same will be true for most of the places that have been dealing with storms this week. A little sunshine and warmth would be very welcome.

Izzlebug

A Lot Has Been Happening

2010-09-11T02:58:00.002-04:00

I did not realize how much time had elapsed since I last blogged. So much has taken place, not the least of which is that my significant other has gotten a liver transplant! (August 29th!) Up until that date there were only tales of woe to record as he became more and more ill, stepping ever and ever closer to death. It felt as though we were spend what we had of life saying, "Goodbye," while at the same time trying to maintain the hope he might yet manage to survive. Thank God he has survived! Each day is another step away from the imminent end we thought was coming and a step toward a new beginning for both of us.

Someone asked me, during one of the worst of the moments of his illness, if I was praying for someone to die so he could get his liver transplant because by that point in time he was too sick for the partial transplant provided by a living donor option. I immediately was able to tell the person inquiring that, no, I was not praying for someone to die but, recognizing that we all do die eventually, I was praying that, of the people who were likely to pass away in our area within the needed period of time, that one of them would be an organ donor and compatible with my loved one so he could have his transplant. God answered those prayers and I feel as if I have my miracle in life - the one that lets you know, deep in the very heart and soul of yourself, that God is indeed real and that He cares and hears our cries in times of greatest need.

So now we are on the road to recovery, although with more than eight months of practice headed in the other direction there is still some emotional shifting going on. Worries that were once so prevalant, though still clinging to some extent, are fading rapidly, such as the moments I tended to wake in the night needing to call to check on him whenever he was in the hospital, too ill to be here at home. The fear that clawed at my heart is rapidly becoming distant in memory, although there are new anxieties waiting in line to take the place of the old ones but, somehow, they do not feel quite as threatening as the prior worries and fears. Despite the difficulties that lie ahead due to possible rejection issues, medication schedules, immunosuppressant precautions(?), and desperately needing to get the house in order for his eventual return home, a great weight has gone from my heart and mind. Life is now the order of the day. Rather than preparing for death all our efforts now are going into preparing to live! Definitely a better place to be!

Eventually, the Organ Bank will be contacting us about getting in touch with the donor's family. At least this is what we have been told. I would like to say here that my immediate reaction, upon learning of the gift we had received and that my sweetie-pie had made it through the surgery and was doing well, was extreme gratitude for the kindness and sacrifice such a gift entails and a strong desire to express my sympathies to a family who had so very recently suffered the loss of someone very dear to them in order that such a gift was even possible for my loved one to receive. So my joy was tempered with a shared grief with the family of the person whose death had enabled the continuation of life for my life companion and best friend. Thank you for that gift. We may be only two middle-aged, old farts; fat and dotty about our pussycats, but he means the world to me and losing him would have been more devastating than anyone else could possibly realize. I would never have wished such an event on your lives, but I am very grateful for the compassion and generosity of spirit that it took for the decision to be made to donate organs at such a time.

There you have our past two months in a nutshell.

Here's hoping all goes well for all of you in your lives, and that you are at least as blessed as we have been, but hopefully in more pleasant and less trying ways.

Love,
Izzlebug

One More Week

2010-06-14T23:11:00.002-04:00

Just one more week to go before we see the transplant people. He looks so yellow and "scrawny around the edges" right now that I have a hard time with crying jags on and off (mostly off). All told, we're not doing too badly, although he may have to be hospitalized before we see the transplant people in order to get toxins cleared out of his system and fluid buildup drained off.

This is all so frightening and strange for us. We realize that the nurses and doctors we deal with see this all the time, and I try to base my attitude on theirs -if they do not seem too concerned I try not to be too concerned as well - but since this involves the one man I love most on the face of this planet there are those heart-rending moments when the tears flow and the fears creep in through the crevices you did not realize were there until that precise moment. Just one more week!

Friends and neighbors have been so kind and have been helping us as they have been able but it is amazing how much stuff you accomplish around your own home without realizing it until you can't get things done and have to ask others to help you out! In addition to my sweetie-pie's being so ill, my knee blew out and I am hobbling around on crutches. I may be doing some preemptive "ouching" but not very much. The darned thing hurts! Hopefully it is just a mild sprain and will heal soon so I can get back to chores that so desperately need tending to during this time - we can't ask friends to do EVERYTHING! That would be way too much.

Thus our lives continue to unfold during yet another time of crisis. May your lives be more peaceful and far more kind.

With much love,
Izzlebug

June 1st, 2010

2010-06-01T21:10:00.002-04:00

Today has been an odd sort of day. It started, for me, at midnight last night with a crying jag. I had a fifteen minute pity party because of the state of "everything" in our lives at the moment, thus feeling somewhat better before I went to bed. Then, after getting up later than I should have, I checked my email and found one from a friend that cheered me up immensely. Not such a bad day after all.

My sweetiepie is still so sick and, I surmise, is likely to remain so until after the liver transplant. His first appointment to discuss things is coming up shortly and I am waiting rather impatiently for the day to arrive so things can get rolling so he will be well again. In the mean time there is so much to deal with I expect the time to pass fairly quickly.

Over the past decade, or so, while deaths and cancers and other various and sundry tragedies have been besetting our families, things have gotten away from us in the form of lots of stuff all over the house. Now that I am finally getting to the point of being able to deal with it at all - and it still feels overwhelming just no longer "impossible" - I am at a place where I desperately need help taking care of things. Since my sweetiepie is unable to help with the project, I have been looking into other possible means of getting things done, mostly for his sake because of the upcoming transplant. It will still take awhile, but I think it will be something that can be accomplished reasonably in several weeks time without too much undue stress all around. At least, I hope so.

Just as I was signing in to my blog I heard the lovely chorus of sound that lets me know one of the kitties has just urped up their food again, so I must cut this short and find the urp and get it cleaned up before it gets stepped in (eeWWW!) or something. Still love the kitties absolutely, though.

Hope your days are peaceful, bright and kind.

Love,
Izzlebug

Too Discouraged To Write

2010-04-26T19:16:00.002-04:00

Life finally delivered the blow that actually shut me up for awhile...my sweetie pie needs a new liver, which is what has been making him so very sick for such a long time now. This past month has been a nightmare in many ways, but also a testament to the healing and regenerating powers of faith and nature. The depression work group has had a somewhat erratic schedule and last weeks meeting was rescheduled due to the absence of the "moderator," who definitely needed the break. So we will meet again this week and catch up with one another and see how the suggestions have been working out for everyone else, as so far I am lagging far, far behind the rest of the group due to everything else going on in my life. (I do not know how to write sagging shoulders and an exhalation of resignation and despair, but they took place at this interval in the writing.)

Although Spring is slow in coming due to chillier weather than I prefer, we have still been having some lovely days with wonderfully bright sunshine and soft breezes that waft through the house chasing away all of the winter's doldrums and fustiness. The cats enjoy the open windows as well, and it is fun to see them light up in anticipation of being able to sit in an open window in the sunlight for a few minutes while they watch the birds flying overhead, and dreaming pussycat daydreams while their fur warms in the glow of impending summer.

My nephew has gone off to school in Florida for a few months and then will, hopefully, be employed in what sounds like an interesting and challenging career for him. He has matured so much since his mom died, and is doing so well just in the choices he is making and the way he handles things now, I just know she would be as proud of her son as I am of my nephew.

That is some of the news of the moment, but far from all of it. So much has been happening and so much needs doing that I can only spend this time writing right now because I am taking it from some other necessary chore or activity. As it happens, I have been doing that as much as possible lately, in part to protect my knee, which decided to blow out at the worst possible moment, and in part because it helps keep me a little more sane than I might otherwise find myself. I justify the inactivity as a way of protecting all of us from me going ballistic and driving everyone else nuts...which takes way too much effort, so we are all quite safe.

Hopefully, others' lives are a little gentler, a little better organized; saner, kinder, more properous and more fun.

Love to All,
Izzlebug

Just Like Home - Not!

2010-03-25T23:00:00.002-04:00

The day of my Aunt's funeral service, my sweetie pie and I ended up going in to the emergency room, sent there by his general practioner's PA. It is probably just as well that I was unable to make it to the service, etc. as I have been really weepy and blue lately and would have been even more miserable had I gone to her funeral service (her burial will be later this Spring and I am hoping to make it to that, at least). And, to top it all off, we still are not sure just what is going on with my significant other's medical condition!!! Is "bummer" really a word?

There has also been some more "Oh, goodie!" news regarding my health, although nothing quite so upsetting as that of my partner in crime. The "doctors" (the names and specialties vary and change accordingly) have determined that I have a very, very little, tiny bit of scoliosis in my spine. The physician I spoke to did not believe it has been the cause of any of my back pain issues and it likely does not need any type of treatment at all, which is just fine with me, but it does explain why I have, now and then, felt as though I was listing to the left a little - because I was! The second "new" discovery is that I may have (please note the mention of possibility rather than the statement of fact here), maybe, fibromyalgia. Blahhh! It might explain a lot of my pain, but it does not seem to me that I have the same issues you hear about in the ads for Lyrica, and such, so I am feeling somewhat sceptical, but will try to keep an open mind and see how things play out.

It would be wonderful to have something really, really positive happen once in awhile: "Congratulations! You just won the lottery!; etc. (I'm too tired to come up with much of anything else right now.) At least Spring has arrived despite the direction my life always seems to be heading - an almost constant downward spiral trailing off into an infinite wasteland of woe - a bit prosey, perhaps, but it felt good to type it all out and just be a little ridiculous for the moment.

I missed my second group meeting (the depression work group) because it was the same day as the emergency room visit and my Aunt's funeral service. I did, however, make it to the third meeting and it really does seem that I will be learning some very valuable things about how to cope with depression and depressive thinking patterns. Hopefully I will not miss any further meetings as there are only eight in total. Some of the other members of the group seemed a little perkier this time around, so between the group and Spring happening,we should all be a lot better by the end of the sessions.

I just heard the door open. My sweetie pie took out this enormous amount of garbage from my having cleared stuff out of the refrigerator and freezer that had accumulated over a long time (I would make a guess but it would likely gross everyone out)and he has just come back in to growl at me about how much the trash bin weighed (I don't blame him, it really weighed a lot!). Maybe, if we're really fortunate, we'll get a bear tonight, fishing stuff out of the trash can! Probably not, and I would have to call Animal Control if we did because there are too many pets and children in our area, but it would certainly be something more interesting to write about than my usual stuff!

The weather was beautiful today. Not in your "blazing glory of sunlight" kind of way, but in the softness in the air that heralds the changing of the winter into the gentler seasons of growth and renewal. There is life in each breath taken on such a day, and often peace to be found in taking a moment here and there to just "be." It is difficult to put into words, at least adequate words. It is the effort of passing a feeling to another person hand to hand, placing it gently into the palm of another and saying from the heart, "Here. This is the peace of this day for you. I want to share it." Please know that is what is very much contained in my ramblings here.

Blessings,
Izzlebug

In Memorium

2010-03-11T19:18:00.000-05:00

Auntie Bert
August 1941 - March 11, 2010

Hurry Up and Wait

2010-03-10T21:15:00.003-05:00

Despite a condition that seems totally incompatible with life, my aunt continues to linger, though each passing day brings her closer to the end. Her family waits and watches, standing vigil by her side and making sure the pain medication is delivered precisely as needed and on time. They will call all of us when the time arrives.

In the meantime my life and that of my sweet and loving life partner have been turned up on end with a major illness for him. I find myself feeling like crying at inopportune moments and trying desperately to hold onto every possible hope for his recovery and continued survival. It is difficult to do while we are still in the "finding out" phase of things which happens much too gradually for my emotions to tolerate when it involves someone near and dear to me. It is also difficult to know he is very uncomfortable, though feeling somewhat better following a medical procedure endured yesterday for the first time.

It also happens - and it could not have happened at a more appropriate moment - that I have started a depression work group with one of my therapists that really seems like it is going to help me learn to cope with things at least a little better. I may not feel any better, but I will "cope" better, I guess. Even my therapist thinks we have had a lot to deal with, well above the norm, so although there are others who have had more to deal with on occasion, I am definitely amongst the ones in need of assistance of this type and I am looking forward to the process and just hoping to complete the group before all hell breaks loose in life again.

On the way home from the group session last night, I got the idea for a poem. It is a little maudlin but I hope still somewhat lovely in its imagery. I offer it to you here:

Soft, soft the dew has fallen
Upon the fallow sod
In Winter's wake,
Upon the graves of those,
In hope, with God.

Sweet, sweet the kiss of sunlight
Upon the earth's sear brow.
In Winter's wake
The gardens rest and wait
Through wind and snow.

Gentle the cloak of darkness
That with the nighttime falls.
In Winter's wake
God's mercy lives in dreams
Of Springtime's call.

Blessings and peace,
Izzlebug

The March of Time and Telling Death to Shove It By Continuing to Live

2010-03-01T00:44:00.002-05:00

As may be evident by the title of this posting, we have not yet heard that my aunt has finally passed. My hopes and prayers are that any pain is under control and that her family is dealing as well as can be expected with the time between; this is the most difficult time of all. In other circumstances you often take the attitude that "no news is good news," but in this case no news is simply no news and so we wait and wait some more, knowing that the news, when it comes, will be sad; knowing full well ahead of time what that "news" will be and not really wanting to hear it, yet needing to hear it, if that makes any kind of sense.

On other fronts, there has been a lot for me to deal with emotionally, and the situation with my aunt just makes me a little shakier for everything else. I have been very weepy and hypersensitive and this has made dealing with my significant other's health issues even more trying. I think, for the first time, it has finally hit home that we are both aging and encountering health problems that could eventually lead to our deaths. This is not such an unusual thing for a couple in our age range to encounter, but because of my many health problems both current and past I think that somewhere, in the back of my tiny mind, I had decided I was the one likely to "go" first and therefore had not really faced the issue of losing my sweetheart and having to survive him instead. Hopefully, the problems he is currently having will prove to be very treatable and not too serious, but it is frightening being in the "not knowing" phase of things right now.

Another event coming up for me is a counseling group for people dealing with depression (Now why in the world would I be depressed?) that my psychologist has recommended I try. Since the grief counseling group I took part in was so helpful, I am eager to try this group in the hope that it, too, will prove to be as helpful in teaching me to overcome some of the weaknesses that have left me in this state as well as prone to even harder bouts with depression under more stressful circumstances than this, which our families have definitely encountered in the not too distant past. I will try to keep my postings about the group current so if anyone needs or would like to know how things are working out they can read about it as it takes place for me.

There has also been so much really sad news of late; the earthquakes in Chile, the suicides of two young men from famous families, the abuse of infants by a very young father...the list could go on, but I think the point is made. There is a lot of bad news in this world and much of it, such as the earthquakes and the aftermath, are beyond the power of humanity to prevent or to cause. It makes me wonder why we, as a species, seem so intent upon creating more grief for ourselves and those who love and need us by behaving in such horrid ways and by doing such inexcusably rotten things when there is so much that nature already throws at us. Isn't there enough pain in just having to survive nature's ravages without any of us adding to the overall burden with destructive or self-destructive behaviors, cruelties, indifference, prejudice, hatred? It's something to think about, isn't it?

The week to come is full of appointments and paperwork; sorting and donating. We work at trying to get all of the extraneous stuff out of the house so that we might, finally, be able to fit in some guests on occasion. It also is going to be a week of more waiting, more worries and more tears. I suppose that we all have weeks like this now and then, but hopefully few and far between.

May your week be sunnier, your family healthier, your joints less stiff and your hair less gray than ours. Blessings.

Izzlebug

Saying "Good-bye"

2010-02-24T20:52:00.004-05:00

Before I begin, I would very much like to apologize for my irreverance of late especially my last posting. I was extremely overtired and stressed and this lessened my control over my natural irreverant streak, hence the toe-dandruff.

With that said and done, we have had some news of my aunt who is still clinging to life, although hovering so close to death every pause in her breathing must cause her family to almost stop breathing as well. Tears and hand-holding should be the order of the day during this time, as well as the retelling of silly and touching family stories and, perhaps, the singing or playing of favorite songs that have been treasured and shared over the years. Just some thoughts, as everyone's and every family's path through this time is uniquely their own, but hopefully a helpful comment for someone somewhere, nonetheless.

My uncle thought she would be gone before this past weekend was done, but my aunt has not yet fully given in to death. She is still able to respond somewhat to her children and I am sure she is still thinking of things she wishes she could be saying to each of them even now. I hope her only daughter knows how special she is and always has been to her mother despite the ups and downs of their relationship - we all go through stuff like that. I hope each of her sons knows how proud they made her and how blessed she has been by the grandchildren each of her children has produced for her and my uncle to love and share with them. Most of all I hope she had the time to tell my uncle, just that one last time, how very much she has loved him.

My dear, dear aunt! I know my presence would be an unwelcomed interruption right now, but please know that my heart and thoughts are with you and your family tonight. I know the time is soon when you will have to let go whether you want to or not. I hope you are able to take a last, very peaceful, breath knowing your job on this earth has been accomplished to the best of your ability, that the love your family holds in their hearts for you will be part of what keeps you alive in your afterlife, and that we will all be OK, although it will take some time for that to be fully realized. It always takes some time.

God bless you, my loving "Auntie Bert" whose wisdom defied educational credentials and whose compassion was determinedly expressed even though it was often difficult, at least that is how it felt sometimes to me. You are one of the wisest people I have ever known and your counsel kept me away from more self-loathing and self-condemnation than I can begin to explain clearly right now.

I also hope that someone has remembered to tell the story of when your eldest was just a little guy and asked his grandfather (?) for a "clear, cool glass of water." It is during times like this that those stories take on the special significance we do not always realize they carry.

I remember when your oldest grandchild was still just the littlest girl, with those crazy-beautiful red curls and running around in her diapers. Her mother and I were standing in the dining room when she gave out the funniest, trilling laugh I have ever heard issue from any child in my life. I wish I could send that laugh to you now to hear; I wish I could send it to her mother, my cousin, to hear again, too. I know its silly, but it seems to me that those are the things, the smallest and most ordinary things from our mutual lives, that bring the most comfort at these difficult, impossible times. They are the things we can still share with each other, even though one of us is dying and the rest grieving.

I love you.

Good-bye, my lovely auntie,
Izzlebug

From the Subime to the Ridiculous and Back: Aging and the Battle Against Toe-Dandruff

2010-02-22T22:25:00.002-05:00

It greatly comforted me the other day to learn that my grandmother had been just as gray at my age as I have become. It made me feel a little less "old," if that makes any kind of sense to anyone else, and it also made me feel a little more hopeful than I have been for some time. I started thinking about all of the signs of aging we each experience in ways unique to each individual, yet still common to all to a great extent, and I began to wonder about toe-dandruff. Is it rampant or, like my hair that felt prematurely gray, is it something only I and others from a similar gene pool are experiencing as they grow older?

Whatever the case may be, I have decided to wage war against my toe-dandruff and have been stockpiling all of the necessary accoutrements for the war to be waged with as much success as possible. Would it be that I had been this engaged and organized about several other life experiences and perhaps some things would have proven more likely earlier than has been the case (sigh, sigh, sigh).

These seemingly ridiculous thoughts may also have a lot to do with the waiting we are all doing tonight as we have yet to hear anything of my aunt. In the stillness and peace of the evening, a winter's beauty for those so inclined to seek it, I wait and think of her and her family. They are together, that is all they can be right now.

May your waits be less poignant, your thoughts more elevated, and your moments more serene than mine have been tonight, although I think my aunt would have understood about the toe-dandruff.

Izzlebug

A Spiritual Departure

2010-02-18T10:14:00.002-05:00

This morning, as I woke up, it felt as though someone, or perhaps more accurately something, had departed from my heart or soul, lessening the burden somehow. It was just the sense of a moment and then it was gone as the cares and concerns of the day began to intrude, but still a more refreshing way to awaken than otherwise could have been the case. I of course wondered if it was possible my poor aunt had passed away just then but, not being "psychic" and all that, I will have to wait to hear either how she is (or is no longer) doing today. The cancer has invaded her brain and caused the vertebrae in her neck to crumble. There is nothing more medical science and compassion can offer. What she has left is the love of her family and their presence as she completes the journey of this life into the next stage of existence, for such it is whatever a person's beliefs may be.

My heart aches for her loss but is also strangely comforted knowing she will no longer have to deal with the devastating results of this horrid disease that has caused her decline and death. She will be truly free from all of the pain and burden the cancer has caused her, finally. That said, I know also that she leaves this life with the regret of having to leave it at all. Mother, grandmother, and great-grandmother, she still has so much to experience and look forward to, if only her corporeal being would allow it.

There have been many tears shed and many more will follow in the days to come. I sincerely hope I am able to offer some small margin of comfort and strength to my cousins and uncle who have been, and will continue to be, devastated by the illness and loss of my aunt for quite some time. It is one of life's small miracles that, as we recover from our own losses, we are able to help guide others through theirs if we so choose. I choose.

My cousins will have lost their mother, my uncle his beloved wife, and all of us the love and support my aunt tried to continue giving even through times I am certain she must have felt drained of all positive energy and ability to give, especially following the death of her eldest son, who I hope will be there to give his mother a big hug as she arrives; she will not be alone.

Another of life's small miracles is that, even as we are devastated by yet another loss, our family remains. We endure and survive. A small triumph in the face of our many losses, but still a triumph. We are here, we are together, we survive, and our families with us. It is both a comfort and a fact of life, providing one has yielded sufficient offspring to the environment and one's offspring continue to go and do likewise, but it is still a small miracle considering the intense pain we so often encounter during times of loss and injury or illness.

And so, we wait for news of my aunt. We wait for the pain and tears we know will come, and we try to somehow prepare for what cannot be rehearsed; what will always be an unwelcome shock to our beings no matter how "prepared" we may think we have made ourselves. There will be tears.

I love you, my aunt and my friend. I will miss you greatly. I will always remember what friends you and Mom were and that your friendship endured despite all of the failings and pitfalls so common in extended families. You meant a great deal to my mother and to me. I hope there will be no struggle for you. That your passing will be quiet and peaceful, surrounded by your loved ones, comforted and cradled by their presence.

God bless you and keep you, my darling and loving aunt.

Life as a Feral Wind

2010-02-16T21:18:00.004-05:00

Although there has been some degree of peace and quiet in our lives for awhile - hence the neglect of my theraputic blogging - it looks like the onslaught is gearing up to begin again.

My wonderful grandmother, at the age of 91, is now finally finding certain simple life tasks too difficult and no longer has the strength to continue taking care of certain things that she has fought so hard to maintain for these past several years. Age and frailty are finally taking that from her, too. It is not so much a shock as a sad recognition that, at a time when we will also be losing a beloved aunt to inflammatory breast cancer, we are also losing our stalwart grandmother who has been there our entire collective lives. Her decline may also be, in part, tied in to the decline of my aunt who, as one of my grandmother's daughters-in-law, has been very much a part of her life and her heart; mother of five of her grand children and as much "daughter" as "daughter-in-law." Perhaps we do, eventually, become too old for grief.

Throughout all of this, my poor brother still hovers, fading slowly as much a prisoner to cigarettes and fantasies as ever, but still very much my younger brother whom I love greatly. I don't yet know how he will handle the loss of our grandmother or our aunt, although I don't think he and our aunt were particularly close given the nature of his illness and the loss of her eldest son to suicide. Her family and ours were all very close in age to each other and Mike and my cousin were similar in interests and temperament in some ways.

I can feel that feral wind of life blowing behind me, growing ever louder, demanding attention and sucking everything dry in its path, as is its tendancy during gathering storms such as the one we are approaching yet again. Strangely, although one might think it would be a fetid wind, as well, it is not. Merely one that draws the marrow from your being and chills you through to the heart of your existence so you feel as if you will never be warm again; never feel life or love again. It blows through a soul and leaves a fossilized heart in its wake, one that used to be warm and beating but that now struggles to merely make note of its existence for others to witness.

Such is life and such is the price of growing older - if you survive you must bear the burden for all of those who do not survive with you.

There is the sound of gently falling water in the background, and the night has grown quiet. I think of all those I have loved and lost and all of those I have loved and still have with me and realize I am very blessed. I may not be quite able to explain it right now, but I know with an inborn conviction that it is so.

May we all know how blessed we are; how fortunate to know love.

Izzlebug

Stranger Than Fiction

2010-02-13T02:28:00.002-05:00

When I would get really angry - too angry to want to let myself go and yell all the horrid things I was thinking and feeling - I would picture any one of several scenarios I had created in my mind for dealing with such intense emotions and really let loose inside my head. I would scream as loudly as I could without making a sound. As it happens, one of those scenarios involved a dungeon room with a moat full of acid, chains, whips, cat-o-nine-tails, and antique swords and axes, battle pikes and maces. You know, just your normal, everyday torture chamber garb with a little modern tech in the form of a fire hose - for cleaning up afterwards - also included. This was one of the "rooms" in which I dispatched some of my very intense emotions by imagining, in an implausible way, dispatching those who had inspired those emotions within me. (Don't worry, I usually let them walk away - or skulk off - reasonably intact...imagination can be so much fun!)

So wouldn't you know that today I came face to face with a form of my "ragercises" made real. Some pathetic, vicious, waste of skin and space used an "antique axe" to slaughter a four-month-old baby boy and severely injure his mother after having used that same axe on his mentally impaired sister-in-law. It seems that all of the adults survived. The infant did not.

I have never owned, nor wanted to own, an antique battle axe. My tears tonight have been slow and painful; tired, weary, heart-broken. This man's sick and twisted reality has impinged upon the self-therapy that helped me deal with too many emotions that were either inappropriate or inappropriately intense given the realities in my life that seemed to spawn them. As my heart and mind were able to heal I visited these "rooms" less frequently, finding a new peace and calm within myself once the feelings I could not understand had been dealt with and sorted through; filed properly in the correct spaces of my mind.

Have you ever wondered why someone couldn't have just harmed themself instead of others, particularly those unable to defend themselves from such onslaughts? How do we, as a people, deal with such things within the contexts of our individual lives? Usually we just shake our heads and go about our business but, perhaps, we need to pause for a moment and think about this baby, his young mother, and the aftermath of the actions of a man who claims now to remember nothing of the incident.

Dear God!

So Many Plans!

2010-01-11T18:56:00.000-05:00

I am still alive, for those who may be wondering. I got lazy, then I got busy, then I got lazy again. That is usually what happens when I try to get too ambitious about things I want to do with my blog, or any other project for that matter. But, here I am, back at it and hoping to do at least a little better this year than in the last.

For an update on the Arizona story, I flew back out to Arizona and about ten minutes after my sister and her significant other picked me up at the airport and we were in line at the exit for Tuscon (in very heavy evening traffic, by the way) my sister's cell phone rang and it was the Cochise County Sheriff's Office calling to cancel the search due to a scheduling glitch! Her boyfriend pulled us out of that line of traffic so fast we both knew he was making only a token effort at interest in our grandmother's current whereabouts, but we forgave him over a very nice meal and comfy beds at a much earlier hour than we had all originally anticipated. It was a nice little vacation after my initial vacation, but I did not plan on going out yet again in December at the newly rescheduled time, which was just as well because THAT was also canceled due to unusually inclement weather conditions and may, finally, take place in February - maybe. My sister will let me know what's happening as soon as she finds out.

We also had a very nice holiday season, given the circumstances of our last several holiday seasons prior to this one, and I actually managed to get just about everything wrapped and delivered on time with only a very few exceptions. For me this is stupendous! However, now in the new year, we are awaiting tests and the results for another family member (other than myself) to see if they have anything ultra-wrong going on with their health (damn!). We are all still here and still together, those of us left, and we continue on with life and loving despite our multitude of setbacks and losses over the past several years. This year definitely was better!

