Persevere

The human being amazes me. Not for its capacity for creativity or beauty or science....not for advancement or achievement or depravity.....but for its ability to endure.

Scar tissue.

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Twisted lumps of whitened flesh that feel nothing. Severed nerve endings dangle uselessly, sending no messages....communicating nothing. I have a rather smashing scar on my right bicep. I was flying a kite as a child and while laughing and looking up to the clouds as I was running.....I crashed headlong into a barbed wire fence. The best thing about this particular macula is that as I lived on a ranch, miles from the closest doctor, after the original trip to be stitched up, a return for the "snipping" was deemed unnecessary by ye old dad. Perhaps it was a bit premature, but he thought the gash had healed well enough and sliced through the thread. It took a bit of yanking. Each and every spot that needle had pierced my skin, pulling filament behind--left a scar along side the laceration. Quite frankenstein, I assure you. Looks great with a tan. (and yes, I have told gawking strangers that I got it during a knife fight in Hong Kong...)

I've known many over the years who, thanks to sports and motorcycles and teenage antics, boast of scars much greater than mine. Did it deter them? No. The physical pain that wrecked through their bodies at the time of the injury was soon forgotten. The alabaster disfigurement becoming a badge of glory worn with pride during future episodes of genius judgement. Some might say this ability to omit physical pain is the reason we actually give birth to more than one child....

I still fly kites.

There are some scars, however, that are not so simply dismissed. They lay unseen, hidden beneath our pulsing flesh...jagged holes in our soul. These we do not boast about.

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They change the color of the sky.

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Yet the agony, no matter how grievous, doesn't kill us. At some point we fear it might......and then the sun rises.

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.........

The human being places bare feet on the cold floor. There is dust on the nightstand. Icy water sluices over the sink, puddles about the base. The click of the medicine cabinet seems to echo. Stare at the bedroom doors across the hall...small heads and soft hearts sleeping there still. A teddy bear on the floor. Plug in the iron, drape the skirt over the pale blue stained board.....breathe.

One step, then another. And then another.

Someone once said, "When you have no idea what to do....just do what comes next."

The Heart

I usually listen to NPR in the morning while I get ready for the day. Unlike the local news, I relish the global review of the latest whatnot, politics and events. There is something amazingly humbling in hearing about the devastation caused by the floods in Pakistan...I'm complaining about laundry? The trembling voice of the Chilean miner's wife who is camping in the barren desert in the smallest of tents even as you read this, until her husband can be pulled from the collapsed tunnel he is trapped in--a process that may take months--reminds me that while my husband is putting in long hours at the office--he is coming home tonight.

Sometimes, perspective is everything.

Every Friday there is a segment called StoryCorps that airs. A minute or two of dialog between usually two people--often "interviewing" although sometimes it's just one telling their story. This morning it was a married couple. He has Alzheimer's. She is his caregiver.

Honestly, I had to do my eyeliner over three times.

She asked him what he had learned from the disease. He said, "I have learned that I am not made up of memories or knowledge. I've learned that who I am....is in my heart."

This has hunted me all day. Even as I type now I'm fighting back tears.

Who am I...in my heart? Am I kind? Critical? Generous......demanding?

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Who are you in your heart? If you lost all of your knowledge, your memories, your past....if you were just your heart....who would you be?

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With your children....your spouse...your neighbors.

Would I be able to find joy in waking up? In toast and a poached egg and a cup of tea? Could I live inside of one single day without tomorrow, without yesterday? Can you imagine...holding on to no anger, nursing no worries, no fears... just today. To be content. In only today.

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He sounded happy. Quite stunning really. I think I envied it, even while I ached inside for what he had lost. Perhaps it had been balanced by what had been gained?

What is the value of peace? How much does serenity cost?

At the end, his wife said that she had read somewhere that if you loved someone....truly loved them...you would wish to outlive them. You would voluntarily bear the burden of loss and grief and hold them to the end. She wept.

She told him she was so glad, so very glad she was there to hold him.

Who she was in her heart.....was breathtaking.