Hurry Up and Wait

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