It was also good to hear from an old friend who I met more than thirty years ago and who has, in that time has gotten married, given birth to - and then raised - five children, and still manages, with the help of her spouse, to send out a yearly Christmas letter and photograph. It still amazes me to see her standing there amongst those five full-grown adults and to realize I have watched them all (metaphorically speaking) come into being and grow up along with their parents. It hardly seems possible, yet the evidence is irrefutable. Perhaps, had I raised a brood of my own, it would not feel so surreal. They are all healthy, good-looking young people with incredible determination and drive, much like their parents. Excuse me while I give my head a shake just to get my brain to settle back down again.

Our adventures and projects seem so small in light of the lives of so many of our friends and family, but they are ours and it keeps us busy and out of everyone else's hair. Speaking of which, I actually have some, finally! It is growing back more slowly than I like, but it is growing back! Hooray!

We have been sorting and clearing a lot of stuff out of the house to help make room. It is a little discouraging in that it has yet to look like we have made much headway, but we plan to keep at it until it does look that way. We have made several donations to a local thrift store that supports a no-kill animal shelter, as well as to a church whose pastor, and some of his family and parishoners, really helped us out when Patty was so sick, after she died, when we were trying to close up her house and get things in order, and after I was diagnosed with breast cancer and was going into the hospital for what turned into three major surgeries in addition to the chemo (which was fairly mild, considering it was chemo).

I had overpurchased Christmas wrapping paper and such following Patty's death and during a depression that was far more intense than I realized at the time. As we got through stuff I found I recognized all of it but, at the time I was buying it, had had no conception of the actual amount of paper goods I was accumulating. I suppose it was one of the least expensive ways to express a depression - the bargain hunter in me is too strong to give in to full priced wrapping paper! - but it was an incredible amount of stuff. At least the church will be able to make use of it and distribute it to those who may not be able to afford any of these things for themselves during the next (several) holiday seasons. And my sweetie-pie gets a tax receipt to boot.

There is still so much stuff to go through and get rid of, fortunately there is no shortage of places where donations of this type of overflow are very welcomed and actually useful, unlike the place the stuff holds in our house; inert and in the way!
I suppose we are the proper age for the "empty-nester" behaviors I have heard about - mostly the decluttering activities and such, but it seems like we have filled our nest with things instead of little birds and that makes me feel a little lonely knowing I will never be a grandmother, never hold a child of my own, never experience the joy I have seen in so many parents lives when their children blossom and succeed in life's pursuits. I am very grateful for what I have, but I can still see what I had always dreamed of while a young woman still sliding away from me in the distance and sometimes it still hurts.

So, here's to a year without cancer, without wars, and without hatred and prejudice. May it be so.

Izzlebug

Tardy Again!

2009-11-13T14:44:00.001-05:00

I guess paperwork, phone calls and appointments are a lot more distracting than I realized since I have ignored my blog for almost a full month - yet again. However, things seem to be calming down a bit in that arena and I feel I have little more time for thinking than before since my return from Arizona. It was good to get home, despite the aforementioned paperwork, etc., and I enjoyed being with boyfriend and cats once again. There is also a lot to be said for sleeping in your own bed again, too.

It turned out I was wrong about all of the cacti being ready to bloom in October. They had already finished that, and what I thought were buds were actually fruit, so I did not get to see the profusion of blossoms I was hoping for, but I learned a little something more about the southwest. It also looks as though I may get to return there for a few more days this month as the result of a very sad event that initially took place about twenty years ago but is still going on today.

Sometime in about 1985, our grandmother (actually our mother's step-mother) lost her way on a winding desert road and then disappeared into the desert. Her car was found but she has not yet been located. On the 21st of this month the Cochise County Sheriff's Office will be conducting another search of the area where she disappeared. They will be looking for our grandmother in addition to searching for someone else, I do not know who the other individual is, and my sister and I will likely be at the command post while the search progresses hoping they find our grandmother so we can bring her home to be buried next to our grandfather in the small desert cemetary in Pearce, Arizona where the retirement community of Sunsites is located and where our grandparents lived happily together for many years. My sister has invited me down to be there on the day the search takes place and, barring any unforeseen complications, I will be there.

It occurs to me that we actually have a rather interesting family history considering all of the disappearances, murders, and such that have taken place, not to mention the medical issues that continue to effect each of our lives while this other stuff goes on. I am not sure I would know what to do with a less eventful life at this point, although it would definitely require more in the way of creative effort on my part to write about it and try to make it interesting.

For the time being, things are stable. Mike is just Mike. The emphysema worsens a little more with each passing year and each cigarette, but he is still with us for which I am grateful. My niece and nephew are both doing well and growing up so fast and so beautifully I find it not only hard to keep up but also very difficult to not burst with pride at how handsome and how beautiful they are. My grandmother is celebrating her ninety-first birthday soon and we are all preparing for holidays that do not look like they will likely be marred by tragedy, but we never know for certain and can only hope fervently we will have much to be grateful for following the passing of the season. Most importantly there is still a lot of love, a lot of caring and concern, and a lot of joy to be had for all of us as we spend the next several weeks hoping, praying, and planning for truly happy holidays. This year we do not look too much to world events, although we are aware of them, as it is a time for our families to focus upon one another after all of the difficulties of the past. We are truly blessed and this holiday season will, I hope, bring that fact home to all of us more than ever.

May all of your holidays and gatherings be blessed as well.

Izzlebug

Hello From Sunny Arizona!

2009-10-14T12:05:00.000-04:00

Hi! My younger sister (she-who-declines-to-be-named-in-my-blog) and her significant other very generously invited me to spend a couple weeks recovery time with them in Arizona. They had all sorts of sky miles saved up , so my tickets were free, and my sister had other business in New England so she came up and flew back with me. The difference in weather and terrain is so great as to make the initial experience seem a little surreal, but Arizona with its variety of succulents and flowers, mesquites and Palo Verdes, is rapidly becoming familiar as we drive around and I am able to take in the sights and sounds (and sometimes odors!) of this desert that is coming alive with its unfamiliar infestation of humanity. The above reference to odor is due to the moment I opened the car door and was hit full in the face with the scents of one (or many) of the stockyards that surround the Phoenix area. It smelled as though the desert had been both biologically and socially indiscreet, although that is not the way I initially phrased it to my traveling companions. So far that has been the only real negative to the experience, which has been very enjoyable thus far.

It is interesting to see the differences in approach to highway construction/landscaping/decoration here as opposed to the New England area. While in New England there is landscaping and areas set aside for fields of wild flowers, in Arizona there are entire areas of walls and embankment that have been decorated after the fashion of Native American-style art works. As you drive through the area there are the most intriguing pictographs of dragonflies and Gila monsters; geometric designs abound and designs clearly Native American in inspiration are placed so as to be visible from the air as well as from the ground, as I was able to tell upon my initial arrival at the Phoenix Airport.

I have so much enjoyed seeing all the different types of cactus that grow in the area, most of which appear to be native. The saguaros are really interesting and, as my sister explained that they do not branch until they reach an advanced age of fifty, or so, I have developed an increased appreciation and respect for the "branchier" members of this group of cacti. Many of the other cacti species are getting ready to bloom, there are buds everywhere, and I am hoping some of them will blossom while I am here. If not, I will ask my sister to email me some pictures of the coming events as they unfold. I have lost count of the number of varieties of cacti and other types of succulents that grow so readily here, but there are many of great beauty that I wish I could somehow safely transport back home with me to create a little oasis of desert in the middle of the austere New England winter as a souvenir of my visit here.

My sister and her boyfriend have a lovely home with a small pool out back, which I got to soak in yesterday. I don't think I have felt that relaxed in ages, floating under the Arizona sky with the gentle sun on my face, which did not scorch one inch of my pale and pasty New England complexion! It was wonderful just floating there and wishing I could go on floating there for a much longer time than I had to float in yesterday, so I may take some time to do so today although my sister will scold if I do so while no one else is home. (Sigh, sigh, sigh!)

In the meantime, I very much miss my boyfriend and kitties all suffering October in less temperate climes and will be glad to fly home, but will sigh for this weather for awhile after getting back. It really is lovely here.

Last night we went to a free concert at Phoenix College given by the Phoenix College Community Orchestra. It was in celebration of Halloween and all of the members of the orchestra were dressed in various costumes of their own choosing. The music, commentary, and some really bad jokes were all in keeping with the theme and it was a very enjoyable experience. The music was well played with few glitches (not that I am qualified to note an orchestral glitch should one occur) and the evening thoroughly fun with punch and cookies afterward.

This is my visit so far, aside from a visit to one of the local establishments to purchase replacement breasts (temporary) which my sister and a large number of others have been encouraging me to do since the initial surgeries last spring. I'll admit it has not been on the top of my priority list but more due to the chemo steamrolling everything else than to my not wanting to deal with it. There have also been some difficulties insurance-wise but mostly I have just been too pooped from the chemo.

So I will return to New England a little more "whole" than I left it, or at least with the appearance of being so, and will resume my life there but not without a brief sigh (or many) for the lovely weather and vistas I leave behind me in Arizona.

Blessings and peace to all.

Izzlebug

Finally, The Last Chemo!

2009-10-05T02:24:00.000-04:00

Although it has been better than a week since my last chemotherapy, I can still feel the relief of having the four cycles completed. It will be good to rest up after all of that and try to get back to more normal things, like growing hair, again. Whatever else may not have changed the entire experience of the surgeries and chemo, as well as the treatment yet to come that will take place over the next five years, has given me an appreciation for life and good health I feel I had not fully developed before. It will also be good not to feel as tired and worn as this experience has left me thus far.

Of course, given my family's history, my last treatment had to go out with a bang and it ended up being delayed by a week while I took large doses of antibiotics to overcome a respiratory infection. Afterwards it turned out I was still sick, respiratory-wise as well as chemo-wise, and I was placed on another antibiotic for a week "just to make sure." I will finish that up in a couple of days and then, hopefully, will be fully recovered - or at least as fully recovered as I can be for the moment. Being sick is a royal pain.

Again, there is so much going on around me that I am not sure what to write about but, as it has been for the past several months, necessity has forced my attentions more to me than they otherwise would have been, and I feel as if I have lost track of so much!

One thing that has proven very interesting, as well as worrying, has been the spate of books and information coming out in regards to Iran and their nuclear weapons program. I sincerely hope compromises and agreements can be reached with a minimum of misunderstandings and anger in this very perilous and serious situation. I also wish I had a greater understanding of the situation but, if I did, I would likely still feel I did not know enough.

This morning a horrible crime was discovered in a small town not far from here. A mother and her young daughter were brutally attacked in their home. The mother was murdered and the little girl, though expected to survive, was seriously injured with massive quantities of bones broken. This is the news the husband must have received by now. He has been out of the country on business. The connection of my family to this town is very familiar in that Patty and her two children used to live there and may have known the child and her parents. Though I never made my home there, I still feel shock and grief at what has happened and sincerely hope and pray the murderers are tracked down and in custody very, very soon.

It is late and that is all I can recall off the top of my head, although I know there is, as always, much more news than that to be discussed, thought of, and concerned about.

I also hope anyone who may have been reading my blog at all will forgive me for my neglect - I have had to attend to other issues over the time that has elapsed but am hoping to start writing in my blog at more regular intervals again soon.

Blessings and peace,
Izzlebug

Marching On

2009-09-04T11:24:00.000-04:00

Things seem to get backed up, somehow. Or, perhaps, that is not the right word, perhaps "crowded together, all at once" or "bottlenecked" might be better descriptions, but it has happened over the past few days to me, in a manner of speaking. Perhaps it is just news overload. Case in point; a small boy from this area has died after falling from a third floor window, the released journalists' claims make one wonder just how complicit at least the local governments of that part of China and North Korea may be in the human trafficking the women were investigating, Michael Jackson's family has finally been able to lay him to rest (I am glad they chose Forest Lawn), the more we learn about the universe the more hazardous our existence seems to become, Afghanistan is becoming akin to a funeral pyre, and now they have discovered a way to deep fry butter (gag!). Perhaps the way to deal with all of this is to discuss it here, thereby letting go of it; setting it free, in a manner of speaking.

First up is the five-year-old boy who died because he was doing what children do - testing his boundries while his Mom was busy somewhere else. I cannot imagine the intensity of the pain and loss that family is going through right now even though pain and loss are not unknown in our neck of the woods. My heart goes out to them all.

Next is the issue of North Korea's kidnapping of the two female journalists from Chinese soil with the cooperation of their Chinese guide. It is obvious there are many particulars here that are unknown, but I am not disinclined to believe what these women have had to say. Nor is it beyond imagination to realize that the local governments, at least, were complicit in the kidnapping and may have done it in an attempt to prevent the story of human trafficking in the area from being more fully revealed. I'm afraid I feel rather cynical here which is definitely coloring my perspective, however both North Korea and Chine need to make sure the local bureaucrats are not taking advantage too seriously of any autonomy they may have or feel they have, it does not look good for either group if they want to continue to be taken seriously on an international level.

The reason I mention Michael Jackson at all is due to the fact that it is not often such a delay occurs between memorial service and interment, although it is not unheard of, and the reason I am glad his family chose Forest Lawn over Neverland Ranch has to do more with my distaste for those who would desecrate his grave in order to take some piece of him away as a souvenir, which I find rather loathsome although I keep some of my mother's hair in my possession to be buried with me when that time arrives, so I do understand the sentiment attached to such mementos. I think his family will be able to rest more easily with Michael in a more secure spot and, as their peace of mind is of the most import right now, I personally feel they made the only right choice. They will also be able to have more privacy this way if and when they choose to visit the site. ENOUGH of the gawking people!

As if all of this local and national news is not enough to try our patience and frazzle our nerves, we continue to learn how we are surrounded by galaxies each centered by an enormous and deadly black hole, to include the enormous and deadly black hole at the center of our own galaxy! Goody! No one seems to want to interrupt this amazing flow of knowledge with any rhetoric about the fact that this earth has always been in that particular circumstance, that without the black holes it is likely that the galaxies could not exist in their terrifying and stunning beauty in the first place, and that there is not one blessed thing any of us can do about it except to perhaps allow ourselves one brief moment of cosmic level fear and, for those of us who do not wet ourselves during said moment, taking a deep breath and then getting back to our lives. I realize most people do not allow themselves to become so worked up about this that they literally panic, but such are the weaknesses of the species I feel obliged to rant about the issue at least once here in my blog.

I have also been wondering, as I hear of all of this via our ever expanding communications media, if "they" are correct about the light from far flung galaxies being as old as it is by the time we see it here on earth because if, as they proffer, its true that gravity effects the passage of time (A), and (B) that there is little or very disparate gravity between us and these galaxies (i.e. "space"), perhaps the time-lapse is faster moving than light speed where the gravity does not affect it??? This would mean there may not be a difference of quite so many years between us and the sources of light from distant galaxies. I also wonder if the problems with Einstein's Relativity Theory isn't more a matter of some missing exponential equation or component rather than not actually applying to things too subatomic for it but, as I am a history and English major and have very little knowledge of such things, I must merely be left to wonder rather than to ever really know, besides if I knew everything I would not be able to stand myself and would likely consider myself the most intolerable bore of my acquaintance, so it's just as well the way it stands.

Jumping from the cosmic to the merely international is not some feeble attempt on my part to denigrate the issues or importance of what has been taking place in Afghanistan over the past several days. People are dying, the Taliban is likely responsible for the majority of the deaths, just as they are blatantly and consciencelessly responsible for intimidating women and voters, and it seems unlikely that this nation will ever be capable of emerging from their primitive mindset into one of more modern tolerance and progressive thinking and action, which may have its bad points but is, overall, a true positive when given the current circumstances the country exists with and faces for decades yet to come. How many more of its people must Afghanistan lose before it finally realizes the resources and treasures that have been lost, destroyed by religious intolerance and base ignorance? It would also do well for those perpetrating all of these crimes against their own people to question whether their motives are not merely fodder for the plans of others who may be manipulating the situation from on high, never getting dirty or into danger themselves, and seemingly supportive of the simpler reasonings that often populate the minds of those at the lowest ranks of these situations, but whose primary interests actually have absolutely nothing to do with those motivations and will, ultimately, betray those working for them anyway. It's called government, diplomacy, politics and profits.

Finally, we come to perhaps the most tragic news of the day - deep-fried butter. Just the sound of it is artery-clogging. Don't we have anything better to do than find even more ways to destroy our health or kill ourselves? If certain religious groups who hate the United States will just have a little more patience they should have an entire nation with intact infrastructure (sort of) to inherit just as soon as the last of us keel over from hardening of the arteries.

There you have my rants but, at least on my end, the bottleneck no longer is a problem and I breathe easier having dissipated my burden sufficiently to any readers who happen this way in cyberspace. Hopefuly whatever is keeping your attentions focused is less problematic and just as easily resolved.

Blessings and peace despite any potentially cataclysmic events we have been hovering on the edge of for the past hundreds of thousands of years.

Izzlebug

Time Flies

2009-08-27T08:35:00.000-04:00

Its hard to believe that I have played blog-hookie for more than a month! I guess the chemo really has affected me more than I realized. I knew I just didn't feel as up to many things as usual but, over all, the effects have been mild - for chemo. The proof lies here, however, and my sadly neglected blog is that proof.

This morning I head off for the third of four chemotherapy treatments, so I am feeling pretty perky right now but will likely not be so lively a little later on today. I will also probably spend most of the next two days sleeping off the initial effects however the side effects are not anything like the horror stories I have heard from so many people and I feel very fortunate to be having such an easy time of it in comparison to so many others who suffer greatly while trying to eradicate their cancers. I am also bald, basically, which has been oddly freeing in its way, but also oddly uncomfortable and, as with the breasts, I want my hair back ASAP, too.

It is a bright, crisp morning here in New England and the sun is shining gloriously from a beautiful, blue sky. There is the sound of a small plane in the distance, the kitty fountain is playing its tune, but there are no sounds from the birds right now and I assume they are off in the woods somewhere getting their breakfasts. The house is quiet. The cats have found warm spots and hidden themselves as this is the first really chilly morning we have had for quite awhile and it feels good. A small dog barks in the distance and I know I have to be off getting ready for the days scheduled events. Perhaps I will be able to get a few phone calls taken care of and some paperwork accomplished while I have my chemo today, although the time does not seem to pass that slowly despite the lengthy spans needed in order to deliver the various drugs required prior to the chemo as well as the toxins themselves. The nurses are kind and at least I am able to eat, which a lot of other patients cannot manage, so I will have lunch to look forward to as well. For a treatment for an unpleasant medical reality things do not go so badly for the most part and I feel very fortunate.

Blessings on all who wander here. May your lives be more fortunate, happier, healthier, wealthier, and in every way better than what I have right now. If these things are so, I know the world is a happier and more peaceful place than we realize, as my life is blessed despite its negative aspects.

Love,
Izzlebug

Henry Louis Gates and the Cambridge Police - Peace is in the Offing

2009-07-24T19:28:00.000-04:00

As I read and hear more about the incident involving Prof. Gates ot Harvard University and his arrest on charges of disorderly conduct by the Cambridge Police Department I have become drawn in despite my dislike of such issues. During the time this has been in the news I thought Prof. Gates looked very familiar somehow and, leave it to me, I placed that recognition in a negative context before actually recalling the circumstances; I had seen him narrate a show on television dealing with the use of DNA as a tool for genealogical research. The moment I realized that was where I had seen him before the entire incident changed perspective and has gone, in my mind, from a very negative and potentially publicity seeking event into a tragic (fortunately not in the worst sense) event that was difficult not only on Prof. Gates but the responding officers as well.

Imagine the chagrin and humiliation Prof. Gates must have felt upon being confronted at his own home by the police when he is a man very likely unused to such embarrassments and socially questionable confrontations. (This IS all assumption on my part, so if it sounds like braying, well...) Imagine the disquiet and chagrin of the responding police officers at finding someone who they realized must normally be a very soft-spoken and calm individual so upset he was unable to contain his own paranoia - much of which they themselves could understand, too. It sounds as if the situation has played itself out in the best way possible in that the incident has calmed down and charges have been dropped, but they do raise some points that still need desperately to be addressed in our nation, that being the question of persons of non-caucasion origin being treated less than fairly by a legal system that, despite the incorporation of multi-ethnic officers and politicians, still predominantly over-incarcerates those of non-caucasion origins.

It also must have crossed Prof. Gates' mind that his friend, as in "Mr. President," would surely hear of this and his embarrassment must have been acute. Although seemingly inappropriate politically, I am glad our sitting president came to the defense of his friend. Were he a friend of mine I would like to think he would do as much for me as well.

I also applaud the Cambridge police officers for their handling of the situation. Often times it is difficult for an officer to know how an individual is going to behave in any given circumstance and they are trained to control the situation, which they did as quietly and discretely as possible. Unfortunately it was already too late to save Prof. Gates from the embarrassment he has suffered, but hopefully he will come to understand that his being so upset likely left the officers with little or no choice in the matter.

I just hope when the arresting officer, Prof. Gates, and Pres. Obama meet at the White House, they are able to relax in one anothers' company as well as forge ahead with some new ideas about what to do to help remedy some of the inequalities that still exist under a system of law so dedicated to equality.

Blessings and Peace,
Izzlebug

Normalcy Fills The Void

2009-07-24T02:07:00.000-04:00

Tonight I looked at a photo of Patty and my niece together, smiling. Patty was wearing one of her chemo scarves and my niece's eyes looked sad even though she was smiling for the camera and her Mom. I realized then that I had not felt that stabbing grief, that vast loneliness and emptiness for quite sometime; normalcy had crept slowly and inexorably back in and filled the void in my heart and mind where Patty's life used to take precedence. The areas that were filled by my relationship with my younger sister, left so achingly and devastatingly empty upon her demise, had been slowly filled again by life, mine, my niece and nephews', my other sister's, my brother, my boyfriend, the cats, and so on. It was after I saw this that I once again felt the grief I had not noticed missing until that moment of reflection. And so I write.

It initially started with the sensation of unreality as I looked at Patty's picture and experienced a feeling almost as if she had never even been here, that brought about the realization that the normal and everyday had packed the wounds and forced a healing that would have seemed indecent somehow if it had been a calculated and deliberate action or decision but was never either of those things. The memories needed little encouragement from that point and there we were, with more writing material than I wanted or anticipated and fond, sad thoughts of a sister whose vitality and vivacity gave more to my life than I can truly express in mere words. I must live what Patty's life gave me or it will never be communicated properly.

One of the venues for that communication is with my niece who, I think, objects to what she sees as "mothering" from me without understanding that all I am doing is "aunting" her. It does not help that I may also remind her of her Mom in ways neither of us is fully concious of on a day to day basis. My voice may sometimes sound like her Mom's, my profile, my mannerisms, some of my funny quirks of speech or expression - Patty and I were sisters, and I can only hope that my niece's relationship with her older half-sister will somehow grant her the understanding of how close that relationship can make you whether you intend it to or not. It is something born of a lifetime of relationship and genetic familiarity and not easily escaped. I also hope my niece will be able to forgive me for reminding her so much of her mother, it is very unconciously done.

Blessings and Love,
Izzlebug

The Spirit Is Willing...

2009-07-23T00:23:00.000-04:00

My mind feels so full tonight, there are so many things I want to type about; Susan Boyle, President Obama's healthcare efforts, the day in general...I suspect I could make the list impossibly long fairly quickly so I will stop there.

I just finished listening to Susan Boyle's first performance at Britain's Got Talent on Youtube and it still stuns me. She has the most beautiful voice and she chooses the most beautiful songs, as well. I think the song "I Dreamed A Dream" speaks more to me than many others might at the moment due to the chemo and prior surgeries this past Spring - which is also why I am picking up on all of this at a later date than everyone else on the planet...

Be that as it may, her success has inspired me and, if I can somehow manage it, I want to take a few voice lessons again, just to see if I can get back in the swing of things, and maybe get involved in another choral group again. I know I cannot hope to begin to achieve the success of a Susan Boyle, but I could still get a lot of enjoyment from singing again, even if I sing bald. (Pity Party!)

Today brought new people into my life and new acts of kindness of which I was the recipient. It meant all the more to me because the attention was necessary only because of my own short-sightedness. I really felt so stupid at the events that transpired - nothing harmful, just dorky and annoying - but people were still very kind and helpful and understanding, making a crummy situation for me more tolerable. I also met an older couple who have been doing the chemo thing for ages. The "he" in the couple is the one getting treatments and he seemed so strong compared to how I have been feeling! He is on his sixth (I think that's what he said) treatment and I have just barely gotten past my first one! I am such a woose!!

I was also going to write an open letter to our President regarding the health care reform he is trying to enact, but it will have to wait until later as I am fading and need to rest for awhile. (I still want to answer those other questions, too! They are not forgotten.)

Blessings and peace,
Izzlebug

Let's Add Some More Confusion To The Mix

2009-07-21T23:02:00.000-04:00

It occurred to me this evening, as I tried to settle down, a task made the more difficult by the side effects of the chemo treatment - I did survive afterall - and the ice cream I consumed too short a time ago, that the symptoms of my arhtritis coupled with the symptoms brought on by the chemotherapy are likely causing some confusion for the people who very kindly offer to help me in the grocery store who see me there but nowhere else. The chemo has added a lot of new, though seemingly minor, aches and pains that are more difficult to tolerate than the pains from the arthritis in knees and hip, but that have also changed the dynamic of the pain I normally deal with daily. There is also the fact that, not feeling well at all sometimes, I am getting more physical rest which helps lessen the arthritis pain and the chemo pain, but does not prevent such pain from regaining a foothold when I try to get up and about again. The part that must confuse others is that, from day to day, my pain can change and go from causing standing up to be excruciatingly painful to walking being the primary problem, although I think that may be more due to the chemo pain than the arthritis. There have been many times I have said with absolute conviction to others that the pain of standing up is the most painful part of my day, which it is on that day. It is also my most usual pain, in retrospect, but there are times I am able to stand up relatively free from that pain but then have difficulty with pain when walking. I recall mentioning this to my doctor and he said it is just the nature of the beast (so to speak) and fairly (my impression) typical of osteoarthritis. Of course, the chemo is now adding its own special brand of pain to the entire equation.

At least I can still taste the ice cream despite the chemo; french fries are almost a total bust, however, as is diet cola. I can't really eat anything too tart or acidic anymore because I find it is already starting to make my mouth a little sore and my appetite is capricious in ways I can hardly explain and find it difficult to cope with on a day to day basis. I know we'll get through all of this without going completely around the bend, but at the moment that feels debatable.

So much for the daily grouse session. I did get to see someone in the grocery store today that I had been meaning to call back for quite awhile. It is a woman who very kindly gave me a ride out to the hospital when my significant other was unavailable and I had no other way to get over there because of restrictions following surgery. It was really nice to be able to touch base and get caught up with her as well as to apologize for my not getting back to her during the interim period. If anyone understands about feeling overwhelmed by all of the surgeries and treatments, appointments and telephone calls inherent to this entire process, it is someone who has been there too, and she has. I am so grateful for the support and good, kind wishes of all of the women I have encountered, even if it has been for only a few moments, who have reached out to me during this time I am going through. I hope I am able to return at least as much to others as I encounter them along my path as well. The strength I have drawn from these meetings cannot be explained or easily expressed, nor can the beauty and bravery of these women I have met. God bless every one of them!

