Newscoma

Aunt B.’s father is ill and she’s processing the information.

In other words, I feel like my dad has to cross through the dark forest Death hunts in. And I, more than anything, don’t want him to come to Her attention.

Those words are absolutely beautiful and, you see, I remember feeling that way not too very long ago but instead of articulating it in the lovely way B. did, I think for me it was more of an “AAAAGGHAARG” sort of noise I made and that buzzed in my head for a good part of two years. I was 31 years old when my mother became sick and I lived with that static for quite some time.

First of all, I believe I’m a spiritual person and I’ve been undergoing some sort of faith transformation recently that I would prefer not to put on this blog. That’s just me. I’m just not comfortable putting my positions on faith out in the blogosphere and I never have been.

I’m telling you this because this month marks the 10-year anniversary of my mother’s passing. Homer and I have talked about this quite a bit and I’m very lucky that not only is she my little sister but also my dearest friend which is a wonderful combination. That a decade of our lives were lived without our mother being in the background, telling us what to do and how to do it because we relied on that even though we sometimes resented it as kids are wont to do. She has also never met my niece, Charley Bear, who I think she would adore as she is sassy and strong. And she has these deep blue eyes that could only genetically come from my mom. It’s almost eerie.

We were told she had cancer in 1996 and for the next 14 months, we walked around as zombies and caretakers. There was never any doubt that the cancer was terminal. We knew there was no saving her. Instead we had to move from trying to “fix” her to just loving her. And we did.

But it was the confusion on the journey for us as her children, the deep stabbing pain of not knowing what to do or even where to get on the path. B.’s father will have heart surgery and it’s scary. And damn it all because I do understand that level of seeking something, anything from the cosmos that Aunt B. writes about, although I may be misinterpreting it as we tend to internalize what we read and how we react to it.

How do you fight something that you can’t see (the illness) and then ask for help from something you can’t see (God or whatever one worships)?

I was raised a Cumberland Presbyterian but when I was in Nashville I went to the Unitarian church pretty regularly. I felt comfortable there. I was also taught not to pray for frivolous things. In my home, when, let’s say someone won an award and then said they prayed to God the would win it, would make my mother growl. (“Why weren’t they praying for hungry kids to be fed?” she’d say.) This is what I know about prayer. And being a good CP kid, I was taught to pray and offer gratitude for what I had and not for “things” I wanted.

But see, illness is not frivolous. It’s the most terrifying thing in the world especially when it’s someone you love. And I didn’t know what to do.

Man, this is getting a bit deep, isn’t it. I’m sort of out of my comfort zone here. Seriously out of my comfort zone and I’m feeling the need to run away from this post.

But, when my mother got sick, those elements of asking the cosmos (God) for help felt very weird for me. So I finally just had to say “Thanks” and that was it although I was angry at my powerlessness over the situation.

See there are different phases of loss. Loss of a loved one, loss of mobility, loss of innocence, even loss of a job or a familiar situation. And we grieve each of these elements in different ways. And with loss comes fear.

I’m rambling this morning. We seek answers to questions we cannot even formulate. I guess as blogging is some sort of internalization of other things we have read and our reactions to them, I guess I can only say this.

B., I’m not very good at prayer but in many ways I believe in it. And I’ll do my best. Not only for you but for the other people who need it. And maybe the best I can do is say “Thanks and Please.”

And I will light a candle for your father. For whatever reason, lighting a candle comforts me when the flame hits the wick when I do it for others I care about when I don’t have the words to articulate what I want to say.