what may come from chance
the more rolled in
we each bled our blood
I feel I’ve largely disappeared lately, so perhaps it’s time for an update? Thoughts aren’t thinking themselves, like they usually do, as I sit here pondering the last 7 weeks… They make poetry instead:
“How precious the days
we forget to count
before they have gone
How precious the love
we take for granted
until it’s passed us by
How precious the joy
we refuse to feel
when it becomes pain
Precious indeed these:
tattered and torn lives
of our imperfect heroes”
It was a late night at the hospital again… Grandma has been in the hospital 3 times now since the start of June and it’s been scary. She’s become the main focus of my life these past 4 years. Seeing her ill and fragile, my life-long hero, has in many ways been demoralizing and yet, it’s also awaked an ever-more deepness to my appreciation and love for her.
I haven’t wanted to do much, I feel anxious when I’m not at home, and my attachment to her manifests much of my latent agoraphobia, though now with her as a kind of proxy for my justifications… It doesn’t have words, only feelings – like deep sadness twisted up in barbed wire.
I’ve also felt an incredible exhaustion take hold, more for underlying and ongoing stress than for physical exertion, and it has bitter lining – just like my depression used to. It’s made me feel frustrated and defeated. Yet, things are so different now.
Being here, taking care of grandma the past 4 years, has given me the opportunity to get to know myself, my demons as well as my strengths. I can feel anxious, I can feel depressed, I can feel overwhelmed – but these things don’t own me anymore. I’ve taken my power back.
My life isn’t perfect. It’s hard and stressful, I get sad and angry, but none of that means my life isn’t beautiful, glorious and blessed too. I’m making it valuable, I’m infusing it with meaning, I am appreciating it – every moment – even, and especially, the hard ones.
Grateful to have grandma home, again. So yes, I am good. Things aren’t simple, but I am not defeated – even if the victory is slow-won and I emerge from the battle wounded and bleeding…
A poem in four parts. Shared here in images to preserve the intentional spacing of the lines.