I am going to try to get out each day for at least a little while as I find that given too much time on my hands I start to dwell on the fact that I will be losing my hair in a little over a week. Me bald and shiny is not something I have ever had to contemplate before and I am not enjoying it now. I have all of my scarves (all new - I did not want to feel the stories behind used scarves) and my sun hat (critiqued by a friend who pronounced it the right hat for me) and my SPF100 sunblock. Now I wait for my greying locks to start coming out in strange clumps here and there while I debate whether it is better to look as if I have mange or just to go ahead and cut as much of the remaining hair off as possible; the second option is the most likely to be exercised, but I will cry.

It has also been pointed out to me that the chemo treatments will become more difficult to cope with each time, but my sister reminded me that I was already one down with "only" three more to go. I really wish someone would send me some lovely flowers or something, not that they would actually help but they might make me feel a little better for awhile - sigh, sigh, sigh!

It seems as if the rest of my life has been forced into a holding pattern by all of this other stuff. Where before my life was so full of pets and relatives, the life around me and my concerns for others; vast energies spent elsewhere, I am now forced by necessity to pay most of my attention in the direction of myself - yuch! (Well, maybe it's not that bad, but it still is not much fun!)

Perhaps I will begin to feel well enough to write some poetry or take a brief trip to some lovely spot I can report about here; try to grab back some of my life instead of letting the chemo completely take over everything. That should be a very healing thing I can actually manage to accomplish.

Blessings, good health, and peace.
Izzlebug

How Do I Pull Myself Out of This One?

2009-07-15T00:51:00.000-04:00

As the day for my first chemo treatment approaches ever nearer (less than two days, now) I find myself feeling more and more depressed and weepy. I'm not too sure exactly why, maybe just the realities all coming home to roost at once or something, but whatever the cause, it transcends my logical mind and reaches deeper into myself than I typically tend to look and I have yet to discern or explain it to myself satisfactorily. I do know it is inexorably linked to the many facts in my life that continuously remind me I am not ready for the chemo and all the resulting side effects that will be a part of the four months of treatments. The house is a mess, both of us are messes, the kitties are what kitties are, I have not been to see a dentist yet, and I do not have the mental and physical stamina I need to cope with even a decent fraction of the things that need to take place before my white cell count drops into the soles of my feet for the first time. Add to that having to cope with health insurance issues, financial difficulties, running as many errands as possible prior to my first treatment, and so on, and maybe the bouts of weepiness begin to take on a reasonable perspective. I am also still trying to heal up incisions from my last surgery, at least one of which may not be healing due to an infection (I see a doctor tomorrow) and the knowledge that the chemo will also retard the healing processes which my body seems to be so slow with at such a crucial time. I really do not feel ready for this, but suspect I never will even if everything were done to my satisfaction and there were no concerns to grouse about at all.

I have encountered many other breastless women in my travels over the past couple of weeks and there seems to be a rather strange comradery in meeting others who have traveled the same road ahead of me. They all smile and wish me luck and I hope they know those same kind words and thoughts are theirs from me as well. I had some rather wicked thoughts the other day about starting a dance group of breastless women to be known as the "Pockettes" a part of whose routine would employ the "stripper" music (Da, da, da...ta, da, da, da...) during which they would strut seductively removing items of clothing and, eventually (without ever getting naked, mind you) reach into the pockets of their bosoms and remove their prosthetic breasts, tossing them aside like gloves or some other article of superficial clothing. Perhaps a comic strip would be more appropriate for the idea, but the ending would be the same...a group of women who had all survived the ravages of cancer, who were all able to celebrate their survival, and who had all found their beauty despite having lost breasts, hair, and possibly other body parts during their ordeals. Maybe they could come out initially dressed in sequined red gowns and "strip" down to pink jumpsuits or something as modest...of course it would be "Breast Cancer Pink."

Another incident that took place at the beginning of last week was my grandmother landing in the hospital with, as it turned out, and infection that almost killed her. At one point no one really expected her to last the night. I could not have slept, so I chose to drive up to Vermont despite my still being in need of recovery time from various surgical procedures (I had a port for the chemo placed into my left jugular vein two days before we got the news about my grandmother) and ended up pushing myself a little too hard, but being very glad I went to see her, especially since she responded well to the antibiotics and recovered when no one thought she would be able to. She is now back in a nursing home until a cousin of mine and his wife arrive to live with her and help take care of her on a full-time basis. We really would go to a lot more trouble than this for her, both as individuals and as a family. It is the one thing I truly regret about never having had any children of my own; should I live to be the age my grandnother has reached (91) I will have no extended family to visit and care for me in the way we have all rallied around Gram.

I will admit I have been so wrapped up in my own little packet of woes I have not been as attentive to Mike as I normally would have been. I have been putting off or forgetting to return his phone calls and I feel very badly about this and hope to try remedying this fault over the next several weeks, although I may be physically unable to see him or talk to him much during my treatments. My youngest sister (She-who-declines-to-be-named) has been so helpful. She reminded me today that I really should go out and buy some nice clean buckets to throw up into and place them strategically around the house. She even suggested some disposable bags for the car - not something I have wanted to think about at all. It makes me wonder what else I have allowed to slip through the cracks because I did not want to have to cope with it.

Well, there you have the latest update on my cancer journey. I'm not sure when I will feel up to typing more, but as this entry has helped me feel a little better, voice some of my fears and insecurities, and get the worst of the day off my chest (along with other things...) I may do more typing than not during my treatments.

Blessings, peace, and good wishes for all who venture here.

Izzlebug

With the Approaching Chemo, It's Really Beginning to Hit Home

2009-07-04T00:29:00.000-04:00

It seems that despite the bouts of tears, nerves, and fears I had prior to the three surgeries I've been through since April 16th, It's the chemo that has been bothering me the most. I know my case is so completely not what my poor sister went through so I cannot honestly say if or how much of my fear may be related to what I witnessed her go through, but whatever the case is, I am not looking forward to the next few months and four cycles of chemotherapy that are scheduled for me. I also had a port-a-cath (?) put in yesterday (Thursday) and it itches, although the pain is subsiding fairly quickly. I now have this thing under the skin of my left chest that runs into my jugular vein, which is not a lot of fun to contemplate, but at least it will save my poor old hands and arms from any more needle sticks since they can use the port to not only deliver my chemo but also draw blood and do any injections for CT scans, etc. should they be necessary for whatever reason. I am also grateful that I am, essentially, cancer free as I go into these treatments in that the tumor was removed with all clear margins and there was no evidence of cancer in any of the lymph nodes removed. There was also no cancer present in either of my ovaries, fallopian tubes, or uterus when they were removed either except the doctor said it looked like my uterus was gearing up to go critical (my phrasing) as it was sporting some kind of pre-cancerous something or the other when the surgery occurred. Good riddance to all cancerous and pre-cancerous cells as far as I am concerned. Now the chemo to make as absolutely certain as is humanly possible, but I really am not looking forward to the next few months!

That is my update in one very large nutshell. News on other fronts ranges from my grandmother being in the hospital, to a family picnic which may be going down in flames (yet to be determined), to my brother not doing so well, to whatever. I am not in the best of moods at the moment, as the previous paragraph may have indicated.

Tomorrow I am hoping to spend some time with a good friend who just got back from vacationing in Montana and Sunday, if it is not being canceled, my significant other and I may be heading for that family picnic I mentioned earlier, although that also depends on how well I am feeling and if I can manage a long car trip up and back. My "Pookie Bear" (yes, it's a joke!) would do just about anything to get out of driving me to my grandmother's for the event but I am not quite up to driving that distance by myself yet, and may not be for quite some time to come. Sigh, sigh, sigh!

So. that is the latest in my personal saga of cancer and personal woes. I sincerely hope all of your lives are currently brighter and more cheerful, full of hope and promise, than mine seems to be at the moment, although I feel certain this is merely the storm before the clear skies and sunshine.

Blessings on all and happiness, also.

Love,
Izzlebug

Confusion Thy Name is "Middle East"

2009-06-24T23:37:00.000-04:00

If you have not read any of my earlier blog entries you will not have noticed my efforts to empathize on a religious level, to whatever extent I am able, with the general population and their more immediate leadership within the Muslim communities of the Middle East. However, I always knew I was missing a great deal but have always, until now, been too busy or distracted to try to discover the answers and thereby rid myself of the confusion I have been feeling when trying to understand the issues, major and otherwise. I feel I have made some very small inroads* into this area and I will share my minute wealth of knowledge, such as it is and such of which most well-educated people may already be aware:

I have learned that the two main factions (I do not know if this is an appropriate term to use here) within the religion and culture of Islam are the Sunni and the Shiite. Each group has its own political/paramilitary arm; the Sunni branch has Hamas and the Shiite branch has Hezbollah. Despite the fact that many muslims from both groups may no longer practice their religion as strictly as the clergy in the nations in question may desire, they are still very attached culturally to their heritage and find it offensive that anyone from one group or the other might take any liberties whatsoever at proselytizing the other groups members, and accusations of this fly thick and fast on occasion. The division between the two groups traditionally goes back to the death of Mohammed and the disagreements surrounding who was to have taken his place as leader of the religion which, as seems to be the case in most of these stories, was settled by violent action, thus creating an unbreachable schism between the groups forever. Iran, which used to be Persia, is Shiite, while most of the rest of the Muslim world is Sunni. This is part of the reason for the severe tensions within the Middle East itself, exclusive of any traumas imposed by other, non-Muslim, factors and nations, as Iran ramps up its nuclear weapons program. The Sunni Muslims see the Shiite Muslims as being heretical and it seems as if they would just as soon deal with some of them in a way similar to the methods employed by our early American forbears who dunked/drowned, hanged, torched, imprisoned, starved, tarred and feathered, etc., etc., anyone who deviated too greatly from the established norm of religious and governmental tolerance.

I have also been taking a quick peek at the Arabic language, although I am not going to be studying it, or attempting to do so, until I have mastered French. As I am singularly lacking in talent and drive in that direction, it will be quite sometime before I do more than merely glance at the books I have acquired, however just going through some of the vocabulary can be very enlightening. As I have looked through some of the more idiomatic (?) words and phrases used in the Arab speaking world, I have noticed that there are not any real equivalents to many of our ruder or more blunt English words and phrases. The Arab author of the particular book I have seen has used certain words that he assures the reader are approximate to the rude words in English, but he does not tranlate them, so anyone using them will not have any idea what they are actually saying should they be of a mind to try to express themselves rudely in Arabic. I think this is mean.

There are also words and phrases that do not have the same meanings in Arabic cultures that they do or do not hold within American culture with certain phrases taking on a much more serious connotation in Arabic than in English. This is also true in other languges as well and has led to some fairly serious misunderstandings both personal and political throughout human history, which is merely my observation as I think back to certain political fiascoes of the past hundred years, or so.

So far, this is the extent of my self-education on the Middle East, although I am trying to keep up more with the current events side of things as the election debacle and ensuing violence and the nuclear issues in Iran continue to unfold.

I once met someone from Iran. He was nice but talked far too much about how people of Persian descent often had blue or green eyes (I have green eyes but am of French, English, and German descent. I have also been told the same thing about people of Isreali descent.) and then he went on to describe some romantic dish made with chicken and pomegranite seeds or something like that. I thought it was a little obvious and a little silly, but he was a friend of my parents and I did not want to offend him, so I did not say much of anything.

So much for my forays into international circles. Sigh!

Hopefully, things will be resolved in the Middle East before any part of it ends up glowing in the dark for the next thousand years. It would be wonderful if people could just for a moment, forget their reasons for hating one another and think of more reasons to get along instead. Perhaps this would add the needed desperation to efforts at peace that have always been so lacking.

Love and Best Wishes,
Izzlebug

Whew!

2009-06-19T02:22:00.000-04:00

Made it, once again. My surgery on June 9th went very well and my recovery has been far less eventful and far less painful than my prior two surgeries. I have also been getting back in touch with people I did not have the energy to keep up with during the first phases of my cancer journey, so I have been doing most of my writing there instead of here.

This entry is titled "Whew!" for a variety of reasons (which will become evident as it unfolds) the least of which is that I am relieved to find that it is still possible to have an orgasm even with some of the equipment missing. It is different to some extent; still good, just different. I remember asking a friend who had a hysterectomy several years ago about this issue and she assured me it was, indeed, possible, but I needed to ascertain the fact for myself. There does not seem to be any problem that way and further recovery should make things even more possible, so no worries there. This is recorded publically in the interests of other females who might have similar concerns regarding their own pending surgeries. I hope it helps.

Another reason for the chosen title of today's blog is that it is always a relief to just wake up after having had surgery! I find that as I age I feel more and more vulnerable where medical issues are concerned, especially the issue of surgery. I am grateful to live where the medical staff and facilities are as good as they are. I feel very fortunate to have such good care available to me and to my loved ones and friends as well. It is a tremendous comfort and one not discussed often enough. I really wonder how many of us truly appreciate the level of medical care we have access to in this nation? I wish I knew how to say "thank you" more eloquently.

I am still hoping to have surgery to restore my breasts, and remain "flat" in the interim, but it will be at least until around the end of November or some time in December before that can be pursued due to the infection and the surgery to remove the tissue expanders, etc. Perhaps it will be a "Merry Christmas to me" gift if I am able to have the necessary surgery by then. I only hope there will be no further troubles of the sort already experienced and, in the meantime, have to admit to feeling somewhat deformed, too altered to feel entirely normal with myself yet not disfigured enough to feel quite as sorry for myself as I suppose others might under similar circumstances. At least (I hope, I hope, I hope!) I am cancer-free for the time being, and have only the possiblity of chemo still pending to cause a dark spot in an otherwise brighter future. I'll find out more about that this coming Monday when I see the medical oncologist again.

We went out and had supper with friends this evening and may do something tomorrow as well. This weekend I am hoping to have lunch with Dad and my step-mother in order to deliver a Father's Day card and an anniversary card since they will be going away for the week to celebrate their wedding anniversary together. As much as I love my step-mom, it still is a lonely feeling now and then to know that my own mother, and now a younger sister, are both gone. The older I get the emptier the world feels, although it is so full one wonders how it can feel empty at all!

I hope all who wander this way are having happier times and experiences. May your lives be more blessed in every way than mine has been, and it has been very blessed in more ways than I can ennumerate here.

Love,
Izzlebug

Back To Earth

2009-05-26T23:25:00.000-04:00

It has been ages since I have managed to get back to people who have been trying to get in touch to see how I've been doing over the past few weeks. Fortunately, there are other lines of communication open so they knew I was still alive, but there is something very satisfying in hearing directly from someone rather than merely about them, so yesterday I finally managed to email a friend who has been trying to call for quite awhile during this time of my not feeling like dealing with much more than I absolutely had to and then, this evening, I also called my brother back, who I had not realized was really very concerned about me and not hearing back from me all this time.

Mike sounded really tired. I hope I am able to see him sometime soon. It has been several weeks now that I have been able only to speak with him on the phone instead of seeing him to take him out to lunch and chat. I hope his health has not been in some sort of a decline while I have been trying to get through all of this surgery and other stuff. My niece's Dad lost his Mom the other day and, although she did not know her "other" grandmother very well, I am sure the loss will register over time. It seems our extended family, not just our immediate one, cannot make it through life with only one crisis in tow at a time. My heart's prayers, right now, are that Mike's health is not at the point where we may have to say another much too early "good-bye" yet again. We are all too well acquainted with grief.

After another day of resting the change in medication seems to have had the needed/hoped for effect in that the fevers and chills cycle that seemed to be developing has ceased and I am feeling much, much better. It's such a relief to realize it was "only" the medication rather than an infection the medication was not addressing! Huge relief on that front, now on to the rest - next surgery, June 9th (at present).

To Mike

You had the most beautiful brown eyes
Bigger than eternity in your small, handsome face
The curiosity and wonder
Brightening the color and expression
As your great mind grasped hold of so much more
Than your older sister's far simpler brain could manage
You saw the Universe through different eyes
Understood God in different ways
And knew I was worth the time to encourage
To read some of your favorite books
Although you seemed determined to always
Keep me in a lower place
At least that was how it seemed to me
It seems the roles are somewhat reversed these days
I would welcome a return
If I knew you could be whole again
My younger brother with the mind of wonder and fury
And your intelligence that always left me
Feeling an awe I cannot, even now, fully express.

The Rest of the Lessons

2009-05-25T10:56:00.000-04:00

I managed to track down the two remaining stories I liked and wanted to share here with anyone who might wander this way. I thought about being coy and just leaving the points I wanted to bring out hidden within the text of the first, but have decided to italicize instead, since the point I felt the story makes is not the punchline but found within the body of the joke itself. I also discovered that both of my favorite tales are really quite popular and have already received quite a lot of attention on many, many sites on the internet already - it's good to know I am not the only one with a sense of humor or (I hope!) the perspective I am hoping to convey here:

IS HELL ENDOTHERMIC OR EXOTHERMIC?

Dr. Schambaugh, of the University of Oklahoma School of Chemical Engineering, Final Exam question for May of 1997. Dr. Schambaugh is known for asking questions such as, "why do airplanes fly?" on his final exams. His one and only final exam question in May 1997 for his Momentum, Heat and Mass Transfer II class was: "Is hell exothermic or endothermic? Support your answer with proof."

Most of the students wrote proofs of their beliefs using Boyle's Law or some variant. One student, however, wrote the following:

"First, We postulate that if souls exist, then they must have some mass. If they do, then a mole of souls can also have a mass. So, at what rate are souls moving into hell and at what rate are souls leaving? I think we can safely assume that once a soul gets to hell, it will not leave.
Therefore, no souls are leaving. As for souls entering hell, let's look at the different religions that exist in the world today. Some of these religions state that if you are not a member of their religion, then you will go to hell. Since there are more than one of these religions and people do not belong to more than one religion, we can project that all people and souls go to hell. With birth and death rates as they are, we can expect the number of souls in hell to increase exponentially.
Now, we look at the rate of change in volume in hell. Boyle's Law states that in order for the temperature and pressure in hell to stay the same, the ratio of the mass of souls and volume needs to stay constant. Two options exist:

1. If hell is expanding at a slower rate than the rate at which souls enter hell, then the temperature and pressure in hell will increase until all hell breaks loose.
2. If hell is expanding at a rate faster than the increase of souls in hell, then the temperature and pressure will drop until hell freezes over.

So which is it? If we accept the quote given to me by Theresa Manyan during Freshman year, "that it will be a cold night in hell before I sleep with you" and take into account the fact that I still have NOT succeeded in having sexual relations with her, then Option 2 cannot be true...Thus, hell is exothermic."

The student, Tim Graham, got the only A.

A Talk With God
A man was taking it easy, laying on the grass and looking up at the clouds. He was identifying shapes when he decided to talk to God.
"God", he said, "how long is a million years?"
God answered, "In my frame of reference, it's about a minute."
The man asked, "God, how much is a million dollars?"
God answered, "To me, it's a penny."
The man then asked, "God, can I have a penny?"
God answered, "In a minute."

I hope the humor as well as the profundity I have found in these stories is also evident to any others reading them here. May you also be blessed by them as I feel I have been in that the lessons in forgiveness and tolerence, Divine perspective versus that of the merely human, does seem to shine through in these three short tales - at least for me.

The cardinal is calling his territorial area in the backyard, guarding ahead of time his nestlings and mate who may not yet be present. He is a bright glint of red in an ever more beautiful Spring and the bright sun and blue sky also gladen the day with their warmth, light, and call to freedom from the merely earth-bound. My spirit may soar even if my feet must remain firmly attached here on our small planet; our small plot of land floating in its endless universe alone. Surely that fact alone should be enough to convince us to put down the guns and bombs and choose to embrace one another as brothers and sisters instead of constantly bickering enemies always searching for more reasons to continue to hate one another.

Izzlebug

P.S. Instead of finding reasons to condemn today, which are very easy to come by, try to find reasons to forgive, reasons to grant clemency, a reason not to kill, not to demand power, not to give in to the fear or a vicious religious dogma that would take the life of someone who is loved and rend your own soul in the process as well. Curse them, if you must, but leave them corporeally unharmed and allow yourself to wake up tomorrow knowing that salvation is still possible and they are truly in the hands of God Himself instead of beyond all hope and redemption.

A Couple of Modern Homilies

2009-05-24T14:31:00.000-04:00

A man living in a small town that had become suddenly flooded was forced to seek refuge upon the roof of his house. During the time he was there he prayed almost continuously to God to come and rescue him. During the course of his prayers he heard a thump against the side of the house and, looking over the edge, saw a small boat with a life jacket rocking gently in the flood waters. He debated whether to get into the boat, but decided it would be too dangerous. Besides, God was going to rescue him, of that he was certain. He had faith. Later on, perhaps an hour or so, while the flood waters climbed slowly higher, a police launch happened by filled with people heading for safety. The driver of the launch got as close to the man's house as he could and encouraged him to climb aboard. The man thought about it and decided it would be too dangerous to try to board the launch with the rising flood waters raging beneath him, so he declined saying, "No thank you. I know that God is going to rescue me and He wouldn't place me in such danger to do so. So I'll wait." The police launch left the man behind, getting all of its passengers to safety. The flood was now reaching critical stage and the man barely had any roof left to stand upon and he was becoming frantic in his prayers. Suddenly, seemingly out of nowhere, he saw a helicopter appear over him. The crew lowered the basket for the man to get into but, again, it seemed to hazardous an undertaking, so he declined the help, stating as before his belief that God was going to rescue him. The helicopter crew persisted, however, and spent close to an hour trying to convince the man to come aboard before they had to leave because they were running out of fuel. The man, left thus alone, sat praying and saying to himself, "Surely God will not let me die here. He will come and rescue me." The flood waters swirled and peaked, overwhelming the roof of the man's house and sweeping him into a vortex of incredible power. He was dead in moments. It was some time later, he did not know how long, that the man awakened to find himself in Heaven at the proverbial Pearly Gates and in the presence of none other than God Himself. God said, "Welcome, my son!" The man replied, "God how come you let me drown in that flood? I was so certain you were going to rescue me!" God replied, "My son, I tried. I sent you a rowboat, a police launch, and a rescue helicopter."(author unknown)

There are a couple of other little tales that I feel have merit as modern homilies that I want to track down and include here. None are original to me but because I am recording more from memory than a more usual resource they will appear in a somewhat altered state. This is not a deliberate attempt on my part to usurp the intellectual property of another or to plagerize on someone else's writing. Because of the wisdom I have found within the humor in the above story, as well as the other two I still want to share here, I am going to risk the dearth of accurate information and hope someone will send me the necessary information as to original authors, etc. if I am unable to track it down on my own. All of the stories have to do with the perspectives from which we choose to view God and poke a little fun at the thought of how God, perhaps, may choose to view us.

Blessings and much love,
Izzlebug

When The Cure May Be Worse Than The Disease

2009-05-24T06:41:00.000-04:00

Last night was not much fun as we landed in the emergency room again for several hours. At least this time I got to head home instead of being admitted to the hospital. The problem, likely caused by the antibiotic I was on for the infection in my chest area, was that I keep spiking fevers, which then break in floods of sweating only to start all over again once I've cooled down. Apparently sulfa drugs can do this sometimes - a good thing to take note of for future reference - and I have been placed on a different antibiotic and am waiting hopefully (while sweating rather profusely at the moment) for the symptoms to subside. All of the blood work and cultures have come back negative so far this time, so maybe the change in medication is all that is necessary - I'm crossing my fingers that this is the case!

On other fronts, I noticed that MSN had an article about the terrible dearth of health care available to women in Iraq due to gender issues. This is fundamentalism gone haywire and, much like the Christian fundamentalism that encourages similar outrages here in the United States, really needs to stop - a project of many years, if not decades, I am sure. Everything that does not, or absolutely refuses to, evolve, whether a society, a culture, a religion, or an organism, is doomed to extinction with a lot of very painful contortions along the way. I truly hope the Muslim population of the Middle East is able to make this transition into modernity with fewer casualties than it seems they are currently experiencing.

It seems unconscionable that one nation, specifically the US, should have such good health care and low infant mortality rates, while there are other nations with so many difficulties keeping the mothers alive much less the infants and where health care seems to be directed more by religious dogma and prejudice than common sense and necessity. The religious leaders in these places need to take a long, hard look at the grave disservice they are doing to their nations and the people who follow them by promoting ignorance and fear. I am not advocating a wholesale - or rapid - change into a US type of democracy in order to advance better health care, but the rules that forbid male-female contact within a medical context to the point of costing lives and the villifying of those who choose to pursue careers in the health care industry really needs to stop!

In saying all of this I can imagine how frightening it must be to look ahead from a place of tradition and a known set of rules and see things that appear so foreign and threatening to one's beliefs, especially when those threats come robed in the hope of better lives and better health care. I also know that hospitals can get to be pretty frisky places on occasion - stress will do that to a person's mind - and that does not help the situation either. However, and I put this question to the religious leaders of the Middle East, would you rather allow proper and expert health care and then have to deal with the potentially resulting crises of conscience following, or continue to bury more mothers, infants, and children than you need to due to a refusal to deal with your own humanity? Keep your hands and souls tied so tightly there is no hope of a very real and possible salvation of lives or allow just enough of a relaxation of the rules and traditions to permit the health care that is so crucial to the well-being of your nations to take place unhampered? It is part of the evolving thing. Yes, it is something of a trade off and I am sure more of a compromise than most fundamentalists of any faith would choose to make, yet I am talking entire nations of people - millions of people - and not merely a few select individuals. What is best, in the long term, for those millions?

My heart goes out to the Middle Eastern nations as they struggle with such issues, especially the religious ones, as I have had some small experiences struggling in that area myself (fundamental, born-again, etc., etc., Christianity) and I know how difficult it is on a personal level to deal with your own imperfections and struggles in the face of a perfect and obdurate diety who seems to require everything and delivers little or nothing very tangible in a humanly real sense (I am not advocating apostasy, merely grousing my grouse about the seeming lack of miraculous happenings from on high). I also have had my struggles with the miseries of this life and the "hope" of the life to come (i.e. "heaven"), although those have largely ceased in that I have found both my Heaven and my Hell here on this earth. All of my worst moments and deepest pains have taken place here, yet I have also found my Heaven here as well. The blessings of a beautiful day, the delicacy of color and markings of the New England birds visiting our deck, the wild flowers blooming along the highways the irridesence found in the wings of the tiniest of insects, the detail and intricate construction of the leaf of a tree or a blade of wild grass or the petal of a flower, the love of those whom I cherish, the smile of my niece when she finds something I've said funny, seeing the care and concern given to the patients in the hospital primarily by the nursing and support staff during my recent stays there; all of these things convince me that, at least for me, my Heaven is to be found here and I want no other.

Perhaps, as I refuse to place my hopes on an intangible something that remains forever nebulous, perhaps that does make me apostate, but it cannot cause me to be any less grateful to the God who created the things that populate my Heaven. Nor can it diminish the power of the love I have given and, in turn, received over the years, the pain that comes from having loved so much when loss is experienced, or the hope that same love gives as healing takes place and the sun begins to brighten once again following pain. Perhaps I am one of the fools who "rush in where angels fear to tread," but I am seldom sorry I have ventured forth into such places of the heart and mind.

I wonder what St. Augustine might have had to say...

Izzlebug

Another Load of Life

2009-05-17T11:04:00.000-04:00

At last! I and my blog are together again! I am in raptures!

