Out of the Blue

 In 2013, after the loss of my beloved father, I started having multiple health issues. It began with several UTIs, or maybe one long-lasting UTI that seemed to clear up but kept returning. Then, I had two kidney stones. From June through September, I felt terrible most of the time. I was exhausted, struggling to push away my grief, and focused on a job that brought me no joy. I was in a relationship that I depended on with a man I loved and trusted completely; I’d have cheerfully laid down my life for him. This was no small thing since I do not trust easily. I recall waking up one Sunday morning beside him, stretching, and crying out in pain. My entire body hurt. There wasn’t a muscle or a joint that wasn’t affected, from my neck to my toes. I felt as though I was catching the flu, complete with the full body aches, fever, and exhaustion it brings. Cold fear welled up in my mind; the recollection of that moment is as sharp and clear as though it just happened yesterday. I knew w...

I've lost some things recently - my best friend, back in January; a beloved honorary niece, in February; the little dog who saved my life three years ago, in July. My friend died of complications from a brain tumor. My niece was tragically killed in a terrible accident that took three of her friends as well. My little dog, Oskar, died of cancer the week after my birthday. Maybe it doesn't seem as though Oskar should be listed with these other, huge losses, but the people who know me understand that being listed with my dog means I really, really love the people I mentioned. It has been a strange and terrible year. The recent rise in racial tensions, the troubling changes in our government, and the lack of leadership at the highest levels have combined to create a great deal of stress for most of us. The emotional pain of loss complicates that stress. That is why I have not written much in the past months; it takes most of my energy just to get through my days, work, and home....

It is February 13th. The stores are filled with roses, bouquets, beautiful boxes of candy and chocolates of every description; bakery windows are stuffed with heart-shaped cakes, cookies, and pink-frosted confections. Red streamers, glittering pink and red banners, teddy-bears, plushy bunnies and puppies, and even jewelry are prominently displayed everywhere I look. Valentine's Day is at hand, and here I am, single. Valentine's Day as we celebrate it today is a holiday for lovers. Sweethearts buy each other flowers, candy, and other gifts. They make plans, have dinner, or go away for the weekend. Couples get engaged on Valentine's Day. There is a coalition of singles, an unspoken cadre of the unattached, who are supposed to be anti-Valentine's Day. They make plans to pig out on pizza and bash the idea of love and relationships. My married, or coupled, friends are careful not to talk about their Valentine's plans when I'm around. They don't talk about the g...

Below is a post from my other blog, Today's Wilderness Journey . I wrote it in September of 2012. I happened across it today after spending time with some very dear people. We talked about some deep subjects - pain, emotional distress, and suffering - which sent me backward through my memories and turned up this bit of writing. Because I have been struggling lately with my health, my life, and my love, this spoke powerfully to me. I admit it - I hate change. After my father died, I reverted to my native mode of being, which is co-dependency, clinging, and hoarding. Not hoarding in the usual sense. Hoarding time with people I love. Hoarding life. Hoarding myself, refusing to give of who I am. It has taken losing what I held most dear to make me remember that only in releasing what we love can we actually have it. Khalil Gibran said it eloquently: Love one another, but make not a bond of love: let it rather be a moving sea between the shores of your souls. Fill each other's cup,...

Yesterday was beautiful. Blue sky. Warm sunshine. It was humid but not unbearable. My bones, joints, and muscles felt okay, so I got up and went hiking in the Cherokee National Forest, which is practically just out my front door. My love of the woods is something I got from my dad, and that's why I chose to go hiking yesterday to mark the day of his death. Also, I needed to be somewhere else, doing anything I could to keep from thinking about the loss. When I was around fifteen, my dad and I would go walking in the woods around our farm. He would tell me stories about where the brandy distillery used to be, relatives who used to farm the land, or take me to see old abandoned houses that were hidden in the forest. He knew everyone who had lived around there and could tell tales about all of them. One of the most difficult things about having RA is that it limits the amount of hiking I can do. There's nowhere I feel closer to my dad than when I'm in the woods. Since I...

Tomorrow is May 31st. It will mark a year since my father died. A year ago...can it really have been a year? Has it been more than a year since I heard his voice? Since I saw him smile? Since I held his hand while he drew his last breaths? Wiped his face as his skin cooled, watched as the nurse listened for a heartbeat that no longer echoed? Does grief ever ease? The loss is greater now that I've had time to measure it, to consider it. To feel it. For most of my life, I believed the world would end when he died. He was the foundation of my life. He was the tree whose roots encircled the whole world. He was the shelter I sought when the storms were too frightening to bear. Every moment without him in the world seems pointless. Tragedies are deeper. Loneliness more bitter. Sorrow more profound. How can anything happen without him? How can the sun rise? How can it set? How can the rain fall? How can I breathe? But the sun does rise, and it sets. The clouds gather. Rain falls. ...

I woke up this morning feeling down. My eyes were swollen and gritty. My mouth and throat were bone dry. My head throbbed. No, I wasn't hungover. That's what a normal morning feels like these days. But today was outside normal; in addition to the usual pops, creaks, and groans, the joints in my feet, ankles, hands and wrists were swollen, red, and achy. Six hours later and the application of ice, heat, and long periods of rest, and they are a little better. I can walk without too much pain. I can type, which means I can write, and writing brings me joy. I've been thinking a lot lately about joy. It's been missing from my life for a while now. Happiness comes and goes, but joy has been absent entirely. Until the last couple of days. Just by chance, I happened to cruise across the animal shelter website on Tuesday night. I look once or twice a month, because you never know what you'll find, but I wasn't specifically looking for an animal to adopt. After all, I...

I have been plumbing the depths of my soul looking for some words of motivation or of hope. All I come up with is flat, meaningless platitudes. I tell myself things will get better. I tell myself I will learn how to cope with this pain. I tell myself that things aren't as bad as they seem. I am such a bad liar. A few years ago at Lent, I gave up lying to myself. It has become a habit to be personally truthful and I think that for the most part, that's a good thing. But it leaves me unable to self-comfort. I can't tell myself little lies and believe them, the way I used to. But I can still live in denial. It is a comfortable blend of not examining where things are or admitting how desperate I feel. I don't have to lie to myself to do this, I just don't spend time in self-reflection. I avoid examining how I feel. I push myself into other things; mindless things, like marathons of The Walking Dead or Supernatural, or hours of mowing my lawn - using the riding ...