Blog Manifesto

Blog Manifesto


This blog is dedicated, as the title would suggest, to the qualities of being young. We are young writers. We are playful and sensitive, fluid and changing. We are unashamed with our art. We wonder at the world, puzzle over the meanings of things and twirl in delight at images and ideas that float by, grabbing at them as they pass. We are curious and constantly inquiring and prying concepts open and taking assumptions apart. We are on the ground, close to the earth. We have bare feet and wiggle our toes into nature. We carry our blankies still and wrap up cozy and comfy with each other and tell ghost stories and shiver at creepy things. We laugh and we cry and we take a lot of naps, drained from our outings and exertions.

We write as gifts to each other, tying them up in ribbon and leaving them around for each other to find, hiding and waiting for the person to wake up and read. Surprise! We weave our stories together to create a bond. One writes, then the other. then another again. We have a shared reality that we have crafted, bit by piece by patch, by string. We write simple, honest authentic things, with our unique voices. You can tell each one of us from the other, without knowing who wrote what. Our voices are clear and gentle and original. We whisper and our personalities roar! Like children, our feelings are strong, our passion for what we write shakes us. We are moved and sometimes left breathless, by our own words or the words of each other. We cannonball into each others spaces. We fall backward into each others writing, like into a pile of leaves or a soft bed. We gobble and grin and ask for more. (footnote kudos to JC)

Then we go to bed, wake up to a new day and do it all over again!

Saturday, March 17, 2012

compassion..

n. Deep awareness of the suffering of another coupled with the wish to relieve it.

dad had his stroke july of '99.  he was 54.
dad calls me, two years later.. my ma fighting him for the phone..

'son, your ma needs to talk to you.  she didnt want to tell you..'
'bay..'
what is it ma?
'they found cancer.'

silence.

more silence.

'it's fourth stage.'

gulp.

chokes.

she doesnt want me to come home.  she gets through a round of chemo.  it's rough as hell on her.  she is tough.  i come home to go to her first radiation meeting with the docs.  she thinks she is going for her first session.  we ask questions.  i hold her hand tight.  this is the first time i have ever seen my ma.. frightened.  she looks so small and fragile.  i just want to carry her home.  i want to make it all go away.  im angry.  im sad.  im scared to death.  but i dont show any emotion.  im numb.  the doctor leaves us with paperwork and a grim handshake.

i look down at her.
we are gonna beat it, mom.

she sits in shock.
and relief floods over her lovely face.
'i don't have treatment today?... i don't have radiation therapy today!!'
no.  not today.

the relief is.. palpable.  i hold her hand as we walk out of the building.

'i need to shop.'
ok.  where to?

$600.00 later, she is worn out.  and we are headed home. 
******

i came home again.  after she tried chemo again.. and it made her sick..  and after hospice was called.  my sister and i sat with dad at the kitchen table and tried to explain as gently as possible to him that talking aloud about her, when she is in the next room.. as if she were already gone.. needed to stop.  we went through paperwork.  my brother showed up once and came at my sister for touching stuff.  if ma weren't right there, things would have gotten a lot uglier between he and i.  we were all under a lot of pressure. 

dad constantly crying.
ma trying to seem lucid, though she was under heavy doses of medication.
my sister, quiet.
my brother, absent.
me in denial.. we are still gonna beat this ma...

and i only had two weeks to spend with her.. before we had to head back. 

i cant finish this.



4 comments:

  1. You did finish it just fine.

    Your heart is so full and so tender, when you write about it, it pours out like water over my head.

    so vivid it is like I was there and needed to bsck out of the room.

    ReplyDelete
  2. It feels unfinished to you. To me it is done. The emotional arc is complete. The pain you so effectively convey is very real for me and so close that I, too, couldn't finish. Your story will stay with me.

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  3. JC...
    I sense you will finish this writing some day when you are ready. We are here to read, listen and be compassionate. Your ma sounds like such an amazing woman and I would of been proud to have known her.

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  4. Your story is so personal but also very universal. I thought of my parents striken by Parkinsons, my little brother taken by heart disease, my aunt with dementia, my big brother and his heart attack and my son. I'm remembering the shock, the fright, the numbness, the pain. And the details, reprisals, anger, upset, maddening phone calls, pharmacy visits, missed appointments. It all came back as your writing led the way down my memory lane. I'm sorry we share this much but I'm glad you do...share.

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