Not long after my last blog entry, things started to go downhill. By the 8th of May I had developed an infection (not of the surgical site) that caused a fever of 102.8F, and landed me in the hospital where, as it turned out, I also had an infection in the right side of my chest, although it was not the reason for the fever. I spent the weekend snuggled up to IV lines full of various antibiotics and then, on Tuesday, had to go in for surgery to remove the tissue expanders and the infection and to place drains into the area again. (One of my surgical drains had fallen out while I was in the ER - sigh!) I would like to note here that this is, according to my surgeons, an unusual occurance for this type of surgery so it would not be right to anticipate such things if anyone reading this might be approaching their own mastectomy surgery or surgeries. It was a combination of some confusions on my part, some miscommunication (not a lot, though), and adverse circumstances due to my own physical condition, weight issues, etc. I finally got to come home yesterday, after a nine-day hospital stay, and am feeling so much better!!!

A hospital can be both an interesting and a frightening place to be. With the advent of this infection and all that attended it, it felt as if all of the efforts, both counseling and medicinal, that have gone into helping me get my head together and my life on track, were blown completely out of the window for a day or two (or three or four!). It was no fun for me to have to revisit thoughts and emotions I had considered, with tremendous relief, as something now left in my past. It had never occured to me that the stresses from the surgeries and the infections and the hospital stays might put me back into a mind set I had struggled so hard to be free of, having failed to overcome on my own, and then, finally with the help of several people with the training and expertise to do so, was finally stepping away from and into a slowly growing anticipation for better things to come in my life. So that was yet another blow. Fortunately talking to some of the on-call people from the psychiatry department and the chaplains' office, as well as several very kind and understanding nurses, some long-suffering (young) physicians (and one mildly traumatized male nursing assistant who looked as though his grandmother had dropped her drawers in front of him), helped ease that difficulty and I feel little more myself, a little more back in control, but also a little more fragile in certain ways, than before this second episode in my saga of cancer and surgery took place.

Finally returning home was a treat like few others. Yes, all the clutter and mess are still here - I am not yet able to deal with it and my sweetie-pie's housekeeping skills, though very willing and energetic, are not quite from the same school mine developed in. The cats still urp on the rug and track litter, there are still book-eating beetles, flying, nasty, bitey, little bigs here and there, etc., etc., etc. But it is good to be back. Supposedly toddlers and pussycats do not retain certain types of memories for more more than a given span of time. This means that a young child whose mother goes away for two weeks will not necessarily recall her when she returns. With cats, this span of time is only supposed to be about a half an hour. I beg to differ, at least about the cats. All of our cats knew exactly who I was when I came in the door after nine days away. They all knew my voice. They all came over to say "Hello," and they certainly remembered their special "snuggle configurations" that we have developed over our years together. I will have to be more cautious this time around, take more precautions; I do not want to have to endure another infection right now, especially not with another surgery and the strong likelihood of chemotherapy looming. I am hoping that further treatment will proceed without any more complications so we may all put this episode behind us and get on with our lives. I also hope there is sunshine ahead, instead of clouds.

Hopefully, whatever the source of these infections, they will never recur and where ever I was exposed to them can be determined and dealt with before too many other people fall prey to them as I did. It is not so much the more private venues of potential exposure that worry me in that they are a little more under control than the more public venues. I was driving before I was supposed to be in order to make appointments I could not otherwise have gotten to and, during those excursions, stopped to run a brief errand, perhaps a quick stop at a local department store for a prescription or a local supermarket for a few easy-to-fix food items. I also had visiting nurses checking on me and the thought that any of those situations might have yielded an exposure to the organisms causing the problems I went through, or wondering if it was something lurking here at home, is a matter of concern. I certainly hope the contagion never got past me to anyone else.

It feels so good to be back at the keyboard and back at my blog, but I am going to wrap this one up now - it's already way too long!

Blessings, joy, peace, love, and commitments that do you good to all who find their way to my humble home.

Izzlebug

One Step At A Time

2009-05-01T01:06:00.000-04:00

Though still stiff and sore following the surgery, I am doing a lot better. I am minus two breasts, ten lymph nodes (five from each side), and one three to four centimeter cancerous tumour. Due to the size of the thing I may still end up having to go through chemo but will not know absolutely for certain for several more days when I will be seeing the medical oncologist. I will also be having further surgery to remove ovaries and fallopian tubes as they are also falling victim to the same causes for the breast cancer. To say my life has not been much fun lately is understating things a bit, but there are some small compensations along the way such as friends calling to say a special "Hello," get well cards arriving at odd intervals, and my sweetie pie doing his utmost to help me out despite the total lack of fun in his own life at the moment ( a lot of that because of what's happening with me).

I am glad this happened with the advent of Spring instead of the grey of Winter. There is no ice to deal with when walking back and forth to the car and the flowers and trees blooming all over the place, as well as the bright return of the gold finches and other seasonal residents, has afforded me many enjoyable moments while traveling between home and hospital. Our families also seem to be in a state of reasonably good health and calm emotions for the interim which allows the two of us to concentrate upon dealing with the issues at hand.

"She-Who-Declines-To-Be-Named" has returned home with our niece after traveling many hours, and arduous journey across deserts and timelines, to be with me during the worst of this ordeal, and is hoping to return later on when the next surgery is closer at hand to spend some more time with me and with our niece. Our niece is usually quite happy to have her other auntie visit because, as she recently informed me, I am absolutely the "most boring" of all of her aunties. At least I will be remembered for something.

My activities are still limited because of waiting for the removal of surgical drains which have pretty much been grossing me out from the get go. Seeing the last of those will not cause me any regrets whatsoever although it will likely be quite awhile before I will be able to face a rare steak for dinner, especially a really juicy one.

I still find I am easily tired by not a lot of activity and that holding the telephone uses more chest muscles than one might expect. So I am napping often, sometimes due to the physical stresses but still once in a while due to the emotional stresses, but not as often as I was immediately following my surgery.

So much for that update. I wish I had more of interest to report but, as I am hoping to somehow provide some smattering of potentially useful information for others who may find themselves in similar circumstances, I plod on.

My brother called earlier today. He sounded weary, but cheerful. I think the loss of our younger sister and then my illness on top of that have taken more of a toll on him than we may realize. I only hope, not only for my sake but also for the sake of my family, that my recovery is full and uneventful. I really do not want to find out how much more we can take before we finally crumble into dust and blow away our tears all spent.

I.

Ouch!

2009-04-27T02:41:00.000-04:00

Well, I made it through thanks to the skills of my surgeons, teams of wonderful, hard-working nurses and assistants, and the love and care of my friends and family. I will admit that typing is still a little uncomfortable for me though, so this will be brief.

For anyone else who may be approaching a similar experience to mine I would like to recommend they pamper themselves a little. Not too much, but just enough to help take some of the pressure and stress off during the pre-surgical waiting period. The extra pampaering afterwards helps a lot also.

I'll get back with more info, etc. as soon as being at the keyboard is more comfortable.

Hope any who happen this way are doing at least as well.

Izzlebug

A Day of Reckoning

2009-04-15T00:27:00.000-04:00

This week is the week I will be having my surgery. Although I know that, in the long term, everything is likely to be just fine, it is the short term I find so difficult to confront right now. With the preparations for future plastic surgery procedures, I will likely be in the OR for around five hours, give or take, according to my surgeons and I am feeling the usual, and presumably "normal," pre-surgical jitters most people in like situations would tend to feel. This is a very stressful week for me, but I feel as if I am surrounded by the love of family and the best wishes of many friends and acquaintances and, if those of a more somber faith will forgive me the impertinence, have even managed to rate some very gentle attentions from God Himself, not only in the appearance of certain rather interesting cloud formations, but also this evening in the simple little shadow cast by my keys on the wall as I headed out the door - the shadow looked like a little angel hovering quietly in front of me. I have never had any doubts as to the presence or existence of God, merely doubts as to the depth of His interest in me and my life. Still I find comfort, humor, and some degree of thankfulness in such small reminders, whether others might choose to debate them or not. For me they have had meaning and have helped me during a time of distress. I am grateful.

Tomorrow will be a day spent with my sister and, later on, my niece also. Hopefully we will be able to find some place mutually agreeable to have an early supper and then all head home (or back to our hotel, in my sister's case) for an early bedtime and a good night's rest, although I do not know if I will be able to sleep much since Thursday is "The Day" for me.

I will try to let anyone reading this know how things went as soon as possible following my surgery in case they might be facing the same type of surgery anytime soon. I have been told that it is not an especially painful recovery, although there will obviously be pain involved, and that I should be able to return home the day following the surgery. I know each person's experience is unique but, just in case any of mine might be of help to someone else, I will try to convey the information ASAP.

One thing I would heartily recommend to anyone approaching this type of surgery is that they take the time to allow themself to have a good cry here and there. I was crying earlier this evening (I hid in the bathroom) and likely would have done so earlier but the day was too busy and there were too may people around and too much activity - all necessary - to allow me the release of grief, fear, and whatever else I needed to cry out of my system earlier in the day. Being reminded that you are loved helps in this process and, whether in an ethereal sign from on high or in the simple hard work given so willingly by a younger sister or family friend, it all means a great deal when faced with the ordeal I am trying to cope with at present. I am loved. I will always have that and that will always be with me where ever I am; where ever I may find myself.

There is a short song about being loved that I learned many years ago that I think of once in awhile. I paraphrase it here for you now. I do not recall the author or the composer, however:

"I am loved, I am loved.
I can risk loving you.
For the ones who know me best, love me most.
I am loved, I am loved.
Won't you please take my hand,
We can learn to love each other;
We are loved."

As I write this song out (or type it out, for the more literally minded), I am reminded of the terrible troubles of the Middle East between the Israeli and Arab peoples; the Christian, Jewish, and Muslim believers. Why are we so determined to hate and destroy that with which we do not agree; that which we fear, for whatever reason?
I know I will never be able to adopt the beliefs of either the Jewish or Muslim faiths, yet I cannot say I feel threatened by either of those sets of beliefs and, whether any of those beliefs shakes me in any of what I believe to be true, certainly not to the point of wishing anyone evil merely for disagreeing with me in a matter of religious choice. Part of the price of having religious freedom is found in allowing others that same freedom as they see fit and according to their own choice and conscience, not someone else's, otherwise the commitment means little or nothing and anyhting they may have to say is merely learned by rote and never spoken from the heart. Peace has to start somewhere, if not with me then with whom? If not now, then when?

Perhaps humanity will never be ready to commit to peace. Just as peace begins to seem possible one place, the cry of war and the ugly lust for power and attention breaks out elsewhere - witness North Korea's thrashings, shoutings, and demandings. If ever a nation was crying out to be heard, for good or for ill, it is this one with its hostage population and its maniacal, if self-delusional, leadership's determination to become what it thinks of as a "player" in world politics. No one lives forever and no nation will forever tolerate the conditions the poor citizens of North Korea have been forced to endure under the current regime. Their lives are little better than those of most prisoners in other nations. My heart goes out to the people of North Korea and I hope they may soon be free of their oppression and able to lift their heads once again, proud of their cultural heritage and proud of their nation.

Another war torn nation is Mexico, although for different reasons. With the drug lords determined to keep their trade routes to the US open and the determination of the US and, finally, certain members of the Mexican government to make sure they are prevented from continuing to use those routes or to create others, Mexico is in a bad way. Most likely it is those caught in the cross fire that suffer the greatest losses, so again, my heart goes out to the citizens, the common people, of Mexico, those whose lives will likely be forever altered by the direct consequences of the violence taking place while those who direct from a distance will still be able to sit back in their exquisitely appointed mansions, enjoying their perfectly brewed cups of coffee or tea, and never fully realizing, or caring, what sort of pain and devastation they have initiated for thousands of their fellow countrymen because of the greed, corruption, and savagery that gained their wealth for them in the first place. It may seem like justice to wish them what they deserve, but to me it would be too horrible to imagine putting even someone so viscious through that and I refuse to wish it, no matter how well deserved or just.

There, I have had my rants for the week, I just wish I could somehow help make all of the efforts at peaceful resolutions between nations, as well as individuals, come to fruition but how when even the UN is botching the job so sadly of late?

Whatever the state of the world's population at large, may each of you find the unique blessings in your own lives and may you have the opportunity to feel the gratitude and love there, as well, at least to the same degree I have gotten to find such things in my own.

Love,
Izzlebug

Laughing Even Though It Hurts

2009-04-08T16:26:00.000-04:00

Something occurred several days (a couple of weeks?) ago and, as everyone I have mentioned it to has found it amusing, I thought I would share it here as well.

It was just after we found out I had breast cancer. I was driving over to our vetrinarian's to pick up supplies for our aging pussycat population when, on the way there, I spotted an unusual cloud formation. It is not unusual for me to enjoy imagining what certain clouds resemble, but this particular cloud formation was rather arresting in its appearance. I was NOT the only motorist to notice it, by the way.

I was approaching my exit when I glanced out the car window to my left and saw some rather wispy clouds that had taken on the contour of a pair of breasts. I looked away and mentally shook myself knowing where my mind obviously had been since the news, etc. But when I looked back there was another aspect to the formation not present before, it looked like the face of a man (to me it strongly resembled my boyfriend Ross) kissing one of the breasts!

I did a double take and then noticed out of the corner of my eye that a young man in another car had also noticed the cloud formation and was gazing up at it rather attentively. (It really was quite an erotic cloud formation!) When I got back onto a less busy street I called my Dad on the cell phone and told him about the clouds and also that that was one of the reasons I have such a problem dealing with God. Dad laughed and said he was glad to know God had a sense of humor and I told Dad I really didn't see anything funny about it under the circumstances. I felt rather huffy about things just then. Anyway, when I got home later I told Ross what I had seen and what Dad had said. Ross looked at me kind of bug-eyed and said, "You told your DAD?!?!?" (For Pete's sake, we're in our fifties!)

I said, "Well, in our family it's Dad who's had the mastectomies!"

So the lines have become a little blurred for us on some issues. Not our fault. Blame Mother Nature and God who have thrown so much at us in such odd and painful ways yet also have provided us with so many amusing moments during that same pain with which to share with one another and to distract ourselves!

Hope any who read this are also able to find the same humor in the story that has had myself and several others chuckling when it has been recounted over the past couple of weeks.

Perhaps Dad is right. It is a good thing God has a sense of humor. It is rather comforting, in retrospect, to think so.

Much Love,
Izzlebug

Worries Aplenty Abound

2009-04-04T19:40:00.000-04:00

It always seems to work out that whenever one thing goes south several others follow suit. I know I am not the only person to feel this way, but I do feel my family does seem to have a slightly more tragic bent during some of these times than many others (and not as tragic as some, as well!). My personal time is extremely difficult but survivable in and of itself. It is just when it looks like other disturbing things maybe added to the mix that it begins to feel so unbearable.

So anyone reading this will know what I am referring to,I learned earlier today that my grandmother was supposedly not doing too well. That then led to tears and depressive thoughts about making that last trip up to see her for the last time, etc. It was not until I spoke with my stepmother and learned my grandmother was, at that very minute, beating the pants off the both of them at Mexican Poker that I was able to relax and cease worrying, at least for the time being. Having cancer sucks! It takes my mind away from so much I need to get done and so many people I love and want to spend time with! It makes me want to scream or rant or something!

With that off of my chest (soon to be joined by my...ahem!), I have also been wanting to mention for the past two days the redwinged blackbirds I saw in a small field along the highway as I drove home from my appointment with the plastic surgeon. They cling to the dead reeds like little sailors might cling to a ship's mast, only they look like they are dressed as admirals in jaunty black velvet with red epaulets trimmed in gold. They seem to be gazing so bravely into the future it heartens me just to catch sight of any of them, especially on a sunny day with a light wind blowing, bobbing them about in their oceans of dried grasses and wild flower stems. It would not surprise me to see a whale blow in the distance although it might take the shoppers in the mall parking lot a bit off guard.

Another, not unexpected, development is that following the mastectomies and before any chemo would begin should it be required, I will be having another surgery to remove my reproductive apparatus also. As long as my ovaries are in place any breast tissue that may be left will be at a greater risk for a recurrance of breast cancer and there is also a slightly increased risk with our particular genetic mutation of developing ovarian cancer, which is very difficult to detect before it has gotten out of hand and untreatable. Also, if I end up taking Tamoxifin (?spl.) there could be a risk of its causing uterine cancer. The only remedy or prevention is to remove the potential organs involved before this can happen. Even though these particular body parts are not visible, as such, it is still difficult knowing even more of my body must be removed in order to try to prevent this cancer problem from recurring repeatedly. It does seem a small price to pay in the long run, but no less difficult to deal with in the here and now of my upcoming surgeries.

The plastic surgeon turned out to be someone I felt very at ease with and he was very frank about the procedure and the likely results, possible complications, etc., which I appreciated greatly. He did mention one bonus to having the implants versus using prostheses is that you would not be as likely to lose one or both of the implants should you go swimming or be doing anything else sufficiently active to jar the things loose. I did feel some rather wicked amusement at the thought of having to ask the life guard to retrieve a lost prosthesis should that happen..."Excuse me young man, but could you please see if you could retrieve my...for me? I think it's in the deep end of the pool." It would be that or the experience of seeing it float by before one realized it had escaped its moorings. (It should be noted here that I know ABSOLUTELY NOTHING about breast prostheses as this is all very new to me and I have not asked about or seen any of them and have no clue as to what they are made of, how they are kept in place - other than by the brassiere - and so forth.)

(**Note** I realize many women may not see the humor in these potential situations that I am finding. I merely ask them all to remember that I, too, am facing the same surgeries and permanent disfiguration to my own body with all of the attending emotional traumas and issues. I choose to find the humor and laugh rather than feeling ashamed, embarrassed, too depressed, or as if I am somehow being too insensitive to the needs and feelings of others during my own experience. I am not talking about anyone else's body or thoughts, nor am I criticizing anyone else's choices or points of view, merely asking them for the same latitude I give to them for myself.)

A friend went with me to that appointment and it really was so nice having someone else there in the car for the drive up and back and to have her with me in the doctor's office during the discussion phase of the appointment. It really means more to me than I ever realized it would to have that moral support and companionship for these moments while all of this looms so forbodingly near. She also mentioned as many of the good points of the situation as she could, for which I am also grateful.

All things studied from each angle, I feel fairly fortunate overall. I have family and friends who love me and are trying to be there for me as much as possible. My boyfriend has been supportive and very sweet about a lot of stuff he normally tends to not think about too much, and the cats are always a comfort although I hope to discover why Mottle has been trying to sit on my face for the past three days when she does not look sore in the area in question and is not showing any other symptoms seemingly pertinent to such behavior. Where is "Mewzlo" when you need him?

Tomorrow I will be traveling to the state mental hospital to visit my brother. He has requested a cholesterol burger and an artery-blocker shake, but I suspect the hospital may have been overinundating him with healthier fare and he is having withdrawal symptoms. I'll make sure it's a small chocolate shake, and no french fries! It's likely there will be little conversation because, while Mike can talk a blue streak on the telephone, in person the flow of words becomes stilted and, often, nonexistent. A lot depends on his state of mind at the time, too. If he has been taking his medications regularly the chances for a real conversation are greater than otherwise but I will have to wait and see what he's like when I get there. He's aware that I have cancer and will be having surgery but, after losing our sister two years ago, Mike seems to have retreated somewhere he never went before, possibly somewhere where Patty still lives and my illness cannot worry him so much. I hope he is able to return someday and know some of the joys and rewards of living in the "real" world before he too, must join mother, sister, grandfather, and others that have passed before. At least in that world my brother will be whole again. Of that much I am certain

Blessings upon all who venture here. Happiness and much love.

Izzlebug

In Retrospect Everything Moves Too Rapidly

2009-03-31T11:58:00.000-04:00

Today is a rather slowly moving day, a little pleasanter weather-wise than yesterday, but still not quite the Spring weather hoped for and anticipated. It is a good day to pause and reflect here on my blog. It is also a good day to give myself a kick in the seat of my pants and make sure I do not waste another day in sulking and self-pity, which were my party companions of yesterday whether I realized I had invited them or not. I may manage to be a more cheerful person most of the time with others, but left to my own devices under these circumstances I find myself just sitting and doing a lot of nothing. Maybe this is usual for people when they are dealing with the issues I am currently facing and it is not an unusual state for me when faced with an overwhelming amount of stuff to get done or cope with, I just sort of wish I had the get up and go to manage myself a little differently during these crisis moments. At the very least I would get more accomplished around the house.

Be that the case or otherwise, it occurs to me a lot has taken place since the last time I blogged about the breast cancer issue. The entire question of losing both of my breasts at once and being left entirely flat chested was really beginning to weigh on my mind to the extent it was keeping me up until the very early morning hours. I realized that, for me, I would need some sort of reconstructive or plastic surgery in order not to be completely thrown off balance by the state of my body following the surgery. Due to my weight issues the only type of "reconstruction" viable for me is implants, so I will have to go flat for a while during the healing process as it will take time to stretch the skin in the appropriate areas in order to accommodate the implants, etc. I never realized how connected my self-image was to my body until I had to face these issues head on. I respect the decisions of those women who have chosen to remain without breasts (*see breastfree.org) and am very grateful for their courage and compassion in allowing themselves to be photographed so others in similar situations will know what to expect, but I am so used to having an ample bosom I was really not able to wrap my mind around having no bosom at all following all of this, so I am seeing the plastic surgeon for a consult in a few days.

I do not want breasts as large as what nature provided me with again, but something more esthetically pleasing and physically manageable will be very welcome to me. I am also not interested in the more extensive proceedures now in use for reconstructing breasts in which abdominal, or other, body fat and muscle tissues are utilized, especially not after seeing some of the pictures available that show the scarring of other areas of their bodies some women are willing to incur in order to have breasts again. I do not feel that I could face that kind of disfigurement to another part of my body for the sake of breasts, nor do I want to compromise the function of the muscles in my abdomen, back or behind for the same reason when implants appear to provide a reasonable result with no additional scarring elsewhere. I do find myself more interested in saline implants as opposed to silicone, though, and hope the surgeon agrees with my choice.

If anyone is interested in seeing any of what I have seen they can go to the website listed in the prior paragraph or enter "breast implants following mastectomies" in a Google image search which produced, at the time, 20,400 hits of photos and other images to wade through, some very graphic and tragic, others very helpful, and many totally useless. Someone has even created a comic book explaining cancer treatments, but I did not look at it too closely and so cannot comment upon its information.

In all of this I feel very fortunate to have friends and family members who are willing to accompany me to various appointments because, whether it shows or not, I am not having an easy time dealing with all of this and have spent the better part of the past two days trying to avoid dealing mentally with the issues at all. Today I am a little more able to pick up the pieces and proceed on a more rational level with my life so I figure that I must have needed the break. Later today I will try to get out of the house, tend to some housework after I get home, and just generally face the normal and everyday with a little more fortitude than I have had the past two days. I may even be able to slip in a short nap without compromising my resolve, as well. It should be a better day all around.

**Later in the day, following the aforementioned nap and upon awakening, I thought of something I would like to do. In this blog I can only tell my own story. I can also briefly mention the stories of those closest to me such as my three aunts, two of whom, my father's younger sisters, are breast cancer survivors, and one aunt by marriage who is suffering through Inflammatory Breast Cancer with "suffering" being the key word. The reason I hesitate to mention others here is because I do not know if it will be OK with them, how much to mention will be OK, etc. Basically, I need their direct permission to tell their stories from my perspective. These are three women who I have known my entire life and love; one is somewhat distant and wrapped up in her own set of troubles, one has been very forthcoming with her offerings of counsel to me on the questions I have had regarding what I am currently going through and also has a daughter with the same genetic mutation I have, and the third is dying bravely from a form of breast cancer few have heard of and few are that familiar with but that insidiously claims the lives of both young and old. I would like to try to tell some of their stories, as well as others and create a medium that could allow others to tell their own stories as well. We would be "A Thousand Voices Singing."

My sincerest hopes and prayers for anyone reading this is that life is not coming at you as hard and fast at it seems to come at us and that, if it is, you at least have the support we have for yourself and your loved ones. Blessings on all who may venture this far into cyberspace.

With Much Love,
Izzlebug

Am I Too Graphic Here?

2009-03-24T10:54:00.000-04:00

I honestly do not know how many people may be reading any of my blog as no one has commented or emailed me about it, so I have no criticisms to help me determine whether I am getting too "adult" here, or not. My goals are to be as honest as possible in the hopes that it might be of some help or encouragement somehow to other people experiencing similar or multiple difficulties in their lives and to help me cope in my own. I apologize if anything I have written, or may write, sparks uncomfortable questions to parents or educators but I hope there are enough redeeming qualities to my ramblings that those questions are worth the time and patience for direct and honest answers.

Last night, after I posted here, I had a bit of a weep and then headed to bed. During the night I had some very strange and disconnected dreams but it is likely that speaking to a surgeon, a chemotherapy specialist, a radiation oncologist, and the many others associated with the processes involved in losing body parts to, and then treating, cancer over a four to five hour span of time in a single afternoon may tend to have that effect. At least I slept.

Because of my family's familiarity with the entire breast cancer issue I have not had to deal with feelings of things being surreal so much as just feeling somewhat overwhelmed by the news and the pace so far. But, for now, the tests - except for preadmission stuff - are done and I should have a couple of weeks, if not longer, in which to accomplish a few things that will hopefully make my recovery a little simpler. It is a blessing and a tragedy that I have so many people related to me I can turn to for comfort, information, and other forms of emotional support, but I am well supplied on those fronts. I am, very definitely, not alone in my struggles here. If wishing the same thing for everyone else going through such things were not such a double-edged sword, I would feel that we have something very special going on here, but at far too high a price.

Today is a new day, cold but bright, and I am going to go out and try to focus on other things for awhile. Errands of the day are minor but will still serve to distract and help keep me busy for a short time before I must return home and again deal with the near and looming future. Two other things that have also been playing themselves out during the past couple of weeks as well have been the hospitalizations of my 91 year old grandmother and my mentally ill younger brother. Both events were neither unexpected or particularly unusual given the age and conditions of these two VIPs in my life, just really badly timed, or maybe it was the news of my breast cancer that was so ill-timed: tomato, potato, etc.

On other fronts, I read of the tragic death of Sylvia Plath's son. I wish I could have somehow reached out and given him some grit or some hope. Just enough to get him through until the sun could shine on him again and a friend could call to say "Hello" and talk for awhile. Maybe then he would have changed his mind about wanting to die in the way he chose, taking his life as if it were worth nothing to anyone except himself. I hope that there has at least been some healing in the hereafter and that his mother and father were there to catch him as he fell.

I have also been seeing the news of the plane crashes costing children and entire families their lives, the multiple killings of police officers in California, the results of the now blatantly obvious greed of the AIG executives, and on and on and on. I have enough to deal with which is why I pick and choose and comment on very little else. I hope it is understood that I am trying to stay in touch, but being emotionally overwhelmed is becoming such a regular part of my everyday experience I am getting used to the refreshing little naps I take to recooperate and am afraid I may not be able to give them up when the are no longer required. I am, afterall, not in my dotage yet.

So, in a blatant rip-off of more talented poets than myself:

Blessings on the world at large
From mogul's palace
To garbage barge
May your days be bright and merry
And your future not so scary.

Love,
Izzlebug

Decisions, Decisions

2009-03-24T00:51:00.000-04:00

Since this past Wednesday it seems as if so much has gone on. I have also been feeling quite overwhelmed by the news of my having breast cancer and all that attends that in addition to all of the other things life has sent in our family's direction over the past couple of weeks. Today was the big meeting day with all of the doctors who will, or may, play pivotal roles in my treament and recovery. I'm exhausted yet restless enough that I am typing here on my blog rather than sleeping.

