Wednesday, August 8, 2012

the helpers

On my mind a lot these days - what is a nurturing environment for me? Is there anything that would bring back my Before self? Or at least encourage it? It is so hard to shake the anxiety of impending doom, of guarding against more loss, of knowing I do not have it in me to deal with another emergency. Though there has only been one emergency in over 41 years, it was a doozy. It is hard to not guard against more. Hard to choose something other than anxiety. I understand me, I just wish it wasn't so. I miss my normalcy. I miss trusting that everything is alright, or that it will be so. I had far more of my former mojo in the months soon After - closer to impact, I was more me. I resent the shrinking smallness of my world and of my mind. I have faded.

I titled this post the helpers, I remember now. It's because of this blog - He writes so often of adventure, of being willing to open and to soften and to see. I want to be back there. Want to feel that peace and calm and trust again. To be the adventure I used to be. I am not. And I am not in enough places that feed me, that bring it out, that nurture me. I am tired of feeling this way, both repulsed and saddened by the infectious non-adventure and anxiety in me. If I have to live this, and I do, man I want my peace back.


And this just showed up in my inbox today. Nice. Thank you.


1 comment:

  1. Yes, that is a nice blog. I just read through quite a few posts. The posts about the dying sheeo not dying reminded me of the 30 or so years that we kept a herd about 60 dairy goats. In the later years, it always seemed like there was an old goat on the brink of dying, but it would rise like Lazarus and surprise us time and again. I could take all of that in stride then. I will not ever keep goats again now as I am not the same person I was then - unshakeable and optimistic.

    It was so odd to come here to your blog and read this post today as I was just thinking of how changed I have become and how I miss my normalcy too. This morning, two things happened that shook me a little. The first was that an elderly neighbour to whom I am quite close, confirmed a cancer diagnosis and that they would not be pursuing treatment - a decision which seems wise ans sensible to me - and I am in a position to know about such things. The second incident occurred when I stopped off at a friend's house and met an elderly parent who was in a wheelchair with oxygen, coughing, probably with COPD or cancer. I recognized that cough before I even saw the person slowly wheeling up to the other side of the glass door. I spoke to him and had to kean near to hear his reply. Oh, how familiar. Wen I left, it felt like a dark cloud had obscured the sun on such a bright, cheerful day. I went on into town and everyone around me seemed so unaffected. At first, It did not occur to me that there was anything wrong - but then I realized that I was feeling weird. Arriving home, I started thinking of how it is that I have become this person who is over-sensitized to strange coughs, wheelchairs, oxygen tanks and hoses, doctor's scrubs, nurses in white walking shoes, bottles of Boost, and on and on. Why can I not just go back to the cheerful person who didn't automatically think "brain tumor" at the first tweak of vertigo. I don't think there is a path that loops around and goes back to the trail that I was on before my dad and my husband got sick. The only consolation - if you can call it that - is that there are many others who are on this same trail too.