Since the issue of breast cancer and its many and varied treatments, etc. has been at the forefront of our family conciousness in many ways for the past several years, I have had more time than most to think about the potential issues involved in choosing which of the different potential approaches available would be best for me and why. Although I could have chosen to have a lumpectomy and a sentinal lymph node biopsy only, because of the presence of the mutated gene which I inherited, I have chosen instead to go ahead with mastectomies, which will leave me flat-chested for the first time since I was nine years old, but more symetrical (esthetics do come into this somewhat), and far less likely to ever develop breast cancer again although there is still a small possibility of it recurring because there is no way to know absolutely that every last cell of breast tissue has been removed. So, sometime within the next two to five or six weeks, I will be undergoing the surgery to relieve me of the cancer and both of my breasts. I'm not too sure how I am going to feel the first time I look down and see I no longer have my breasts, but I have a lot of very supportive people to help me through all of this and reconstruction is always a possibility later on, after I have had some recovery time and decided if I am more comfortable with or without breasts. It's kind of strange to be given a choice about something like this, but at least I have that choice which makes me feel a little better about going through the experience at all.

I have been composing a short poem to my boyfriend, who is being very supportive of my decision and this has helped me find the strength to make the choice that I believe is truly best for me in both the short and long term. It is untitled at present, but dedicated to Ross.

Things I know for certain I'll miss:
Your glance of pleasure,
Your tender, intimate kiss and
The trilling thrill of your caress
Upon my breasts.

We long ago survived our individual transitions
From single to monogamous.
I wonder how we'll handle those passions now
With my chest about to become
So egregiously non-erogenous?

Maybe I read too much Ogden Nash when I was younger. Oh, well.

I.

The Results Are In

2009-03-19T01:11:00.000-04:00

The hospital called this morning with my test results from the biopsy. I have breast cancer. Monday is the day I meet with the surgeon, oncologist, etc. and find out what will be happening when and how, but for the moment, things are still relatively peaceful.

This Sunday afternoon, my stepmother will go with me up to Vermont so I can hug my aunt who is battling Inflammatory Breast Cancer, give my ninety-one year old grandmother who just went into a nursing home and has just gotten her first cell phone ever a kiss on the cheek, and visit my Mom and Pattys' grave. I will take some Forget-Me-Not seeds to sow in the cemetary around the headstone and try to visit as cheerfully as possible with Gram and Aunt Roberta. Maryellen is helping me take this time now because we just don't know what will be happening, or how fast it will happen, after Monday's appointments.

Dad, Maryellen, and Ross (hopefully) will all be with me for the afternoon on Monday and I am hoping they will think to ask the questions I may be too distracted to manage. Beyond that, as I look around me, the world is still spinning on its axis, the night winds are blowing their odd tunes through the branches of the trees, and the Spring season hovers enticingly on the edge of it all waiting for just the right moment to declare itself officially "here."

Elsewhere in the world another family is saying its goodbyes to their mother, wife, daughter, niece, sister, and friend, as Natasha Richardson is prepared for her funeral. Knowing how it feels to have to say such goodbyes, my heart goes out to all of them in the knowledge that no amount of money or fame can insulate us from the pain that comes at a time like this and that no amount of publicity can possibly bring the comfort we so long for in the shape of our loved one's face and smile, the touch of their hand, or the sound of their laughter, their voice, as they enter our minds and hearts for what we know can only be the few, and very briefest, of moments before time and memory begin to steal even that from us as we begin to heal and go on without them. At least, or perhaps it is more of a curse than otherwise, Natasha Richardson's family will always have her voice and face in the form of her films from her acting career, although her touch and love cannot be recorded and kept for posterity except in the hearts of those who knew her most intimately.

On my home front, my Dad suffers once again, worrying about another daughter who is facing a major health crisis such a short time after having lost my younger sister to leukemia. Mine is a very different situation and I try to remember to mention, reminding both Dad and myself, that with the exception of a very elderly aunt who stopped taking her Tamoxifen, the rest of our family members who have had to deal with the same type of cancer I am faced with right now are all still very much alive and cancer free, which I am hoping to be very soon. I also told him to spread the word that people were to feel free to go ahead and send me roses or money or jewelry or other stuff to help cheer me up if they were so inclined. It got a weak laugh from Dad (a VERY weak laugh), but at least it was a laugh. I know we both know very well that even though things like that are nice to have they cannot begin to take away the sting of having to face a disease like cancer in any of its many forms or of having to endure the rather harsh treatments so often necessary in order to eradicate it. I am just happy to have Dad and Maryellen and Ross to help me get through all of this, as well as my other sister and my friends. I have a lot to be grateful for and a lot to look forward to enjoying in life once all of the treatments have been completed. Right now, however, I will settle for this weekend and the anticipated advent of Spring.

Being Overweight Does Have Its Compensations...

2009-03-07T22:46:00.000-05:00

especially when life decides to take several great big bites out of your backside, one right after another in quick succession! At least I still have something to sit upon.

After finally (mostly - still) recovering from the virus/pneumonia/stress test/car repairs/snow storm, and so on, I found out the little lump I could "still" feel in one of my female appurtenances from a prior biopsy (I thought) turned out to be something new and ominous rather than old and familiar. (sigh, sigh, sigh!) So now I and my loved ones are dealing with the stresses that attend such discoveries in that the surgeon who keeps track of these things in my case due to the inherited genetic predisposition for breast cancer (84% chance of getting it-not good odds) thinks it is likely cancer. At least it is not the same situation my poor sister had to face with the leukemia and, while certainly far from rosie, not as frightening as such a situation once was before medical science made many of its amazing breakthroughs.

There is still a lot of information yet to be gathered in my case. So far the only invasive procedure that has been carried out has been a fine-needle aspirate of the tumor, and those results, while not wholly conclusive, will be in on Monday. If they see cancer cells we will know for certain two weeks earlier than otherwise, but even if they don't see anything I will still need to have a needle biopsy in ten days which will be definitive. Oh, POOP!

Of course, given my family's history with such things first thoughts are far from cheerful and my own mortality, though not for the first time in my life, flashed before me as I wondered if this was going to end up being "it." At least there will be quite a bit of time between now and the arrival of "it" so there are things I can get done, but it's not much fun thinking in such terms just as you're beginning to hope your brief respite might last a little longer.

One thing I also realized is that I do not know if I have the inner strength and courage to chronicle my own illness here in my blog. During the course of my sisters battles it helped me to express myself here and it has helped me in my grieving process to be able to go back and reread what I recorded as we lived our lives and our relationship as sisters during that entire time. I just don't know if I can manage the same thing if it should turn out to be me who is doing the battling and dying, should that turn out to be the case. It is not what I am anticipating so much right now but, as I mentioned before, facing your own mortality is not something done in the most cheerful and positive frame of mind.

What Funny Things Hearts and Minds Can Be

2009-02-26T09:54:00.000-05:00

This has been an interesting week, all told, despite several hours of boredom being part of it throughout.

This past Sunday evening, as we were relaxing at the end of a quiet day (of still coughing, etc.) I ended up having a bout of chest pain which I though was likely my stomach until it radiated up both sides of my neck, into my jaw and face, and caused a lot of nausea in addition to the pain. This took place over about half an hour and it was at least an hour before I started to feel better, but the episode did resolve itself so I did not head for the ER or call my doctor until Monday morning, when he told me to go in to the ER to get checked out. Of course by then I was feeling fine, but the episode had frightened me enough that I only protested weakly before I followed his advice and went into the emergency room. Many hours, blood tests, EKGs, blood pressures, and pulses later, I was admitted to the hospital for overnight observation and a chemical stress test the following day (Tuesday). I would not recommend the stress test too lightly as it was not a pleasant experience, but it did give the doctors the information they needed, that whatever had caused the pain was not my heart, and I am now back home, a little worse for the wear, but very relieved. I had no idea that an esophogus could spasm, but that is one of the possible reasons for the pain I had Sunday evening. Now, on to the more important parts of this missive.

My Dad came over to the hospital to be with me while I was having the stress test because even though I am fifty years old I am still a woose and a wimp and wanted him there in case anything was wrong and so forth. After getting back to my room "looking stressed," as my Dad put it, we talked for awhile and then he reminded me of something. It was the eighth anniversary, to the day, of my mother's death and the third anniversary, also to the day, of the day Patty received her leukemia diagnosis. My poor Dad! Sitting waiting to find out if another daughter was in dire straights with all of that on his mind and heart! Fortunately, this time it was better news in that my heart is, apparently, very sound and quite healthy for someone of my age and weight (I assume). So at least there was no horrid news for Dad on this date, yet again. It was so good to have him there with me during all of the stresses of the day. I do not want to think of any time when he might not be there. No matter how old I get I will always want my Dad, especially when things get scary like they were Monday and Tuesday. (In his defense, Ross had to work, with the emphasis placed in the extreme on the phrase "had to.")

It may seem odd that I had to be reminded of the date my Mom died and that it was also the date my sister received what turned out to be her death sentance, but I have had a great deal of trouble over the past several years recalling the month and day of Mom's death, although I remember clearly that it is the same anniversary of Patty's leukemia news. For awhile I had trouble even recalling the year Mom died (2001), though now that is no longer an issue. I think I may be able to retain the month and day from now on, too. I guess, in my heart, it was not the date we had to say "goodbye" that was important to retain in memory, only the "goodbye" itself.

To Mom, After Eight Years

A brief moment, and my heart still beats,
While thoughts of you grow ever gentler
Tracing themselves softly over those sore places
Where once so much agony existed.

A thought, a sigh, a brief regret
That memory is so fickle as to fade over time,
And a slow tear for the memory remaining
Of your face, your voice, your funny manner,
Your smile, your love, your courage and
Your feistiness runs down the course of my
Aging cheek and onto my chin.

How I still love you, Mom,
And miss you.
I will always long for you throughout
The years to come
And hope, endlessly hope,
That at journey's end
You will be there
To help lead me home.

A Venture Into Fiction (for a change!)

2009-02-15T23:35:00.000-05:00

(This is the idea for a short story I got this evening so I thought I would start writing here in my blog and see where the exercise and mood took me. Hope it proves to be at least somewhat amusing for anyone reading my stuff...)

Return to Sender - Cyberaddress Unknown

Initially, it did not seem unusual. A misdirected email was not something that never happened, afterall. And with a common name ("Jane Doe" was more memorable) it was not unusual to receive several misdirected or mass generated advertising emails within a fairly short span of time. So what was it about this one that had grabbed her attention?

Email, usually so impersonal and free from the emotional baggage of telephone conversation, was easily deleted and forgotten. Most email was spam or junk anyway, so why keep this one on the computer; why open it and read it? What was it about that email that drew her eyes to the screen?

Somehow, despite the depersonalization of all of the more modern forms of communication, despite the delightful anonymity offered by a keyboard and computer screen, this email stood out. It was not bookmarked, earmarked, marked for any sort of automatic response and did not request a response from the reader prior to reading or upon receipt. It asked no acknowledgement whatsoever, in computer savvy terms at least. The only discrepancy in the address was in the little "a" thingy (or is that an ampersand? Or is an ampersand the backwards s-like sqiggle whatsit used for "and" instead of "at" in email addresses?) used for "at" in the email; address itself. Her middle initial was a "A." which was de-capitalized by the system into a lower case "a" in her email address and placed immediately before the little "at" thingy. Someone had mistyped the address to include the lower case "a" and then added the other whatsit not realizing they should have deleted the "a" before hitting send - or so she assumed, not able to fathom any other reason for the arrival in her emailbox of the cybermissive instead of the obviously-not-her intended recipient.

Finally, after all of this not very useful speculative cognition, she realized that the fascination of this email, aside from her pathetically slow and boring existence at the moment, was that it arrived spattered in blood and mystery, a mystery far beyond any issue of address or misdirection. It was plaintive; a cry for help, a dying word, a final "I love you," uttered upon the airwaves. It was the last breathe of a soul reaching out to the only one who cared or could possibly save them. Her mind raced with the possible explainations, her imagination running wild with the unspoken potentialities of this short electronic cypher: "It's over. We've won. My only regret is never seeing you again. My lips are yours forever..." The sending email address had somehow been blocked, leaving no way to return a message or trace a sender. She suddenly felt like the heroine in a very badly written romance novel of questionable literary value; utterly bereft but with pulse still pounding.

Catching her breath for a moment, she shook her head and tried to regain some small vestige of a sense of reality. It would not do to spend the rest of the day walking around in a mental haze made up of too many Harlequin romance novels and late nights spent chain-reading them until 4 am. Perhaps it was the physical restraint of the email that brought all of this out in her. In these more modern times blunt sexuality was more usual on the internet than the subtlety of a statement like "My lips are yours forever..." Feeling mildly frustrated that the author of the email was too polite to have been a little more graphic, but still immensely curious, she set out to see if her server could pry loose any information as to the origins of the email. She knew it was not intended for her and thereby felt some small pang of guilt at this obvious violation of the sender's, and the intended recipient's, privacy, but she comforted herself with the thought that she was really just trying to get the message delivered to the proper address without stopping to think of the multitude of possible consequences meddling with such a personal and obviously anonymous email could bring. Life can be a series of hard lessons, even on the brightest days.

_________________*****

This is as far as I have gotten. I'm not sure whether I want to finish the story or not, but will try to do that here in my blog in case there is any curiosity about the ending - which is currently undecided.

We have been trying to recover from virii of varying types here in the mean time and take turns coughing and gurggling and blowing our noses. Our ears are kind of stopped up, too, so the cacophony (I really like this word!) of coughing is tolerable and at least we are able to manage some sleep at night. The cats sleep no matter what and do not have colds. I am jealous.

There is so much to do it all seems to coalesce into one large and unmanageable tangle that takes more energy than I often have to untangle, but things do get accomplished despite the perspective, just not as rapidly as we often wish we could accomplish them. Oh well.

Hopefully, those who may encounter this blog are healthier, more energetic, and much better organized than we are right now.

Blessings,
Izzlebug

Emerging From the Mists

2009-02-06T14:13:00.000-05:00

It has been happening gradually, but it is happening...I am becoming less and less depressed over time with the help of medication and counseling. It seemed a bit frightening at first. I really did not know how to exist any other way as it seems I have probably spent the better portion of my life in a somewhat depressive state. This is probably one of the reasons the unhappy memories of my childhood have always seemed at the forefront and I have always had to fight to recall and retain the moments of happiness I know were a part of my life as a child - I have seen the photographs and home movies (silent on 8mm film) and I am smiling and playing in most of them. Certainly more potent evidence than the bitter or sad memories for which no photographic or written records exist. Even the poetry and stories I wrote were happier than I can recall feeling most of the time. The mind can be such a strange dwelling place.

This is not what I initially set out to record today. It occurred to me as I signed in to my blog to write "the other" something, but it is a more cheerful and less naughty something than what I will be mentioning shortly and I think it sets a more cheerful tone for the entire entry than otherwise would have proven to be the case.

The reason this topic springs so readily to mind is because over the past several days, despite some health issues that I have had to deal with (sigh, sigh, sigh!), my thoughts have been turning more toward the writing of poetry and this blog. I have also been drawn more and more to certain books that I thought looked interesting but have not had the mental energy to cope with until now. It seems I am waking up with the approach of Spring, and it does not feel as if it will be a rude awakening in any sense, but a release of old shackles; bonds of a lifetime held hostage by grief, sorrow, bitterness, anger, self-pity, fear,...thank God for the love and strength that grew despite all of that adversty of spirit!

Now, on to the fun stuff. I wanted to let all of you know that I got "tongued" the other day as I drove over to our veterinarians. Now you have to realize that I am fat and fifty and have been around the block (so to speak) a few times, so I was not so much shocked as just, "Oh, puh-lease!" The young woman who did the tonguing was not the driver of the car (which was sort of a scrunched looking SUV type of vehicle) and looked like she lived to have sex with anything as long as it was on a ski slope somewhere. When I got to our vets (to pick up IV fluids for our kidney failure kitties) I asked the receptionist (who has been there longer than we have been taking our cats there) if there was some sort of colony of wild and rabid lesbians living in the area and told her what had taken place. She gave a little bit of a laugh and said that she thought someone must have been bored.

This was one of the times I particularly miss Patty or having "She-who-declines-to-be-named" with me in that they are (were) both much faster thinkers in these situations than I am and would have "slapped back" immediately, while all I can do is wish I had thought of grabbing one of my breasts and jiggling it back at the twitiot in the other car, or perhaps giggling ecstatically and nodding "Yes" too enthusiastically in response to the tongue-play so disgustingly aimed in my direction. Another acquaintance felt that such a response would likely have caused an accident and, since I have no wish to send some poor and staid elderly person into cardiac arrest before God and nature have decreed such an event, am rather glad I just took the "What idiotic piffle!" approach instead.

Several weeks ago, before I realized I was progressing to the extent I seem to be, I was driving along the river road and saw three Eastern (?North Eastern) Bluebirds perched in the bracken between the water and the roadside. I get ridiculously excited at the sight of bluebirds because you don't often see them in our area and there is something so cheerful about them, much more so that the robins, who are more dour in their suits, and certainly more business-like in their demeanor than the bluebirds. The sky was a crisp, clear blue; the air clean and cold; the sun bright and high, high, high up in the sky. It was a day to take your breath away, to close your eyes against the sun and feel the full beauty of nature against the skin of your face, so when I started to feel anxious, worried and depressed shortly thereafter I wasn't sure why.

September 11, 2001 we received several emails from friends that seemed rather strange. They were telling us to turn on the TV, asking if we were stupid or dead (my significant other was between contracts and sleeping in and I had been doing other things before I checked our email that day - I had not turned the TV on at all) and generally trying to get our attention through a medium that, in retrospect, screamed in its silence that day. I did not know what was going on so I turned on the television just in time to see the live broadcast of the first of the Twin Towers collapsing. I think it was Tom Brokaw who was saying, "What can you say?" The beautiful crisp, blue sky glowing with the light of a clear Autumn sun framed the picture of dust, panic and destruction that, eight years later helped cause what I described to one of my therapists as an "anxiety incursion."

Thankfully, all of our loved ones were safe and well, or as well as possible, that day but even the memory of the bluebirds did not seem able to bridge the void in my heart created by the events of 9/11/2001. We lost my boyfriend's mom two years, or so prior to that, my own mom just that February. We had yet to learn that my dad was to undergo three bouts with cancer, that my one of my sisters was going to die of leukemia, that my boyfriend's family was to lose his brother-in-law very shortly after Patty died, that several of our VIPs (Very Important Pussycats) would also be lost to us, that there was to be more pain than we could possibly have imagined ourselves surviving in our futures. We are still here.

The memory of bluebirds seems particularly fitting at the moment. I just finished RSVPing to a wedding invitation for two of our friends who will be married in May up in Maine. We both hope to be there to wish them well and celebrate with them, sharing in their joy in one another and in life. They deserve such happiness, as do most of us. It is anticipated that blue skies and sunshine will be on the schedule but prudent plans have been made for the occurrance of storms as well, so there will be no hinderance to ceremony or celebration. I must , rather selfishly, admit I am sort of hoping to be indoors as Maine is cold in May, but if there are bluebirds I can forgive a lingering chill to the air.

Memories Are Not Always Pleasant or Welcome

2009-02-03T00:22:00.000-05:00

What is now yesterday morning (although possibly not quite yet in this blog's time zone) I was at the monthly meeting of our grief group. After the initial eight weeks, those of us in the group elected to continue meeting once a month and it has been good so far, although this has only been our second monthly meeting. What has called me to my keyboard at what is 12:30 am, or so, in my time zone, were some things that were mentioned that took their time percolating in my mind until a few minutes ago and the slight fear that they may have indicated even the remotest of possibilities has caused me to remain awake when I usually have little trouble falling asleep.

It's strange how the slightest of suggestions can bring back some of the most vivd and unwelcome of memories, especially when those memories end up coupled with concerns for potential harm to other people; people who do not merit or in any way deserve to be harmed.

A name, a brief description, and memories of a very self-involved young woman came flooding back to me. She is not someone I have thought about much at all for several years. She is not someone I have wanted to think about for several years, as she is not someone I thought very much of when I met her and even less of when our blessedly brief acquaintance came to an end. To put it very bluntly, she had her head so far up her own backside she was unable to see anything except whatever was up her own....

Unfortunately, this particularly narcissistic young person was going into a field of work where it is likely she would end up victimizing those who could not afford to be further victimized. Dealing with her was like dealing with a very determined locomotive that was laying its own tracks according to its own rules while self-diagnosing for its own benefit and satisfaction with absolutely no regard for anyone or anything else. She was doing the work but for all of the wrong reasons and I pity any of the people who have likely been exposed to her self-satisfied "expertise" during these early years of whatever travesty is passing for her career at the moment. I can only hope that 1. she is still in school, and 2. she has matured tremendously and snapped out of her egoistic little bubble, or is at least in the process of doing so. She was certainly not without intelligence, although she seemed to feel that genius was formulaic rather than creative, and that she was the be all and end all of perfection in the student department despite her determined belief she suffered too greatly to remain unsainted very long following her graduation.

I realize all of this is truly harsh of me, but I know the effect this person had on me, the fear the mere thought of the influence she, or someone very much like her, could have upon a vulnerable human being that I feel when I recall her behaviors, and all that I was trying so hard to deal with at the time that was made even more difficult by this individual. I sincerely hope she has truly grown up and outgrown herself. I also hope I never have to see her or deal with her again on any level and that she never has the opportunity to victimize anyone else again, although I doubt she will ever be able to see herself in that light no matter what damage she may inflict.

Hopefully she will prove to ultimately not be so disturbing and selfish as my contact with her led me to believe, but the fear exists and lingers and I do not want this person near anyone I care about for any reason whatsoever. Maybe she is out in California in some New Age commune with her yogi boyfriend bilking rich people out of money they have never had to earn themselves. Somehow that thought comforts me as she could do very little damage in such a superficial atmosphere should she have managed to not mature or change in these interim years.

Would that all memories could be the pleasant kind.

Izzlebug

Some Days Are Simply More Interesting

2009-01-13T15:13:00.000-05:00

Today did not seem to hold any special promise. It is grey and chill and typical New England winter fare but, as I wandered around town in my car munching an all too calorific lunch, I happened across a film crew setting up its equipment in the middle of Lowell. It occurs to me that Lowell, though small by the standards of most cities, is quite a vital and interesting place. I glanced briefly at the activities as I drove by then called a friend who lives in Lowell afterwards to find out if she knew anything about it but that, and a web search, yielded little to no relevent information. Darn! Curiosity is not a lot of fun unless you are able to ferret out the information at some point.

There has been so much going on, so much to write about,that I have chosen very deliberately to wait until the first emotive moments have passed before I sit down to write. This is something I have chosen to do not because I feel my writing will be better or that I will somehow communicate more effectively, but because I have so desperately needed, for a very long time, to take a few steps back and rest. There is something exciting and moving about writing during the throes of an emotional moment or period of time, but it can also be quite taxing when the emotions in question are the ones I and my family have been dealing with over tha past several years; grief, loss, anger, fear, despair, emptiness - vast and unrelenting emptiness - as we have been forced to say "good-bye" to loved ones, hopes, dreams, wishes, and joy repeatedly. I repeat as firmly as possible; I needed a rest.

One of the issues I have wanted to address more recently, but have shied away from, was that of the loss the Travolta family has so recently experienced. Instead of writing while I was likely to shed tears during the writing, I have waited - for my own sake - to mention their son Jett. I cannot begin to imagine to sense of grief and loss they, as parents, must feel right now, although I feel I may be somewhat more able to empathise with their daughter on the loss of her brother. When the news of Jett's tragic passing was first broadcast, I was stunned. The Travoltas seem to have managed to live a fairly quiet and private life despite their fame and it was something of a shock to read of their loss. My next reaction was one of rage that anyone would want information so badly they would harass a grieving family, still in shock from their loss, for information and details of the incident that left them so bereft. I sincerely hope this was not the case for this family. My heart and sympathy go out to them. I wish I was as good as my niece used to be at sending hugs over the phone, it seems as if this family could use several right now.

For most people I suppose it would have been the other way around but I found that the whole Arab-Isreali thing served as a backdrop for the more intimate tragedyies this past week, rather than the more personal for the more international. Certainly a matter of perspective but also, I think, a matter of preference. I prefer to focus more upon those issues I have had some experience with and am therefore more likely to be able to offer something of genuine use or comfort to others going through such trials.

What I might have of use to contribute to a major international debacle I cannot fathom at the moment. They are all too old for spanking, spraying them with water might not work as well as it does with our cats, and taking their guns and bombs away would only annoy them and they would go out and get more which would leave me with a bunch of stuff I wouldn't know how to dispose of properly.

Maybe my Grandmother's method of making them sit facing each other without saying anything for a lengthy period of time (I think the length of time was determined by the type and severity of the infraction, etc.) might work although they seem to have already taken that to extremes. I suppose a major time out would prove ineffective as well. As that is the extent of my disciplinary and diplomatic repetoire at the moment I hope anyone reading this understands why I tend to focus more on the personal than on the global issues in the news.

The kitty fountain sings in the background and I imagine the tummy rumblings of several pussycats coming to mug me as I type all of this. I really need to go feed our family of five cats before they "mewtiny" against me and attack my knees and feet. The greyness of the January day has slowly crept into the house as the light wanes and early evening begins to set in. There have been numerous small birds munching the seed on our deck - juncos, chickadees, cardinals, blue jays, and the wandering and forlorn sparrow now and then. It is fun to watch them as they vie for food even thought they all seem to get enough and always leave some sitting in the snow to germinate in the Spring. I love the simple beauty of the plain New England birds, their colors, their gentle demeanors, their feistiness, their music. Something in their nature speaks gently to my soul and heals much of the pain I must live with from day to day. Physical pain is more easily dealt with than the emotional pains we encounter as we continue to survive while some of those we love dearly do not. It is that emotional pain the sights and sounds of these small creatures helps to asuage, and I love them for the peace I feel while watching them go about their lives, at least the parts of their lives played out on our back deck.

Peace, joy, happiness, and healing to all.

Love, Izzlebug

The Best and The Worst of Us

2008-12-05T08:31:00.000-05:00

There seems to be little doubt that it is the more extreme and emotional situations in our lives that reveal the true natures of our characters. Our many and varied weaknesses and our incredible and laudable strengths are revealed as we are buffeted back and forth beneath the waves of a relentless force of life over which we have little or no control. There is no escaping these revelations of our humanity to our loved ones and others, who likely are already aware at least to some degree of the existence of them, and to ourselves, who may be basically clueless that we possess certain traits until the very moment we are in the throes of the crisis that brings them bubbling to the surface of our being and shocks us beyond words with our own perfidy or devotion.

I write this because of the realization that I have come to regarding my many struggles with depression over the past several years. I always felt they were due primarily to the circumstances life placed me in that were beyond my control; the loss of beloved pets, the loss of close family members (also beloved), the battles with relentless diseases faced by many members of my family, financial woes, issues of failing health both for myself and for those I love, and so on. I now realize that, although such things are often extremely difficult to bear, the ensuing struggles with depression are not merely "natural" but a reflection of our inner struggles with at least two of our strongest weaknesses: anger and self-pity. The whole of depression is much more complex than that, both psychologically and chemically, so this is an over simplification on my part, but it is one that led me to a personal revelation I had not faced up to before. In many ways, despite the harsher circumstances of my life, my depression has been the result of my struggles with my own weaknesses, my own lack of strength in many key areas of my own character that have left me wanting and in need of help in areas where others people seem to have little or no difficulties coping. This was not so much a self-condemnatory revelation as the realization that we all have these areas of weakness within, as well as areas of strength. Its just that the areas of weakness are the ones that cause us the most trouble and so get most of the attention.

The toughest part of facing up to my own self-pity is the fact that I do not know how to not feel sorry for myself at having lost my younger sister. It has hurt beyond anything I ever imagined could hurt and I still struggle with the tears that come at odd moments as the holidays approach and I am reminded of how much Patty put into them for her childrens' sake. Last year we were still all in shock at this time of year. This year, although cushioned by time, we still feel the loss of the mother of the only two grandchildren of my parents, one of the four of our group of siblings, and the pressures brought to bear upon each of us because of that loss express themselves differently in each case. I am alternately weepy and determinedly celebratory. Our brother, whose own struggles with mental illness have left him utterly defeated and , in many ways defenseless, feels the pressures and stresses of the seasons but may not link them to Patty's not being here. "She who wishes to remain anonymous" is likely burying herself in a multitude of other pursuits, perhaps taking moments to cry, perhaps not and if not, becoming more and more stressed out with each days approach to a formerly very joyful time of year. Dad and our stepmother may be going away for the holiday, undecided as of our last telephone call, and I have assured them I will take my brother out for Chinese on Christmas day and make sure he has gifts to open and so forth. I will miss them if they choose to be elsewhere this year, but I can also understand their desire to get away and experience a different sort of celebration.

My plans for Christmas involve the baking and decorating of a zillion little Christmas tree shaped cakes and the delivery of said cakes as well as candy canes (the good kind) to various places we have done business, and found friends, over the years and to various family members as well. Not a very generous gift in many ways but time, unlike money, is not in such short supply right now and I am looking forward to making each little tree as unique as possible. I hope everyone will know that the same amount of love is going into these little cakes as went into last years packages, bags, and bows. (UPDATE: Due to illness and injury - the usual stuff - I only got one batch of the little cakes decorated and delivered. They were eaten and declared delicious by my Dad and stepmom and one other plain batch delivered to my niece, who had requested that no icing be used on her cakes. The rest of the cakes sat in the prretty green boxes in our kitchen until they grew some very interesting types of mold which, though icky and sort of fuzzy, was quite interesting to look at and squish agaist the sides of the boxes as I dumped all of them out. There were not quite a zillion of them so there was not as much waste as would have otherwise been the case. There was, however, a great deal of regret at the lost work and happiness those cakes could have redeemed. This year. - I.)

Some of those friends the cakes and candy canes will be going to have also been suffering. At least two of our acquaintances have lost very close, multiple family members within much shorter frames of time than we have experienced and my heart goes out to them both. I will shed a few more tears this year that are not on my own behalf and that I know are not born of self-pity, because they are for others who are struggling this year as we were last year. I will try to stop by to say a quick "hello" to both of them and , hopefully, bring at least a little cheer along with the delivery of sugar shock supplies. The gifts will be for all of the people who work for them as well as for the individuals themselves as that seems the right way to handle the holiday issues here. Hugs where they may be needed will also be administered.

Last year, in the midst of everything, I found some little tear-shaped mini ornaments. I bought all I could find wiht the thought of perhaps writing a poem for family members and gifting each with the poem and a "tear" in honor of missing loved ones, but I think I will do something different instead. For years now I have been slowly gathering ornaments - nothing too expensive or showy -with the thought of someday having a Christmas tree of icicles, snowflakes, birds, and a white angel on top. To that I will add the tears, opalescent and crystalline, as a reminder that, in our humanity, there will always be tears and loss intermingled with the beauties and joys of being alive. Such is the price of living.

Many happy moments for each of you during these holidays. May love, peace, harmony and happiness become foremost in life in the years to come.

Izzlebug

23 More Days Until Christmas - Kid Time

2008-12-02T10:14:00.000-05:00

As my niece reminded me on the phone last night, it was only 24 more days until Christmas! (Now down to 23 days.) I have a feeling I will hear the continued countdown each time I speak to her until the eagerly awaited event has passed. As with last year, the holidays without her Mom, my younger sister, will be different and difficult, but not in the same way as last year. Last year we were all still in shock. In many ways this year feels like the first one without Patty, but it is a milder grief, more of an intense loneliness than the gut-wrenching pain of having just lost her we were all experiencing last year.

Despite the depressive tone of my blog, I continue to write about my sister because I hope that anyone who may have experienced a similar loss, assuming they happen upon this spot in cyber space, will know that they are not alone and decidedly not abnormal for still thinking of their loved one more than a year after having lost them, especially not during holidays and other special times of year when family and friends are so much more in our focus than other times. We are not alone on this planet, this ever increasingly small globe of rock and earth we call home. It is normal to miss someone we have lost for years after the fact and we need to accept that certain aspects of grief last a lifetime.

That said, I would like to detour for a few moments to comment on an article I read in the Atlantic in the November 2008 edition. In an article titled Why I Blog by Andrew Sullivan, I found much of interest and much to encourage me about blogging in general. Although my blog has primarily been in the form of an online journal and more of a catharsis for me as my life has turned upside down in the middle of everything, Mr. Sullivan has opened new vistas for me as to the possibilities and true nature of blogging. Anyone serious about blogging, be they stolidly determined to remain the same (which may end up being me, I don't know yet - I'm still thinking about it) in their approach, or whether they are looking for a new way to express their own unique blogginess, will find much of interest in this article. The tone is upbeat and enthusiastic and Mr. Sullivan is both erudite and passionate about his subject but not to the point of being overbearing or know-it-all. I will provide the link, to follow, here but not in a very tech savvy way, for which I hope those of you more adept will forgive me for the moment, my mind and energies having been elsewhere for quite sometime now:

http://www.theatlantic.com/doc/200811/andrew-sullivan-why-i-blog

Peace and happiness to all for this holiday season.

Izzlebug

2008-11-23T07:15:00.000-05:00

"Be as wary as serpants and as innocent as doves." Matthew 10:16

The above quotation will be explained in a moment, but first I want to both remind and reassure anyone who may be keeping up with my blog that I have not forgotten my project of answering the "presidential" questionnaire. I am working (slowly) on transcribing it into a format that will print properly on my computer, as the copy of th efile I downloaded from the internet refuses to print clearly and I am having to retype the entire thing. As soon as that is complete I will try to begin the process of answering those many questions, albeit with tongue in cheek on some of them - after all, I am not really applying for work with the White House or the incoming presidential administration and the questions are really quite "thorough" in their scope of the lives of the people answering them. That said, on to the above mentioned quote.

In all of the years I spent attending churches, bible studies, etc. I have always wondered a little at the apparant contradiction implied in this useful bit of advice. Perhaps, in part, because of the aversion to formal education certain groups seem to cultivate and, again in part, because the knowledge needed to be as "wary as serpants" seems to negate the ability to also be as "innocent as doves." A conundrum if ever there was one and one not so easily explained away by those apologists more glib than the rest of us or those so certain of the infallability of scripture that they consistantly and persistantly turn a blind eye to the historically provable manipulations of the same by those in power within the church over the ensuing centuries. Scripture may indeed be the word of God, but man has tampered with it, perhaps irrevocably, time and time again. That the truth of what God has tried to communicate in the past may have survived to this day is probably the most miraculous occurrance of all. This is the extent of my deep thought for the day. Please feel free to comment or elaborate upon it as you wish. Conversation and educated argument are always welcome.

Tomorrow is the last weekly session for the grief counseling group, then the group will go to monthly meetings for those who would like to continue with the counseling/sharing. I would like to continue for a while, although the burden of grief has lessened considerably for me over the past few weeks, I feel there are still issues lurking in the background that I will need to deal with as they crop up. It willl be simpler to deal with them if I am still in a group rather than having to try to get back into a group if things build up again. Also, as the group moderator has said, a year really isn't that long a period of time and I still miss Patty terribly in so many ways and still worry about her children, too.

My nephew seems to be doing quite well for the moment, and I will be taking my niece and a friend of hers to see "Bolt" later today. It should be fun and relatively calorie free since finances preclude spending anything on movie theater priced treats for any of us. I will probably treat us to something afterwards though, which should be fun, too.

The holidays are approaching too quickly and, in some ways, feel more like the first ones without Patty than last year when we were all still in shock from losing her to the leukemia. I am hoping to bake about a zillion little tree-shaped cakelettes, which I will then decorate as the fancy moves me, to give to friends and family as gifts for Christmas, and have some small plans for "thank yous" for Ross's niece for hosting us, yet again, for Thanksgiving. I hope everyone enjoys what I am able to manage this year - at least I hope the little cakes will be yummy!

Again, the holidays do not feel quite as bright, quite as cheerful as in past years. Each loss to our family dimms the lights a little more and the celebrations do not carry the same joys and anticipations they used to for me, although the love that wavered on the edge of that horrible emotional abyss of grief has found new footing in new and newly recovered older relationships, made all the stronger by the bonds having been forged during such significant loss to all of us. The love, if not the anticipation, is as bright, but with a different and softer glow. Somehow our grief has softened the edges, made our love warmer and opened our hearts more to one another than before. We are diminished yet, somehow, stronger for having survived, and also more cohesive and less insecure - the worst having already happened.

May your days be merrier, brighter, but also filled with the warmth of love we now share, just without the attendant losses.

Izzlebug

Life Outside My Own Mind

2008-11-14T13:19:00.000-05:00

Part of my effort at a full recovery from my personal losses and traumas, I have decided, is to get back to my writing and trying to focus the majority of my musings upon what is happening outside my own ongoing experiences - be they painful or otherwise - and get back into the world again, so to speak. There are two things I will be working on here in my blog that I don't know will be of interest to others, but will be the springboard for my attempt to make as full a recovery as possible from the loss of my younger sister; firstly, I have decided that as a nod to our new and historically very significant president I am going to try to answer the questions that are required of all who wish to apply for work with the Obama administration in Washington, D.C. and, secondly, to try to highlight the actions of certain people who I have found to have been particularly laudatory or that have inspired or moved me greatly. In this way I hope to honor both the period of time we are living through right now in the United States and to bring a little more recognition, however singularly unimportant and humble my efforts may be, to some of those people whose triumphs of spirit and bravery in the face of extreme persecution or threat have touched my mind and heart and left me feeling the type of inadequacy that may one day, hopefully, lead to greater and more generous actions on my part - that I might emulate while never truly equaling these individuals is all I feel I can realistically hope for, but at least I can remember them and try.

I would like to start this project by mentioning the name of one Shamsudin Agha, a mullah in Afghanistan who was brutally murdered by members of the Taliban for speaking out against the use of suicide bombings as a weapon of war. Mullah Agha lead his followers in prayer for the cessation of such practices and, as a result, was kidnapped and visciously, savagely slaughtered by those who would, as always, send others to die in order to insure their own political strength and financial and familial well-being. I have yet to hear that any of the children, family members, or good friends of those higher up in the Taliban have ever been the ones chosen to carry Jihad to the common people and infidels. This is a task in which no well known names are listed, ever, and in which only those too weak to withstand the political and religious manipulations of those determined to remain alive and in charge by any means possible are the victims with the bombs strapped to their bodies; dying in fear for promises no one knows will, or can, be kept - both for in this life and beyond, the last being a matter of faith and the former whatever the chosen sacrifices are promised or threatened with if they do not comply.

Perhaps the Mullah would have hated me on principle. I am, after all, American, culturally Christian, and female which damns me on three fronts in Muslim society, however I cannot help but recognize the bravery, the sheer courage, it took this man to offer any sort of a public protest to what has been going on in his nation for these many years. Whether it excites negative comments and emotions or not, I would like to express the feeling that it is courage such as this, the courage that governments yearn to inspire in their citizens and then hope to control absolutely, that has won wars, our own American forefathers and patriots being prime examples of both the leaders in such courage as well as inspirers and manipulators of the same.

If there is truly any justice in some ethereal afterlife for such people, I know it will not be a life that allows them to sit back without a care, but one that allows them to keep on fighting for what is true and what is right and just. Heaven, for me, would be unbearably dull with nothing except my own comfort to think about or concern me. I hope the Mullah would agree.

So, this diatribe is in honor of Shamsudin Agha, a man of genuine courage and compassion whose conscience would not allow him to remain silent and who consequently was murdered by those he stood against. May he, by such a death, become an impenetrable wall of stone to those who killed him in defense of their own selfish interests and viscious determinations.

With much love and gratitude,
Izzlebug

"Thank You" Always Seemed So Simple Before

2008-11-10T06:49:00.000-05:00

As time has passed and, of necessity, more and more people I never thought I would meet have come and gone in all of our lives, I find myself both grateful and overwhelmed. Grateful for the kind words and smiles, cheerfully given support and comfort, silence when that has been best, and on occassion a mild scolding for forgetting all of the kindness that has been given under the extraordinary circumstances my family has found itself dealing with the past several years and overwhelmed by the sheer mass of humanity that has taken part in giving all of us this much needed and, seemingly at times, under appreciated support during our nearly endless times of grief and trial.

How do you say "thank you" to literally hundreds upon hundreds of people who may have touched your life for only a moment but left such vitality in their wake? Without all of these people I do not believe I or my family would have been able to survive what we have been going through, especially during my sister's illness and subsequent death this past year and a half. If I ever felt that I was somehow alone in the Universe all of the care and attention I have received over the past several months has blatantly exposed that supposition for the lie that it is - not any one of us is alone, perhaps isolated temporarily, but never alone. If it seems we are alone we should remember that people will come if we want them to or need them to. Maybe not always on time, but never for lack of willingness once a need is known or for lack of trying.

If, in some way, this small effort can even begin to respond to all of the strength that has been shared with us with the appropriate gratitude, then I make its offering here and now in the hope that some may read this and know it is for them. If I am able to expand upon this small missive of thanks at some later date, somehow make it grander or more public, I will do so. It does not seem as if I can begin to make it big enough or beautiful enough to express what I am feeling, what has helped sustain me, because of all of the other people I live with on this earth.

Thank You.

Izzlebug

I Used to Think Roller Coasters Were Fun...Or Was That Tailspins?

2008-11-06T00:24:00.000-05:00

The group I am attending for the grief therapy/counseling is structured so that each week we have different exercises or assignments to accomplish (they are not set in stone, so it is not a school-like atmosphere at all) to help us get to the places we need to be in order to get through our grief processes in as healthy and sane a way as possible. It sounds a little odd to try to state here, but it really works out to be very practical within the context of the group. We do have an assignment for next week that, however, sent me into something of an emotional downspiral for several days...we are to gather pictures, write something - poems or whatever - , or make up some sort of presentation to memorialize the loved one we lost that brought us to the group. I did not realize quite how fragile I still was about Patty until I thought of gathering pictures and memories to share with the others and found myself not only grieving, but also panicking. (Sorry about the spelling here)

It never occured to me that part of the way I was coping with the loss of my younger sister was by avoiding looking at certain photographs or other momentoes of her life. Fortunately, since the time is fairly short for the assignment, the group leader is letting me bring in the DVD that our youngest sister and several of Patty's friends made for her memorial service. It focuses on Patty and her life, her special qualities, how important being a mom was to her, and how she chose to face her death. I will have to watch it at least one more time before the next meeting to make certain it will run all the way through on my laptop, make sure the proper software is on board, etc., which will be difficult, but probably not as difficult as trying to gather everything from scratch and trying to come up with something new, which I really don't feel I can face right now.

Life goes on, both a blessing and an annoyance depending upon the current state of mind I find myself in, and each day brings with it new joys and humor, new trials and concerns, new pain, new sorrow, new peace.

The cats are a comfort and a constant source of love and amusement, as they have always been, and I am forever grateful for their furry, funny company and purring animal sympathy and affections. There is nothing quite as nice as a pussycat coming up to you when you're upset to see if you're OK. They look inquiringly up at me, rub gently against my ankles and my hands, jump onto my lap or the desk in front of me, and chirrup cheerfully to me through my various heartfelt and/or pettier miseries. It's a privilege to be allowed to bury a tear-stained cheek into the soft and friendly fur on the side or back of a loving and totally accepting feline friend. That the bringing of gifts of dead mice may also be included in the equation does not lessen the joy of their other gifts to me, I just do not dwell on that particular demonstration of their love and affection for me too much.

Ross is a comfort and a source of continual change and challenge for me, as I am sure I am for him since such is the nature of relationships. I really cannot imagine where I would be or what I might possibly be doing without him in my life. He is integral to my being and I want no other man in his place. Growing older together is both the most comforting and the most frightening adventure I can imagine right now, if only due to the retrospective pains from prior losses and tragedies. He is both my greatest good and my greatest vulnerability. I feel so fortunate to have him here with me and I love him more than I can seem to express adequately. Words are both too tame and totally inadequate but to be unable to use them seems grossly unfair to him as well. I guess there will be some more unpublishable poems being written soon; the ones I have promised to burn without letting anyone else read before I die. (We'll see.)

Dad has been battling a virus for the past week and a half or so and, with the car in the garage, I have had little opportunity to spend time with my niece or my friends. I have, however, gotten to get a lot of resting done and since that seemed to be the key to getting rid of all vestiges of the virus I was dealing with for such an interminably long time, it has been, in my opinion, time well spent. It will be nice though to have the car back, as well as some energy fro doing house work and errands and getting a few one-time only chores taken care of before the major holidays arrive.

Last Christmas was really difficult, but we all managed to get through it. This Christmas will be simpler, at least for Ross and me, and I am hoping to get to bake some little cakes to use as gifts for everyone. As I learned after we lost Mom, the approaching holidays will never feel quite the same as they did before, always and forever to feel a little more hollow, a little less joyful and more lonely due to the loss of loved ones. New times and new traditions, new faces and new ways of celebrating each will come about born of necessity both emotional and logistical. It is the way of things that these changes take place; sort of like growing pains but more of a diminishing than a coming of age.

The night is still and velvet, the house silent except for the tapping of my keyboard and the hum of electronics in the background. Ross and the cats are all quiet and, hopefully, asleep, and I am wrapping up the day with my blog not knowing whether these words shall ever reach anyone who may be in need of them or not. I have been tempted to place a counter on my blog but I am too chicken to find out my only visitor is my young niece making sure her auntie is still the only "Izzlebug" on the internet. I can live with a little mystery I guess.

Peace and fair winds. May God speed you to your loved ones and your safe berths where ever you may be in the coming days.

Love, Izzlebug

Flu Season Approaches

2008-10-14T17:14:00.000-04:00

Very soon after my last blog entry I caught a flu bug that held on for a good three weeks and is still making me cough - enough of that, but it did impact my getting back on line here. I have also noticed that there are a great many typos and other grammatical and spelling errors I have not yet corrected in many of my blog entries, for which I apologize. I will try to rectify the situation as soon as I am able to, but it may not be for awhile yet.

That said, I would like to put in a positive vote for group therapy/discussion groups. Although I missed the first of eight sessions, the people moderating the group were kind enough to call and ask if I still wanted to participate. It is a group for people who have experienced the recent (or fairly recent) loss of a loved one. I'm not sure just what I was expecting; perhaps more people or perhaps a different format. Whatever my preconceptions may have been, the reality is simpler and more organized. There are only two others participating in the group with me, as well as the moderator/psychologist, and there is plenty of time for each of us to participate and talk about the loved ones we have lost and how that loss has impacted our lives. Because of confidentiality issues I will not attempt to reveal anything about anyone else's struggles with grief other than my own, but my heart goes out to both of the others in that they are less than a year away from their losses while I have had some time to heal, even though the first anniversary of my sister's death was a very difficult time for me emotionally. Even though I still miss her desperately, my grief is no longer so raw and painful as that of the others. They are just starting to emerge from their pain, while I have had a year to get back up and moving again, albeit with a lot of help from the medications, my boyfriend and family, and now this group. I am still hoping to be able to eventually manage without the medicines for the depression and such, but also realize that may not be possible if I want to maintain a certain quality of peace of mind in my life. Time will tell.

It is a good thing, though, to hear what others are going through, how they are handling their grief, and how they feel - the sense of loss, the unreality of feelings that those we have lost can't possibly truly be gone, the realization that this grief has been such a shock to our systems that it does take recovery time to get back into life again. I hope the others are able to make it back, too.

In the interim, we have adopted another cat - my boyfriend's sister's cat - and she will hopefully be able to integrate successfully into our cat family. Her name is Samantha and she is really a very sweet and funny kitty. She is also very happy to be in a home with people again, as she had to be left in a house without her owner present for quite awhile. Although fed and checked on regularly, she was a spectacularly lonely pussycat and is really enjoying having company again. We are trying to follow some advice given to another person by the SPCA, which was to keep the new cat seperate from the others for the first two weeks and then introduce them into the household. The two weeks will be up this Friday. I look forward to the introductions with some interest and not a little trepidation. I'll try to keep you posted.

I have also given the group leader (the group discussed above) permission to use my blog if she thinks it might help the others as it covers a time span from before we knew of my sister's illness until after her death and into the present. I told her it needed to be "vetted" however, because it discusses things such as the suicides of my two cousins and some other family tragedies which I find it difficult to believe would be beneficial to two people so recently berieved as the other two in the group are at this time. Since I started my blog in the hopes of connecting with, and possibly helping, others, if the group leader can use any of what I have written or shared to help someone else get through their own grief, it would mean a great deal to me to think that somethin good had come out of all of the pain.

May most of you have happier times and less difficult lives than my family and may you know peace of both mind and heart for all of your years.

Love, Izzlebug

Things MUST Be Getting Better!

2008-09-20T23:03:00.001-04:00

Wow! Two blog entries in the same month - if I am getting this chatty again I think it's a sign that the healing we so long for following life's tragedies, yet the same healing we often feel guilty for having wished for or noticed, is happening more rapidly as time puts space between the event and the present time. Watch out world! Izzlebug is on her way back.

Despite no current major illnesses, there is always something to worry about or fret over. People who seemed to be doing so well a few weeks or months ago have taken turns for the worse - socially, if not physically - and it is with some trepidation that I look into a future that may hold additional pains than those inherent in anyone's lifetime. That said - no details will be forthcoming as I do not want to embarass any of my loved ones - it is just as vitally important to try to keep a more positive outlook as the days trace inexorably through our lives.

As before I continue to be concerned about my niece and nephew, although the qualities of that concern have changed due to my nephew having reached his majority and my niece's being still too young to make many of her own decisions in life, even though she would already vehemently deny that she is not yet able to do so and her brother's entirely too strong a determination to ruin his life as quickly as possible (hopefully not, but...). Anyone who may have encountered similar circumstances will know what I am referring to, and that is all that needs to be communicated here, really.

To My Nephew

When you were born
And we first gazed into each others' eyes
I saw reflected in yours
A recognition
As you heard each of our voices in turn
Speaking to you for the "first" time

They were already familiar to you
These voices
And you knew us without
Understanding why or how
And we also knew you
Deep in that strange and
Frightening place
In the center of our humanity
Where such knowledge dwells

As my heart and your beautiful eyes spoke to me of you
That first time
They speak to me again
As I watch your stumbling
And often bumbling leaps and steps
Into a rather clumsy manhood

I still want to reach out
To catch you before you bump a knee
Or smack your head on the ground
But you are too big now
And I could not hope catch you even if I got there in time

You are now more than I can manage to protect
In my small ways and
Although my heart may still know you
My head too often gets in the way
Saying things that in retrospect
Will never feel right
And I know I have lost you
Forever somehow

Your eyes were blue and bright
Curious and wise as you discovered me in
The world beyond your Mother's womb
I had a place there

Keeping In Touch With My Reality

2008-09-16T16:06:00.000-04:00

Today has been an interesting one for me. I have been seeking help in order to help deal with the depression I still feel since losing my younger sister and am finally beginning to realize that all the difficulties, personal ones, I have had over the past years - read that as "most of my life" - may actually have roots in my genetic heritage and are not and never have been imaginary. Unfortunately, the events that have savaged my family over the past ten years have not been imaginary either and the two influences, when coupled together as they have been for me, have been devastating. Today I found myself finally accepting that there are things about me, at least in the physical realm, that I cannot, and have never been able to, control. Those things being the events (plus some) that I have shared in my blog and my DNA. If anyone out there ends up reading this, I hope my words offer some hope, some comfort. We are not alone on this planet and there are a lot of people with kind hearts and minds whose purpose in life is to help those of us not strong enough at certain times in our lives, for whatever reason, to overcome our difficulties and regain more control of our lives as they seem to death spiral around us. I may end up taking a mood stabilizing drug, in addition to the antidepresant, because my brain chemistry, more so than any attitude, habit of thought, or determination on my part, is fighting against my being able to go on with my life and recover from the onsaught of the past ten years.

I feel no embarrasment or shame at making these revelations. The antidepressant has helped me manage my life once again, although at a lower level of effectiveness and productive effort than I would like, and at least I am no longer spending days on end so sad I cry incessantly and cannot make myself stop or trying to keep from going nuts with worrying over things that might or could happen, but have not - you would think there had been enough in the way of loss, tragedy, and pathos such that my mind would tend to run in the opposite direction rather than manufacture imaginary possibilities and worries, but there you have it and there I am. In a way, the thought of something that might stabilize my thinking and emotions enough to allow me to get back to my writing (I love to write poetry and would like to finish my novel and, perhaps, start another one) and possibly set me free enough from my anxieties and losses to concentrate some energy on losing weight and getting myself into a healthier lifestyle and shape is encouraging and a relief. The antidepresant has helped me tremendously and the thought of being free of some of the other little quirks and oddities I have had to deal with most of my life, and still encounter even though on the aforementioned medication, is mildly exhilerating. Hope seems to be returning and my focus shifting off of the distinct possibility of yet more tragedy and pain to other pursuits and areas of life. One step at a time.

If anyone is wondering what I am talking about as regards my genetic heritage, it turns out that on my Dad's side of things there is a distinct and traceble trail of manic-depressiveness with some schizophrenia, paranoia, and bipolar disorder thrown in for good measure. I particularly like the tale about my great grandfather who, upon being given the choice of going to jail or to the state hospital, chose the hospital from whence an acquaintance then helped him escape. He made his way out to Ohio, "remarried" (his first mariage never having been dissolved), and was eventually murdered in his sleep by a man he had threatened. He was shot in the head with a hunting rifle.

I also have two first cousins who commited suicide, one by hanging himself in his early twenties and the other by a drug overdose, although she may or may not have planned it that way. In both cases my cousins were found by their mothers. I cannot imagine the grief and pain a mother must feel at such a moment. I hope the doctor and psychologist can help me seperate the chemical from the very real reasons I and my family have to weep. My younger brother has been diagnosed over most of his adult life as schizophrenic, bipolar, and manic-depressive, and I have another relative who, as a young man, had a great deal of difficulty "getting his act together." Another grandparent (according to his wife) would "sulk" for days on end, refusing to even get out of bed. She said she would usually just let him stew in his own juice and get on with the housework, taking care of the children, etc. until he snapped out of it. I am hoping to be able to provide more information regarding the familial aspect of things psychological in the near future, if only for my own understanding if not to help others who may find themselves struggling in the same ways themselves.

All of that and a breast cancer gene - what more can nature offer? (Rhetorical question - PLEASE do NOT try to answer it!)

The past ten years have had a tremendous amount of difficulties in them for both my boyfriend and his family and me and my family. Starting in 1998 or 1999, we lost his mother and one of our baby cats within the same week, followed in 2001 by the loss of my mother. We then lost two more of our precious feline friends and joined the battle with my Dad when it was discovered he had breast cancer (followed over the ensuing years by two more bouts with two different types of cancer - three types in total).

Almost as soon as my Dad's initial surgeries, chemo and radiation treatments were done, and also on the fifth anniversary - to the day - of our mother's death, my younger sister found out she had leukemia. Nineteen months after Patty's initial diagnosis she passed away the evening of her son's eighteenth birthday. A few weeks later, just before Thanksgiving 2007, my boyfriend's brother-in-law passed away. Although his death was not unexpected, it was very difficult for both of our families to get through the holidays. Christmas of 2007 sucked big time. The first anniversary of Patty's death will be this Saturday. My nephew will be spending his birthday with his Dad, stepmother, and younger half-sister, while his other half-sister (my niece) will be spending the day with her father and younger half-brother. I will be at my Dad and step-mothers' house meeting some of her relatives, desperately missing both my niece and nephew as well as their Mom, and hoping my nephew is having a happy birthday despite the many sad memories the day may chance to bring.

There are also many incidents which I cannot currently place within the framework of the above narrative, but which were concurrent with the flow of time involved; the tragic death of a close cousin of my boyfriend's as well as that of her second husband, various illnesses attributable to the genetic heritage of my Dad's family occuring amongst cousins distant and otherwise, bad news about and bad health for beloved pets, the loss of jobs, the struggles with failing finances, the house falling apart under us, worries about the health of elderly, very dear relatives, our own health issues taking our time and energy away from those we love, and so on. Now if I could only emulate the writing style of Lucy Maud Montgomery as she had Anne of Green Gables speaking, all in one huge paragraph which has always left me breathless when I read it, and you would have a small idea of how all of the past ten years has felt to me.

Such is my life and those of the others whose lives are intimately entwined with my own. The evening sun is gleaming softly through the window as I type this, the sound of lawn mowers drift through also as people try to tame their lawns one last time before the New England winters make it unnecessary for the next several months, punctuated by the periodic sqwackings of the birds as they gather together prior to flying south of here for a winter's vacation in warmer climes.

I do not cry today. Perhaps it is the medication, perhaps the healing over the passage of time from the events recorded above, perhaps the soft and soothing air of a beautiful evening. Whatever the reason, there are no tears on my keyboard this evening and I am lulled by the sounds and scents of the day. Perhaps I will try to finish learning a new song, perhaps I will write another poem and post it here later, perhaps I will do some dishes; whatever I choose to do, it will be done with more peace than I have felt in a long time. This may be due to the hope of a further deliverance from wayward emotions and thoughts that have tried to rule my life for years, the effect upon me of the mild and beautiful weather, or the releasing of further burdens by sharing these things with the hopeful thought that maybe someone, somewhere who needs words such as these may find them here, receive help from them, or feel comforted by them - even if only by gaining the knowledge that they are not alone despite feeling that way.

Blessings and peace to all those who may read this far. It is a good thing to be able to live, love, and hope.

Love, Izzlebug

Time Heals

2008-08-26T01:04:00.000-04:00

Although the passage of time results in the slow and natural healing grief, it is still difficult to go through each day without my younger sister here. It is still too easy to see something in a store and think that Patty might really like that little something for Christmas, her birthday, "just because," and then have to recall that she is no longer here. I still feel her presence with me, and hope to continue to do so throughout the remainder of my own lifetime, but missing her is still the order of the day and even the fun times I have gotten to spend with my niece and nephew are tinged with that sense of loss and sadness.

I am going to try to get into a group counseling situation, both to help and to be helped, and hope that finally verbalizing things in the presence of others who understand the sense of loss and difficulties I am still having getting through life in general will be the final phase of the healing process and set my mind and heart free to pursue the rest of my life with my memories and experiences fully dealt with. Sorry for the long-winded sentance, I thought it all in one breath and then wrote it that way, too.

Words are becoming simpler to find again, but they currently lack the energy I became so used to expressing, and I feel lackluster; uninspired and uninspiring. But, this too shall eventually be left behind as time passes and the healing becomes more complete, more tangible.

It is very late in the early morning - an oxymoron if there ever was one - and I must cut this entry short.

God bless all who may read this and may your lives be as blessed as mine has been. The love having made the price of the losing seem less "expensive" somehow.

Izzlebug

Life, and Death, Go On

2008-07-07T10:02:00.000-04:00

We've had a break for several weeks now, since we have had to deal with "life" and its attendant, and really not that morbid, consequence of death. My Dad has finished his round of radiation and has no chemo currently scheduled. I guess they hold off on that in the event of a recurrence which, hopefully, will not happen. But, while the human action-equation has slowed down somewhat, the lives and aging process of our beloved cats goes on in just as determined a way as human lives do and the combined effects of dealing with both "flows of being" keeps us somewhat on edge.

As I type this I am keeping company with one of our kitties, Callie who, at the age of nineteen, is proceeding toward the ultimate physical conclusion of her life. She is in a basket behind me, and slightly to my left, where I can reach over and pet her now and then, just to remind her how important she has been, and is, to our collective household. It was only with numerous reassurances from our veterinarian that Callie is in no pain that we decided to bring her home to spend these last, too few and precious days with her human companions, who will miss her intensely when she is gone.

As is the way of pussycats, the others leave Callie to her dying while they tend to their own living. I, however, being a more evolved and intelligent being, try to keep Callie company without wallowing in premature grief. Callie sleeps peacefully and, unless she makes it sufficiently and decidedly known to me that she prefers being elsewhere in the house, will stay in her "nest" until I move her to the bedroom. I know many people prefer to die at home - as long as it is not more comfortably done in a hospital - and I am hoping the familiar surroundings will bring at least some peace and comfort to our dying friend who has helped fill our lives with so much love, amusement, and joy for so many years.

Callie is a long-haired, dilute calico, which is how they describe the lighter shades of greys and tans as opposed to the black, brown and dark brindle of the "undiluted" calico cat. She has a definite, and firmly twerpy, "animality" (which is a term I coined to help prevent any accusations of anthropomorphising) that has successfully held true against the onslaughts of several other companion cats her entire life. She is the only one of our cats to have successfully held Bootsie (our "street-tough" sweetie pie) at bay and, I think, even frightened him a little - an unusual experience for Bootsie (who, by the way, can be an enormous, furry chicken on occasion). She used to take great joy in blind-siding our other kitties and could really pound out a resounding drum beat on the floor when she was telling any of the other cats to back off. I recall the first time I heard this "concert" when I was downstairs and it happened almost directly over head. It was extremely loud and alarming and when I ran wildly up the stairs expecting to see pussy cats squashed beneath major pieces of furniture, I saw only our sweet, feminine, little kitty, Callie, delicately licking a dainty paw and glaring about at the other cats with a wicked gleam in her eyes. (She showed 'em - and nearly caused a coronary event in a woman far too young to have rated one.)

Although made gentler by the necessity of aging's effects upon her corporeal being, all of her "pepper and spice" are still very much evident in her tail twitchings, which have become quite eloquently communicative as she has had to trade one form of communication for another. (There is this one particular tail twitching which I can only translate as "Good kitty, like Hell!" - which certainly seems to be fairly accurate, and definitely apropos, to both her animality and the moment at hand.) I am hoping that I am reading her desires fairly accurately, as we want her to be happy and relaxed for however much more time is hers. She also naps a lot - something I know a little something about from the human perspective - and I am assuming this is all a part of the ultimate process.

Callie seems to appreciate the occasional chin-scritching and mommy-cat commentary as long as I do not overdo it - which is again signaled with various twitchings of one very fluffy and very communicative tail. Somehow the word "dilute" does not fit in here, even if it is the accepted standard of description for the color of her coat, as opposed to the color and flavor of her life and animality.

I hope we will be a stable and reasonably secure family for awhile after Callie passes (which we hope will be further in the future rather than nearer - as long as she is not in any pain or suffering in any way), in that it seems as though the animal companions and the human ones trade off crises - first one and then the other - giving little respite in between. Part of the price of continuing to live, I suppose, is watching some of those you love and know intimately pass away, leaving only memories and emotions for comfort, along with the other companions still active participants with you in life.

If there is some way to explain this so it is able to impact upon the sensibilities of those younger than me, I would like to convey that, although by fact and definition death is morbid, there is really not too much to fear from that determinedly avoided aspect of life as the younger of us might suppose. It is no wonder that various religious literatures and philosophical treatises have described life, and death, in terms that have rendered it both ethereal and frightening. We are here, with one another, for so short a time - certainly food for thought in light of our continuing fights with those who do not share our own particular beliefs in life - as though we had all the time on the world to contend rather than accept and love; care and mend; communicate and learn. We really should measure all of our imaginings of greatness or what that should be against the overwhelming wisdom of the observation that this world will end, not with a bang, but with a whimper - all of our striving and self-delusional imaginings snuffed out in one frightened little squeak - a tethered lion incapable of a genuine, triumphant roar.

For whatever reason it exists within me, I have always yearned to speak as many foreign languages as possible, although I am singularly lacking in talent at that pursuit. To communicate, or to be able to communicate, with as many people as possible has been a dream - perhaps "daydream" is more accurate - for as far back as I am able to recall. Desire versus a decided lack of talent and drive, however, and I can only manage a few pathetic words and phrases in a minimal number of tongues. My one really solid phrase in French is, however, "Je suis arrivee'," "I have arrived."..."I think, therefore I am." Perhaps I am closer to my daydreams than I fully appreciate - I will keep trying.

While my sister was in the hospital, I remember hearing her doctor warn her, "There will be tears." The statement has remained with me and I am hoping it will be the title of an eventually viable poem. I think I will try to write that poem, and rework it, here in my blog - in case there is any interest on the part of anyone who may stumble across my mutterings and meanderings.

For my sister and my Callie-cat:

There Will Be Tears -

Your every instinct has been
To comfort and befriend.
You do not want to see
The pain losing you will be to me,
But little can prevent,
Alleviate or change
The hearts, minds and emotions
Of those who will remain.

You need to know that you,
In your vastly underappreciated,
Misunderstood "humanity,"
Are sufficiently important
To rate the grief and tears
Of these few of us who stand
By your side, who recall the many years
Of love, sacrifice and joy
You have rendered in our lives,
Sometimes through fault or mistep,
Sometimes through triumphant choice.

Do not resent our hearts' cries
Or the tears that come unbidden,
We would not have any hearts at all
If they could not, at times,
Be broken.

So, "there will be tears" and memories,
Fond, silly tales and sweet remembrances;
You will live on in heads and hearts,
That hold no thoughts of forgetfulness.
Those first tears, and the ones to follow,
Like precious jewels will remain
To decorate your eternal crown
And help you live again.

I will try to keep working on this and let you witness the "process," such as it is, here in my blog. Maybe, if some of you would like to contribute to it, we can all write a poem that expresses these ideas much better than merely one individual is able to manage. If not, oh well. Another piece of paper for my survivors to wade through. (Hee, hee, hee!)

In closing, I would like to share a poem by Emily Dickenson, quoted very loosely, that has stayed with me since I was very young and struggling within myself. It has brought me tremendous comfort in times of need, yet has also challeged me - I'm not really sure just why - to strive for better things, more knowledge, and to grow as far as possible in compassion - perhaps more a reflection of a collective familiarity with its author, rather than of this single piece:

"The bustle in the house
The morning after Death
Is solemnest of industries
Enacted upon Earth.

The sweeping up the heart
The putting Love away
We shall not want to use again
Until Eternity."

Love and Best Wishes Always,
Izzlebug

To My Beautiful Niece

2008-05-05T12:28:00.000-04:00

Sweetheart,

As your fat old auntie sits at her computer today, crying, it has occured to her (me, that is) that there are so many things I want to tell you about your Mom before I can't even if it is only due to lost opportunities rather than life's predations upon our family. It has been a little easier with your brother in some ways because he is older and is able to understand more right now, but it has not been simple trying to figure what to tell you, or when, and then trying to determine how much is too much, and so on. I hope you will forgive me if I have been remiss in any way in this task, sweetie-bananas, although I have often tried to figure it all out so I could do my job in the way that is best for you time and again.

I have tried to tell you some of the funny stories about your Mom when she was a little girl, and some of the naughty ones, too, so you will know that Moms (and Dads, too) used to be kids and had to learn all the stuff you don't want to pay attention to, right now. I also want you to know enough about your Mom so when you might be a Mommy some day you will understand all the things it is so difficult putting into words for you while you're still so young and missing your Mom so much. I think I will have managed to do my job as your aunt if I can help you realize the most important thing about your Mom was how much she loved you and how very hard she tried to stay with you. I have seldom witnessed such a fight from anyone as I saw from your Mom. I always knew my sister was a determined person, but I saw her through newly reopened eyes during her fight to stay here and be with you and your brother. Sweetie, she loved you so much and wanted to be here to see you grow up; to hold you, comfort you, and most of all, protect you, because that is what Mom's are supposed to do.

I admit I was selfish and I did not want your Mom to allow the doctors to try out their experimental treatments on her, but they told her the chances of her recovering were becoming less and less likely as the leukemia kept holding on and coming back no matter what they gave her to fight it. Your mother was willing to take some pretty big chances with her life in the hope that one of the newly developed treatments might be the one to cure the leukemia and save not only her life, but the lives of others as well. Your Mom wanted her life to count for something not just with our family and to her children, but to the entire world as well. She did her best and I think she did a really good job at making a difference. I know that you were the one most on her heart the last day she was alive, mostly because she knew you could not be there with her as the rest of us were.

I want you to know that I sat with her as much as I could. I held her hand and sang lullabies and other songs to her, so she would not have to be alone. I talked to her about how I worried that I could not be a very good auntie without her here to do the "Mom" part of the job, and I know she loved me even thought she could not say so out loud. Most of all, I did not want her to feel alone. I hope she thought of all the things you got to tell her before she died, and of the time you got to spend holding her hand. I am so glad you had a chance to talk to her by yourself, sweetie, because I know there were special "mom-only" things you needed to tell her.

I have never seen such a hard fight for life as the one I watched on that last day. Your Mom held on so your brother could have his birthday before she died. I know she would have held on even longer than that if she could have because she loved you so much.

You are my younger sister's beautiful daughter. You will have your mother's poise, her intelligence, her beauty, and, I hope, her slightly evil sense of humor so maybe, when you're older and allowed to be improper if you want to, the two of us can laugh together the way your Mom, me, and your other auntie (who does not want me to use her name in my blog), used to laugh sometimes when we were together. It is a special kind of laughter that does not happen a lot, and that requires an entire lifetime of love - no matter how short or long - to fully understand. If I can also share that with you, along with the knowledge of how very much your Mommy loved you and wanted to stay with you, my job as your auntie will have been well done.

With all the love in my heart,
Auntie Liz

Tardy, But Still Viable

2008-04-30T11:46:00.000-04:00

After reading my last blog, I realized that some of the hope it expressed was a little premature, there has been a lot to deal with despite the absence of continuing tragedies in the interim. Dad's radiation treatments have started and will continue for several more weeks, then (I think) he has chemo to look forward to, although I need to double check with him on that. Our family's struggles seem to be subsiding - for the moment - and an uneasy calm, made uneasy by past experiences, has descended. The healing from our mutual losses is still going on and there have been some setbacks - thank goodness for friends, relatives, and antidepressants!

More and more it feels as though my mind, still fragile in many unexpected ways, is reawakening as thoughts of continuing work on my novel - which Patty was helping me vet - and ideas for other things to write about and poetry to write begin to come, becoming more and more persistent and insistant as I am able to shed the pain of loss and reclaim those inner portions of my life that were so devastated by Patty's illness and death. If I manage to finish my silly and grotesque "work of art" it shall be dedicated to my sister - more for her help than any inspiration derived - Patty's mind and thoughts were so apropos to my need for an objective second opinion that I am still feeling a little lost knowing I can no longer call her to read chapters to her and have her mention the flaws I need to correct in continuity or consistency. Sigh, sigh, sigh!

My young niece seems to be feeling her mother's death more now, although the adults are healing. It is a terrible thing to lose your mother at so young an age and only have fat old aunties to remind you of her. I worry about her, but feel in my heart she will be alright; that she will do better than she seems to be doing right now - she is her mother's daughter - the progeny of a survivor and a fighter, the daughter of a woman who won every fight in her life except the last one. Recalling all of that, perhaps some of my concerns are misplaced although very natural under the circumstances.

My nephew is doing really well. After all of the heartache and loss, he has been happier than we have seen him for many years, staying with his Dad's second family. He will be graduating from high school this June and is making some enormous strides toward full adulthood and personal independence. I think his mother would have been extremely proud of him had she been able to see him achieving his own personhood, maturing as a man and son in the wake of all the toil and torment.

Our brother (Patty's, mine, and "she who declines to be named") is off in his own world still, although his thoughts emerge from the fog now and then to acknowledge missing Patty. He also seems to take more of an interest in our niece and nephew, although cigarettes are what take up the majority of his attention. He got over his bout with pneumonia this winter and emerged seemingly convinced that the smoking really is not good for him, but old habits, and old delusions, die hard and, in his confused and frightened mind - struggling for security in an unsecure world - the myths have again overcome the blatant realities. He did seem to understand what I told him about the possiblities that the pneumonia could have damaged his lungs further and that might be the reason for his not feeling well again now that he has resumed smoking incessantly, etc. I would think the emphysema would knock some sense into him, but this is not the way things work with my brother. We are all trying to brace for the inevitable heartache of losing him as well, although we know the pain to come will be more immediate despite any preparations we may attempt to make ahead of the actual fact. A brilliant mind defeated by the ravages of lies and the needs of a physical addiction.

I repotted a hydrangea the other day, and tried to save a dying rose. The cats are all a huge comfort in more ways than can be enumerated here, and my boyfriend is more chipper than I have seen him for many years. The small birds still come to our newly installed bird feeder, although the "squirrel-proof" feeder seems to dispense more to the little red squirrel than to the juncos, chickadees, sparrows, and blue jays. Also, since we are no longer scattering the seed all over the deck, as before, the number of birds appearing is smaller and more infrequent than before. I think I will go back to the old scattering technique and hope to see flocks again instead of the few scattered individuals we now have attending our bird buffet.

Life marches on in its relentless fashion, as does nature. It brings a strange and arid comfort to me in knowing that, when all of us are gone, the sun will still peek above the horizon each day, tinting the clouds those particular sun-inspired hues, and the moon will still be seen in the darkness of the sky, even though no one will be there to appreciate its ethereal beauty. Perhaps, despite the destruction humanity seems utterly determined to bring upon itself, there will be birds and Spring showers, flower bulbs will continue to appear above the earth as winter fades away, and the burgeoning of life, minus that of the interminably self-destructive, will reclaim the sunshine and beauty nature has so generously shared with us the entire time humanity has had its existence.

May all of those in need of healing find it, and those who have healing to give find those who need it most.

Love, Izzlebug

It's Been A Long, Long Time!

2008-01-28T12:19:00.000-05:00

Hello out there! It does not seem possible that I have not blogged for over two months, but the dates on the website confirm it. It's good to be back, though, and I hope no one has completely given up on me during the past 60, or so, days.

Following Patty's death, we also lost my boyfriend's brother-in-law, with whom I had been acquainted for almost thirteen years, just prior to Thanksgiving. Then my boyfriend had major surgery - from which he is recovering very nicely - although he is still not able to drive by himself quite yet, and then this past week I learned that my Dad, whom I love dearly, has cancer - again. When does it stop or, at least, slow down? Fortunately, this time around, Dad's cancer is a very slow moving type that has a very high cure rate from the available treatments. It has also not been detected in any of his lymph nodes or bones, which is also a very promising indication that the present treatments will likely eradicate the cancer - still, it does not seem fair that my poor Dad should have to endure the loss of a wife, cancer - surgeries, chemo and radiation, the loss of a daughter, and then cancer - radiation and chemo yet again all in the space of less than ten years.

My mind still feels a little numb from the onslaught yet, at the same time, I find myself slowly healing. Patty's death no longer causes me to break down pathetically, although there are some poignant moments now and then as memories trace themselves throughout the days and weeks as they pass. I was placed on academic suspension from my master's course following Patty's death - I simply could not get my grades back up before the end of the seminar/semester (we are doing two seminars per semester) and had to step down until this coming June, when I hope to be able to return to school and complete my degree. I was able to see - however slowly or reluctantly - that the dean's decision to suspend me was actually a very sound one, especially as I am beginning to feel that old creative/energetic/scholarly spark reigniting as the days and months pass - despite what they have held for our families (mine and my boyfriend's).

The time I have been taking off from my studies has given me an opportunity to look around, read for the fun of it and not because I have to study, take a few deep breathes, and begin to see the possibilities in life again instead of only the pain and loss. I am also able to recall more and more of the events following Patty's passing with more clarity; everything also seems a little more orderly as well.

Both Patty's and our Mom's ashes were laid to rest in a small, rural cemetary that has hosted several members of our extended family for, I think, the past three or so generations. Mom and Patty rest in their urns - both chosen for them by my nephew - side by side in the same spot that will eventually cradle my Dad and step-mother and this seems very "right" to me - that a mother and daughter, first wife and second, husband and father, should all be together in death in a way simply not possible in life. It is the final statement of "family" that we can make, this unity in death as in life - at least expressed if not always actual.

The cemetary is a quiet spot, lovely in its rural simplicity and touching in its seperation from the trials and continuing strife the world and this life seem to bring at so constant a pace. As my other sister - "she who declines to be named" - and I stood by while the person dug through the soil to make room for our sibling and parent, we were a little disconcerted to see bones - a lot of them - coming up with each shovelful of Vermont earth. He - the digger - explained that the cemetary was located on the site of an old slaughter house, that the bones belonged to the cattle, pigs, and presumably a few sheep, that had been dispatched only feet from our then present location. At least the prior occupants had not been former relatives, which is what gave us the creepy feeling initially, although it does seem a little sad that the remains of the animals must routinely be disturbed to make way for more death, although of a very seperate species and the consumers of said animals, at least relatively speaking.

There is a slight uphill tilt to the land as it rolls gently to an old stone fence and meets the edge of a still rather young forest. In a few more years there will no longer be room for any more of the human occupants, leaving the animals remains still in a vast majority.

The day of their mutual funeral was a beautiful and gentle Autumn day blessed with warm breezes and sunshine, and various relatives we thought might not be able to be present. Our grandmother was there, some cousins, and some of Patty's friends, as well as the more immediately bereaved. The graveside service was very homespun and short. Those of us with something to say or share were able to do so, while those present out of affection and respect who did not know what to say were not made to feel awkward or unwelcome because of their silence. Patty's two sisters (myself and "she who declines to be named"), and also our mother's remaining two daughters, stood beside the grave as the urns were hidden from sight, at least until the larger vault arrived. It seems as if the constant movement and disorganizations of life must also intrude upon death...the headstone was scheduled to arrive later in the week.

Perhaps, I think, I find this blog something of a shoulder to cry on, a release for the thoughts crowding my mind and edging out the grief, even though many of those thoughts are about the many losses my family has sustained in the past seven years. My thoughts and prayers are for the moment, however, with those of you who may have yet to begin to feel the healing of time, who may still need a shoulder to lean upon or a sympathetic whisper in your ear, or maybe just a tissue to dab away those few sneaky tears that seem to have a will of their own as they escape your eyes and slowly make thier way down your cheeks, unbidden. Please know that these words are also for you.

Izzlebug

New Vistas I Wish I Could Have Shared With Patty

2007-11-10T21:48:00.000-05:00

Tonight I met an extraordinary young woman of remarkable talent and drive. Her name is Lisa and she is the creator and owner of a website called "BellaOnline." It is easily one of the most remarkable sites I have ever seen and reaches so many people - primarily women - in such a positive way I could not help mentioning it here. Lisa is shy, very bright, and very determined to make an impact - or I should say, "even more of an impact." I visited her site this evening and found two truly wonderful recipes using pumpkin, found many links to many different types of sites offering everything from free advice or help to free craft patterns and instruction. There are links to sites on topics as diverse as sewing, religion, current events, and many others. The network for this site is huge! Lisa has four hundred other women and men editing the many and varied choices and there are areas for posting requests or offering help finding recipes, patterns, instructions (cars to crocheting), as well as links to other sites Lisa owns and manages. There is also a minimum of advertising and a commitment to assisting women in areas of the world who would normally be unable to access the information and instructions offered by the site. Having any access to the site at all has already enabled women in third world areas to augment their families lives and incomes. This is one of the most positive sites I have ever encountered in so many truly constructive and wonderful ways. Lisa is enthusiastic and very modest. I am not sure she even fully realizes how truly remarkable she and her efforts have proven to be in the positive and encouraging manner of presentation and her whole-hearted commitment to keep her site free from the interference and direction of more commercially minded interests. Yay, Lisa!

Life and Current Events

2007-11-02T15:19:00.000-04:00

Life is finally starting to intrude upon the grief of having lost my sister, Patty. Although it is still difficult seeing things that remind me so strongly of her or of the random memories that pop into my mind, my grief is gentler now; less potent and less painful, although eternally present. The healing is well under way and, although the loss will be with me for the rest of my life, I know we will get through the upcoming holidays and still be together as a family - diminished in size and essence, but not in love.

One of the news stories that has caught my attention lately has been the sad and pathetic reports of the woman at Oprah Winfrey's school who has humiliated and abused several of the girls there. How sad that such a beautiful vision has been seemingly marred by the vicious weakness and vile frailties of such an individual, however I do not believe that the evil present has reduced the beauty or the strength of the original vision. Oprah's dream is merely not fully realized as yet, but it will be soon. In the coming weeks, months and years, as this woman's poisonous actions are slowly cleansed from the school and the hearts and minds of the young girls who suffered her abuses and perversions, as well as those who only witnessed them, Oprah's dream will reaquire all of its original beauty and strength. Oprah is strong enough to make this happen. The strength within the hearts of the girls victimized will overcome this atrocity; they will flourish, heal, and bring that healing to others.

On another current events front is the ever present and pathetic Ms. Britney Spears, who's self-indulgence and pathetic weakness of character is becoming more and more obvious with each passing, desperate for attention, news story about her and her exploits. Still, I feel sorry for her. She has lost all perspective on how to grow up and become the woman her two sons so desperately need their mother to be. This young woman needs to get off of her self-indulgent course of self-destruction and learn to mature and care about her sons more than she cares about herself or her failing, flailing career. No amount of collagen, botox, implants, or plastic surgery will ever recoup her teenaged pop queen body or image. She is sinking and it is difficult not to watch the process, growing ever more horrified as her face appears and reappears over and over again, of the desperate bids for attention all of her actions and appearances seem to have become. Thank goodness her two little boys have the strength and protections of more practical and concerned minds than that of their mother - at least they will survive her determined self-destructive tendancies. I wish Britney could suddenly become fully aware of the harm she has been and is inflicting upon her two beautiful children. Perhaps the realization might slow down her pursuit of fame somewhat, and give her at least one strange, rare moment of mature contemplation in which to ponder her actions and likely fate in all of this.

That's it for now. A bit disjointed and rambling, but at least back online.

May all of your family and pursuits be more fruitful and precious with each passing day.

Love, Izzlebug

The Eternity Following

2007-10-08T08:26:00.000-04:00

It has been less than a month (less than three weeks, actually) since Patty passed away. It still feels unreal, yet I know in my heart it is not; she really is gone. Her son is doing OK, although he has had a rough time. Her ten-year old daughter has not seemed to yet feel the full weight of her mom's death, so we all wait and watch, fearful of the moment when it arrives and desperately concerned for her in the mean time.

Patty's memorial service and funeral were just "right" (if that word can really be applied in such a situation). There were pictures and memories shared, and just the right amount of irreverence, much like Patty herself. We will always miss her and wish she could have gotten over the leukemia and stayed with us. It is an ache that will dull in time but never fully heal, never completely dissipate; this is as it should be. My sister was such a vibrant and special part of our lives we will always feel diminished by not having her with us; we will always love and miss her.

I had a dream the other night. Patty was there - well at last, and happy - busy doing something for somebody, somehow. I felt this sweet, sweet pain in my heart as I went to her and hugged her, twice. The "hug" seemed so real to me I could still feel the pressure of it, and the love, upon waking from my dream although Patty was gone before I woke up. I miss her so much. I could have gone an entire lifetime worrying and trying to help out rather than having to lose her; the choice would have been so easy, but we were not given such an option.

During those last all too precious days and hours I asked one of the ICU nurses if finding comfort in singing to my sister was odd and she assured me it was not. Apparently there are a lot of people out there even more eccentric than I can be - I am not sure if that is comforting news or alarming news, but it was news to me, as well as a relief. So I sang to Patty; songs from our childhood, songs from favorite musicals - The Sound of Music, in particular - certain favorite hymns, and so on. Even my niece wanted to sing to her Mom and she chose "Cruella Deville" and "The Circle Game." We tried singing "Puff the Magic Dragon," together but we ended up messing each other up, so I tried to let my niece sing by herself knowing her Mom would want to hear her voice over mine any day of the week. We all cried and talked to Patty and hoped she could hear us and understand the love we had never conciously withheld that was spilling out of our hearts as she lay there, too ill to recover, too weakened to fight any longer, too beautiful for this world. We were all in her room the moment of her death, holding her and one another, and I was able to sing one of the songs from her wedding; I think it helped all of us to cry and let her go, finally, despite the desperate yearnings to beg her to stay with us longer. Her children were safe, she was there for her son's eighteenth birthday both in body and in spirit, and she had her family surrounding her and loving her as she died.

I never thought I would be the one saying "good bye" to either of my younger sisters. "She who declines to be named" has been ordered to stay healthy until at least her 93rd birthday. As much as love hurts during these times, it also strengthens and comforts, carrying us through the rest of life despite such crushing blows. I would not trade it for anything.

May all of you be having happier times and may all of you also be at peace with one another and the world at large.

Love, Izzlebug

To My Beautiful Sister

2007-09-21T10:04:00.000-04:00

Patty's struggles to fight this horrible disease are done, yet she fights on in allowing medical science to learn from her life and death.

My beautiful sister is gone from this world but remains forever in our hearts. Words cannot touch either our grief, right now, or Patty's serene and peaceful beauty.

Words sometimes come too fast and furiously to get them all down but, as they are thoughts of Patty, they are uniquely wonderful as well as painful; erudite while fraught with emotion and pain, but too many to make it intact to this blog right now.

Patty's children struggle with the death of their mother and Patty's sisters and family, drunkenly stumbling through all of this in their collective grief, try to keep it together for her bereft son and daughter, incredible images in so many ways of their Mom yet still unique and wonderful individuals in their own right. I love them so much; they are more precious than they will ever fully realize.

To those who have prayed for us, or even just sent a brief, kind thought in our direction, thank you.

To those going through this same type of struggle themselves, please know our hearts are fighting beside you though our minds must, necessarily, be elsewhere.

Our world feels smaller, more empty than before, yet incredibly full of the burgeoning life and heartbeat of this planet. I think this is as Patty would have had it.

Our greatest treasures are this life and those we have to love and who love us. All other attainments or possessions are, and should always remain, secondary to that.

Through our tears and heartache, we reach out to all others in our common humanity. Be at peace.

Izzlebug

Yet once again,
I am poured out.
An empty vessel
Cast aside upon
An endless beach of
Grief and pain.
Sand and ashes
Ebb; flowing with every tide
Until, in Time,
I stand,
Able to be filled again.

Patty, I Love You

2007-09-19T23:02:00.000-04:00

I saw you,
Eyes full of every sorrow
And all love,
Looking 'round the room.
That day you bravely faced a future
Rife with menace
And potential doom.

Marching into frigid and frightening night,
Your shoulders straight and sure,
Giving all for the hope of life
And though spent,
Your love was pure.

Your two children now have beds
In a world bereft of your loving arms.
Your guidance and your faith
Gone; strange silence in their stead.

The strength and hope of your heart
The sure love shining from your face
Will beacon all of us to Heaven
When we each have run our race.

My sweet and gentle sister,
Though gone before yet never truly dead,
Find me when it is my time,
When I must face such fears,
Must yield such hopes,
Must rest another sad and weary head
Upon the bosom of this earth,
Cradle of both fear and birth.

Patty is still with us, but not likely for very long - tomorrow being a day of decision, one we have longed to never have to face. She is beautiful, serene, and remote. Far from us yet a permanent part of our forever. My sweet sister; light of a compassion and forgiveness I feel I only meagerly understand. She rests and cannot speak but may still be able to hear us as we try to express our love, the very genuine joy and humor she brought us, and the grief we cannot reign in at the thought of losing her love and her presence in the inexorably increasing penury of our lives.

A Kerouac Moment

2007-09-02T21:11:00.000-04:00

I Wonder

I wonder if he would have liked me?
Probably not,because I never dared
to live, I never dared
to bare my soul
(or myself, for that matter)
to anyone before I was thirty-five.
It was only then I became fully alive
and aware.
I was always a late bloomer,
but Jack
made daring to be bare fun.
Perhaps, somewhere in his poetry,
he would understand
that I grew old first,
before my time.
Maybe he would forgive me then
and like me a little,
although being born
when you're thirty-five
is an awful waste of time.
Jack did not waste time
but now
he has no more time.
I am still alive.

Channeling Kerouac
(*note - within this poem the asterisk (*)
is meant to indicate a finger snap :-)! Also,
this poem is loosely based upon Kerouac's
work "On the Road.")

Ja-, *, Ja-, Jack
Kerouac*, -ac, -ac.
Tormented, wander-lusting soul
Hiking trails into
Inebriate burgundy depths
Of dark thoughts and days.

Father of a million Bastard children
Playing
Beat, beat, beat
With critical syntaxioms of
Unframed, wanton words
To a writing-souled
Literary Evolution Revolution.

Hot, brooding genius
And drug-tethered brains
Jailed in addictions
But salient with
Life-pulsing
Relentless pursuits of
Swing, hip, jazz.
Beatific angel flights
Through new-sky time.

Morning Has Broken

2007-08-28T08:29:00.000-04:00

lyrics by Eleanor Farjeon

Morning has broken, like the first morning;
Blackbird has spoken, like the first bird.
Praise for the singing, praise for the morning,
Praise for them springing fresh from the word.

Sweet the rain’s new fall, sunlit from Heaven;
Like the first dewfall, on the first grass.
Praise for the sweetness of the wet garden
Sprung in completeness where His feet pass.

Mine is the sunlight, mine is the morning,
Born of the one light Eden saw play.
Praise with elation, praise every morning,
God’s recreation of the new day.

additional lyrics by Izzlebug:

Life in its sweetness draws us toward Heaven
As we are granted every new day.
Praise for renewed life in the fresh garden
Chastens our fears and shows us our way.

Peace beyond presence, peace beyond mourning
Is our true comfort from God above.
Praise for His mercy - hope beyond Heaven
For this sweet earth and all those we love.

Patty continues to struggle with the leukemia and is enduring another several days of chemo in hopes of reducing the leukemia enough to get her through to the transplant; the donor will be available at the beginning of October. Her children continue to try to deal with their Mom's illness and the rest of us try to keep watch over the three of them and each other as we try to find our way through each day. I live my life knowing that miracles do happen but realize such hope is a tightrope between elation and despair with balance difficult to maintain when Patty is often in too much pain or too nauseous from the chemo to even speak on the phone. Yet, hope stubbornly remains and I cling to it, wanting my sister well again.

Please continue in your kind thoughts and prayers for my sister and our family. Such thoughts and prayers mean more than any one of us may ever fully realize.

Izzlebug

The Dream

2007-08-26T08:45:00.000-04:00

It is so dark, but not cold.
An alive darkness
With form and weight;
The backdrop of all dreams.
I hear my niece screaming, screaming
For her mother.
I go to her, find her,
See her huddled in the blackness,
Crying for her Mom.
Touching her,
Rubbing her back,
Soothing her,
I say,"Let's see if we can find your Mom."
I look up and over there,
In the darkness, too weak from her illness to come to her child,
Is my sister. We go to her.
My niece climbs into her mother's lap
And the humming,
Seemingly tuneless, begins.
Arms around her child,
Bald head bowed protectingly
Over her young daughter,
They cuddle together in the darkness;
A bright beacon of light to me.
I fall back to sleep
Watching my sister and my niece,
Cradled together as one,
Glowing with warmth
Against the pitch blackness,
Comforting one another with love
In the darkness,
Memories of another
Mother and child
Lulling me to sleep.

What Do I Promise God?

2007-08-23T10:42:00.000-04:00

So many times in the past I have read tales of people who have, after having promised God to devote their lives to Him or His works or to accomplish something they have put off for far too long or to do something sufficiently philanthropic as to gain His approval, experienced the answer to their prayers be it some special request granted or some miracle performed either through human agency or in a mysteriously "godly" fashion.

I would really like to believe that some prayer or promise of mine might also garner such a response, especially where it pertains to those I hold very dear. The trouble is not that I do not know what to ask for - right now I want my sister well again and able to go about her life with her children - but what I might possibly be able to guarantee or offer God that might be sufficiently pleasing to the Omnipotence before me to warrant His being willing to grant such a boon. I have been thinking about this a lot and generally consider God's willingness to give me such attentions, as well as the attentions I want for my loved ones, on a par with my chances of winning the state lottery and taking home millions of almost unimaginable dollars.

For me prayer is like a roll of the dice or a spin of the roulette wheel, not always positive and stacked against the pray-er. The pray-ee (God) is the one that holds all the cards and controls the chances, so He is akin to a casino boss in this little fantasy of mine. I do not consider my musings particularly sacrilegious since the apostles played a game of chance when trying to select a replacement for Judas Iscariot after Christ's death and considered it would be the hand of God guiding the end result; nor do I feel any guilt in the purchase of an occasional lottery ticket - I usually buy "quick-pick" tickets in the spirit of "letting God decide," and try to let Him know I have my ticket if He should choose to bless us in such a fashion at the time. I'm not blonde*, after all, and it's good to be prepared ahead of time, if possible.

(* This is a very facetious reference to a very bad "blonde" joke I once heard - and have repeated - but consider it only in fun. Patty, my younger sister, is a blonde and there are very few who can equal her in intelligence, strength and creativity. - I.)

Unfortunately, not everything is as simplistic or innocent as a dollar spent on a lottery ticket, and when you get into trying to express your hopes for those you care deeply for to a seemingly silent entity drifting in the cosmos somewhere you are presently not, it takes on a more threatening feeling, like being caught telling fibs or something equally as embarrassing or humiliating. It seems as if I should be bargaining with God right now for my sister's life but, again, I do not know what to offer in exchange for the miracle of life I long to see my sister receive.

I suppose all a person can do in these circumstances is to let God know they will keep trying - trying to become better people, trying to grow in wisdom and maturity, trying to grow and learn in compassion, kindness, forgiveness, trying to remember the lessons learned from the loved one being prayed for, and so on. I only hope that is enough because that may be all I truly can offer God.

I will keep trying.

Parents and Children

2007-08-16T23:57:00.000-04:00

The other day we were all gathered at Dana Farber to be there for Patty and Dad as the doctor let us know what, if anything, further can be done to help Patty beat the leukemia. As we waited, along with all of the other families of patients with double-booked appointments, the one thing that I consistently saw throughout the day were all of the parents there with their children. It did not matter whether the "children" were full grown adults, young, old, infants, toddlers, teenagers, or had children of their own; the looks upon the faces of the parents was universally the same - they were all watching as their children fight deadly diseases and some, as their children succumb to those diseases.

Part of their creation, our parents anticipated the births of each of us. Sometimes the father was witness to their child's birth as their mother went through the labor of giving life to each one. Such a moment is the only time in our lives that "normal" is actually seen as being perfect - ten little toes, ten fingers, tiny fingernails, beautiful ears, eyes, and limbs, soft skin with the glow of being just born. That first tiny yawn as the little fist comes up under a tiny chin for the first time in full view of their mom and dad. Parents have loved and cared for each of us, although some have had to make their ways in this world without that love to help them. Our parents have held us, cared for us, taught us and delighted in our being able to learn new things at each step. They hold our hands as long as they possibly can, with only death finally preventing them from being there, forever, for each of us so loved.

From the first moment they knew us, our hands were in theirs. Our tiny fingers grasped their much larger fingers before we even knew we were beings unique and wonderful, at least in the eyes of our parents.

We return to the hospital tomorrow to see the doctor Patty could not see because of all the chaos on Monday. All of us will be there, with those too far away to attend with us present in heart and mind if not in body, and we will be ready to hear what the doctor has to say, maybe. To be there is the only gift we can give at times like this and to stand by the only right thing to do. If any knees buckle with bad news, others of us will be there to catch the sufferer on the way to the floor. Our tears may mingle or we may be given some fresh hope that this disease may not yet have won its deadly battle with my sister's body. Whatever the case, I will be watching our dad; watching him gaze at one of his children who he held in his arms when they were tiny, who he brought that last glass of water at bedtime on so many nights, who he helped teach to walk and talk, whose funny little thoughts and verbal gaffs he faithfully recorded in his diary. He took pictures and movies of each of us; his sense of humor showing through on the film on many occasions; bald headed babies in boxes with pictures of Mr. Clean on them; and each picture, each movie, each memory, will be there in his mind as he listens to what may well be a death sentance for one of his beloved children.

A woman sits watching as her two daughters giggle and laugh together, one with a scarf around a bald head. Another woman tenderly helping her young adult son as he waits in his wheelchair for his turn in the line up of cancer victims. A little beauty in boldly striped jammies with a headband around her hairless pate, grinning up at her mother and father as they get ready to go into the clinic brothers and sisters in tow, and my Dad looking at my sister, quite possibly wishing it was he who was going through this instead of one of his children. Of the four of us, Patty is the one most likely to understand that look, the anguish and the pain, as she prepares to possibly say a far too early "good bye" to her own children, the only grandchildren in our immediate family. I wish I could somehow protect them all from this pain, these moments of impending loss that have haunted us with each step this disease has forced our family to take in directions we would never have chosen to go. It is a frightening thing, yet so simple and human it transcends a description of mere words. A parent is so in essence and not merely because of biology, and this has to be the hardest thing I have ever had to witness: the one who held a tiny hand when the owner was newly born now holding it as their child, their precious infant, faces death. It is a journey I hope fewer and fewer parents will have to make as science and faith continue to work together to overcome this death, this terrible unfolding of nature,this ending to all hope and life.

My Dad once said to me that no parent should have to bury their child. I think I am beginning to understand how he feels.

What Will The Postmark On This One Say?

2007-08-09T15:47:00.000-04:00

Like a thief in the night
Entering unbidden, unwelcome, unwanted,
Under inky-wisp clouds creeping across a frozen,
secret moon.
Keeping little bits and pieces of our time,
Each precious moment gone, a shattered diamond; sand -
Making a desert where a garden needs to grow.
I saw a barren waste, glittering and sterile,
After my sister called.

Dear Mom,

As I mentioned in my prior letter, Patty is not doing too well. It is nearing either the end or a reprieve there is not a very good chance of having happen at this point, according to the doctors estimates. We have definitely not given up hope, but there is a letting go that seems to be taking place; a release of some emotional tether, of sorts, that has us preparing to say "Good-bye" or "Thank God!" Either way, the way is difficult for all of us right now, but especially for Patty.

There's still so much to tell you even though you're gone.
Forever is too long a time to wait
for heart's release. Old love will find its new dawn.

Dad and his "new" wife have been great. I think you would be glad to know how much time and energy she has put into helping Patty and the kids. She has also been very good to Mike, as well. Our step-mom is a real trooper and she loves Dad so much I am almost afraid for them, but they are both (especially Dad!) in good health and remaining very active, although I know trying to help raise another brood of young'uns was not something they anticipated when they met and married. Despite all of the love and support, I still miss you. It feels strange to not have you here while Patty goes through all of these terrible moments and bad news.

I know within Life's ebb and flow we long
to speak, to touch, to see; so we await.
There's still so much to tell you even though you're gone.

As the day for the transplant preparations looms nearer (we hope) there is a growing sense within me of wanting to be by Patty's side as much as possible, even if it's just to hold her hand or get her some ice. Mom, when she goes through the full body radiation that will kill her own ability to produce any kind of blood cells at all, please be in there with her. You are the only one of us who could be there beside her while the radiation is putting her into a point of no return if the transplant does not take hold. This is probably the most frightening part - they cannot do the transplant without poisoning her entire body with excessive radiation but they also cannot guarantee the transplant will take hold either. If things do not work out, please expect Patty to join you about two weeks from the day she is irradiated, the two of you will have to celebrate Brad's birthday there (where ever "there" is) together, while we try to pick up the pieces on this end.

Sometimes I tremble, like some woodland fawn,
because my child-heart grieves for mother late;
for heart's release. Old love will find its new dawn.

I really wish I could talk to you about all of this and you could reply in a conversational mode. Heartaches and intuition do not quite do the trick right now and you are missed with each day that passes as we all deal with these things with and for Patty.

So much to say with chances come and gone.
My heart's yearnings will not soon abate.
There's still so much to tell you even though you're gone.

All of our "I love yous" have been said; they are repeated as often as possible whenever we talk. Patty has Sue's hand to hold right now, but I do not know how long she will be up here and Arizona is a long way away. I also worry about your only two grandchildren. How will they make it without their mom to be there as they grow up? Two fat old aunties and a schizophrenic uncle may have their places in the lives of these children, but as we already know, no one can ever replace your own best Mom.

Why does loss release Love's poignant song?
In life, so much is held and said too late
for heart's release. Old love will find its new dawn.

I hope you are well and enjoying yourself. I have pictured you having tea with your mother, Sissy, and Emily Dickenson as I assume such things are possible in the realm you are now inhabiting. I hope to see you again, Mom, but not too soon. OK?

And so Life moves forever on and on.
For sweet reunion we with patience wait.
There's still so much to tell you even though you're gone.
For heart's release, old love will find its new dawn.

Love, Liz

Crying Forever Is Just Another Thing To Get Done Today

2007-08-08T22:51:00.000-04:00

TODAY
(Randy Sparks)

Today while the blossom still clings to the vine
I'll taste your strawberries, I'll drink your sweet wine
A million tomorrows shall all pass away
Ere I forget all the joys that are mine today

I'll be a dandy and I'll be a rover
You'll know who I am by the song that I sing
I'll feast at your table, I'll lie in your clover
I'll laugh and I'll cry and I'll sing

Today while the blossom still clings to the vine
I'll taste your strawberries, I'll drink your sweet wine
A million tomorrows shall all pass away
Ere I forget all the joys that are mine today

I can't be contented with yesterday's glories
I can't live on promises winter to spring
This is my moment and now is my story
Who cares what tomorrow will bring

Today while the blossom still clings to the vine
I'll taste your strawberries, I'll drink your sweet wine
A million tomorrows shall all pass away
Ere I forget all the joys that are mine today

There have been many times of grief and stress for our family over the past few years, and during those times I have felt very strongly that I have been somehow gifted with the memories of certain songs. When our Dad had to undergo open heart surgery “Morning Has Broken” was my comfort as I drove the distances between home and hospital. When my Mom was dying, I had three lullabies; “Stille Nacht,” “All Through the Night,” and “Edelweiss.” I do not recall any particular comfort song while my Dad battled breast cancer surgery and the chemo and radiation treatments that it necessitated, but it is likely there was one. And now, with my sister dying of leukemia, with little hope given for the success of a bone marrow transplant, I have been finding comfort in the song transcribed above, though I am not sure why yet.

I realize now that “Morning Has Broken” was a song of genuine hope and simple faith. The three lullabies were the one my grandmother sang to my Mom when she was young, the lullaby I heard my mother sing to me, and the song my sister, Patty, used to sing to her two children when they were small enough to still be comforted by such things. Patty’s two children are my parents’ only grandchildren. I do not question that the songs are comforting, and that is the purpose they serve for me during times such as this, but it is still a little puzzling as to what the actual significance of my needing them or thinking of them may be. I do not worry about it, just wonder a bit sometimes.

Patty may only have a few more weeks to live. Her last bone marrow biopsy revealed an 80% concentration of leukemic cells in the marrow, and her only recourse is to be rushed into the transplant, although the chances of her survival are very slim even with the procedure. I was crying as I drove home from her daughter’s 10th birthday party tonight. I do not want my sister to die.

As I drove home it was as though my heart was pouring itself out with each tear, but in spite of a very real and profound grief the writer in me was whispering “Don’t do this now! It’s too good to just throw away in the car and you know you might not remember most of it by the time you get to the keyboard!” I will try to recall what my mouthy ego was so concerned about, but I will probably end up crying as I type, in order to pass at least some of those incredible thoughts on to those reading my blog.

Although I have received compliments on my reflective writing in the past, most of that writing has been the result of pain, anger and grief and I honestly wish I had not had so much about those subjects to convey. In the midst of the first waves of sadness, anger, and fear I feel as though I am screaming into an echoing void that sends my pain back in a silence so profound those screams become a physical entity with life of their own. Like slow, sad waves breaking upon a desolate and gray sand somewhere in time, harsh in the light of day but gentle in the weakness that flows from such emotion, the funereal melody of the water embodies itself in those same screams; echoing, always echoing, slipping and patting the shores of my emotions with an endless litany of broken hopes and pain. Even my anger has somehow mellowed or degenerated into something quiet, weaker than it used to be, perhaps because there is no one except God to be angry with right now.

All of my frantic fumblings, wondering if I might somehow discover a way to bargain with God for my sister’s life, have come to an end – what could I possibly offer such omnipotence; what promises could I even begin to make, that would convince a God of stone to take pity on this small and aching family; on my poor sister and her children?

As Patty stroked the cats who took turns resting on her lap this evening, as she celebrated her daughter’s birthday, as she looked at her son and each one of the rest of us in turn, I felt she was trying to begin saying good-bye. She is infinitely sad, and I am with her in her grief. Despite all of the fear and uncertainty, the utterly desolate grief and pitiful anger, there are moments of humor as well; who could not smile through their tears as they recognize a uniquely sisterly urge to sit as close up as possible to their sister, snuggling together, one sister on each side of her, together as one, as she goes through these horrible things. As we are all quite large, the image of the potential physical reality that popped into my mind as I was feeling this was ridiculous and I had to smile to myself at the thought. It is not a thought I could readily share with Patty, though. She has a much harder road immediately ahead of her now. I hope, though, that there will still be time for some small silly moments with her daughter, some sweet times with her son, some laughter and much love along with all of the tears and fear. My anger is dissolving as the realities hit home, and I do not know what exactly to do or say but am trusting in our family togetherness to keep such things appropriate and meaningful for Patty.

Any of you with sisters already have a “Patty” in your life, so I do not have to wish for you to know her because, if there is any love present at all, you already know my sister by heart. If you do not yet have, or never have had, a sister (or two) I do not think I can do Patty justice for your benefit. How many people do you want to permanently glue yourself to as if it will somehow keep them alive and by you forever? How many of you have felt the loss of a relationship finally growing in a love that has a physical presence within your corporeal being before it is torn asunder by death? How many of you know you are losing one of the very few people you have ever been able to laugh with until you cried, and about the silliest things? How many of you have lost, or are losing, one of the very few people who has known you their entire life and has forgiven more childish sin than the Catholic Church? Who else, except a sister, can love you for who you really are even when you don’t feel as if you could ever love yourself again because of some of the things you have done or said to each other? These things cannot be put easily into words, and are even more remote when stated to those with no sisters for reference.

It is a terrible, wonderful love that must break the walls of time into crumbling ruins in order to be with the ones it encompasses. It is a love too solid, too real for this earthly impermanence to ever contain. It is forever in its strength, scope, and being. It is eternity itself.

For Patty, My Sister

You are in my heart forever
Your face fixed firmly in my brain
I wish I knew I would also recall your voice
Once it’s gone
From this human plain
A thousand memories
Like snapshots
Surge and wane through each thought
My heart beats in endless
Longing to share some of its strength
To carry you to some safe place
Where you can continue
Where you will be able to live
And visit and share and hug
So we do not have to say
Good-bye too soon
You will always be too young
To die
To an older sister
Whose grief sometimes makes her think
Ridiculous thoughts you would laugh to hear
But they are born of a solid hard enduring love
You will never have to fear
Being without
Wherever your forever
Finds itself
At the break of that strange
Unwelcome and future day
I will be there with you in heart and mind
With you forever
To stay.

This Strange Thing Called "Hope"

2007-07-17T08:33:00.000-04:00

The nature of hope has me wondering about many, many things. My sister's prognosis is not good right now. In fact, it is very bleak unless a lot of "ifs" happen in a certain order and very quickly. Between the chemo and radiation, Patty's heart and lungs have been damaged. The transplant will not take place unless there are less than twenty percent "blasts" in her bone marrow and she is able to physically withstand the treatments necessary in order to give the transplant the best possible chance to succeed. Trying to treat anything before the leukemia, i.e. her heart or lungs, would only delay treating the leukemia, which is the most immediate threat. Do the phrases "a rock and a hard place" or "catch-22" spring up in anyone else's mind, too?

I am not sure Patty holds out much hope for herself right now and I do not feel certain I know how to encourage her with any real hope, without spawning false hope, in either or both of us. My mind and heart feel dried out, arid, and it is difficult for me to think very clearly. It is as if all of my hopes and prayers have gone, yet again, either unanswered or answered in the cruelest and bitterest fashion possible. The thing I have feared the most, and it has contended with many, many fears brought out by this entire situation, now seems to be at the doorstep and determined to enter a place it will never be welcomed or wanted. I feel I am being forced into the transition from hoping for Patty's recovery to trying to make her last days, weeks, and months as positive and loving, comfortable and peaceful, as possible.

I really wish I could, somehow, make everything all right again; that I could say a prayer or touch her, knowing she will be healed, increasing the time she has left here on earth. I wish I could guarantee my nephew and niece that they will be able to have their mother with them for all of their future triumphs and tragedies; to share all of their joys, sorrows, and secrets. For myself I wish I could go on in life knowing my family is safe and whole although with each loss, experienced or impending, we seem smaller and weaker; held together less by strength than by a weakening glue that is degrading slowly and threatening everything we have held dear our entire lifetimes. It is not just my sister's heart that has been damaged by all of this, but the heart of our family. Is there anything that can heal that?

John Lennon's words, that "life is what happens as we make other plans," have haunted me for years. They are more true than he may have realized at the time he put pen to paper, writing a song of father and son, family and love, wisdom and humor. Did they merely sound "right" to him, or did he truly understand the depth and breadth of what he was communicating? It is the most difficult part of life to even begin understanding that death is a very real part of that particular equation, too. Was that on his heart and mind the day he first sang those words; first spoke them outloud? With those few simple words was he trying to express humanity's mortality, or just offering a brief phrase to encourage his young son in his pursuits in life? Did he also include, as an after thought, that questions were a large part of the foundation we build with each breath we take; steal? Does, in fact, death rule our lives or is there truly hope outside of our existence, outside our realm of influence? It seems to be what almost every religion offers and is based upon. I wonder what God truly thinks of all of this, what he feels, if anything, about our pain and limitations, but also about our beauties and strengths.

I hope the weather is mostly lovely, that my nephew and niece choose to behave and help make their mother's remaining time, be it long or far too short, happy and loving, that our father and step-mother find the strength to persevere in patience and love, giving and caring despite the considerable obstacles placed before them, that Patty's and my youngest sister is able to find the inner peace she will need to get through all of this, and that I am able to do so, as well.

May peace be yours; love and laughter. May your troubles be few, your pains be minor, and your days happier than ours seem likely to be.

Izzlebug