Perspective

At one time in my life, I had a perspective that was far outside myself. I feel like I used to care for other people more deeply than I do now. That sounds terrible, I know. What is it that has turned my perspective so inward? The things that have transpired in my life in the last few years has left me wondering about my own life. Maybe my perspective has changed because there is so much in my own life that I can't control... so much that is unsure. But it's always been like that, hasn't it?

I remember when Rob was sick and I knew it was something I couldn't control, I still had a healthy perspective.

It's funny. I think when people get married, they fall into this false sense of security. I certainly did. And that security made me forget that I wasn't guaranteed anything. Nothing. I wasn't guaranteed a happy marriage. I wasn't guaranteed years or children or family. I wasn't even guaranteed another single minute. Yet I felt so secure and so settled. How deceiving are our emotions? It makes me curious about what my security is based on. It has got to be based on something solid and secure.

This brings my thoughts back to faith. I used to be so steady. I can get that back. Putting aside those things that are temporal and pursuing what lasts... love and relationship, right?

Bleary, Bleary Eyes

I couldn't really explain exactly what I'm thinking now. It's a mixture of many things, I am sure. But my eyes are bleary and I can't breathe through my nose. It's been a while since I had a sob-fest. But here it is...

I married a wonderful man. There was so much to love. So much to be grateful for and so much to hold on to. Yet, after a series of years of leaving our issues unspoken, a rift cut through every good thing. And all that was left between us was bitter words and threats and painful, seething wounds. And if that was all it was, maybe that would be bearable.

But no matter which way you look at it, I was bound to lose. We were bound to lose. Because today he is a shell of who he once was. You would never recognize him if you saw him. And one of the only things that remains distinguishing him as my beloved husband is his love of mint chocolate chip icecream. His crippled body can't even position itself for rest. But I look into his eyes and I can see he understands every bit of what is going on around him. He isn't in a fog. He isn't confused. He knows. Yet he can't scrape together the syllables he needs to convey what he is thinking. And for me, the rift is gone and I can't remember the bitter words and the painful, seething wounds. To be truthful, I can barely even remember the good times. But what I do remember is that I loved him. And that has never - not for one second - faded away. So when I look in his eyes, I see the eyes that promised to love me forever. His swollen hands were the hands I held as we walked happily down the aisle - finally man and wife.

He is no longer my husband. It is what it is. Who is to say if I am better or worse off? But I don't want to leave someone that I love without hope. So I stay by his side.

I wonder sometimes what he does remember. Do his medications leave him with little memory? Or are those memories all he has? Does he remember taking his bride into their bedroom to make love for the first time? Does he remember all the silly jokes they had? (This picture is of us sucking our cheeks in... he isn't so good at it).

He called her his partner in crime once. And does he remember how beautiful life was? I hope he does. Because it is hard to see the beauty in the life he has now. And if God had any mark of decency, wouldn't He take him now? How can he leave him in this condition to die... or even worse - to simply grow old?

The Lake Was Glassy And Cool

His speech and hearing and mobility have all taken a dive. His brain is still undergoing swelling as a result of the extensive radiation. And so he is stuck in this holding pattern. Not being able to move or speak... just to think. And what goes on in his brain all day, I wonder?

I sat down near him on the couch as he was lying there. I set my chin on his knee. And I looked him in the eyes. I told him I love him and then my eyes filled up with tears. And so did his. And some of the words he can manage to say are, "It's ok." ... What's ok?? What is it that is ok, Rob? Because none of this seems ok to me. It would seem ok if you could get better. And it would seem ok if you could pass quietly into the next world. But this does not seem ok. This holding pattern. This lengthy stall of inability and frustration.

I swam across a lake this weekend... just as the sun was reaching its fingertips into the sky. The lake was glassy and cool. And a man and his boy were fishing at the southern edge. Why did I jump into that water? I sat there for a few minutes... tottering the line between jumping in and just dangling my toes in the water. And as the sun quickly made its ascent, I knew there were precious few minutes to enjoy this moment. To float softly across the water just as the sun made its way into the open sky. Only 200 miles south lay a man that I loved and that I still love that couldn't jump in even if he wanted to... unless he wanted to just roll off the dock and sink through the murky water to settle at the bottom. And here I was delaying a beautiful moment simply because the water was cold?? Insane.

Facebook Is Creepy

I hate you Facebook. You use my information to market things to me. When I say I like God, you try to sell me all this Jesus stuff. When I say I like travel, you show me links to all this travel stuff. And the creepiest thing of all is when I say I am single and you put things up that say, "29 and single again?!?"

I hate you Facebook.

Chad Has A Crush On Me

Chad is seven. When I gave him a reading test today, he kept making eyes at me. He was reading about teeth.

"Crocodiles have sharp teeth. RaaaaAAAARRRR!", he said.
And then raised his eyebrows at me and grinned.

"Some snakes have fangs."
He reached over and stuck his pointy fingers into my leg. "I'm venomous!"

"Interesting, Chad," I said, as I prodded him to continue reading.

"Girls these days..." he says, condescendingly.

This is the same kid who sang me "You Are My Sunshine" when I was sick. I love that kid.

Goodnight, Ceiling Fan

I enjoy the bit of independence I have in my life. I get to go climb when I want to and eat late when I want to and work late when I want to. There's no one that depends on me to get home to take care of dinner or anything like that. When I was married, I usually rushed home after work to get dinner going and then I sat on my ass watching TV the rest of the night. Lame.

Today I worked late and then climbed. I came home to take Wyatt out for a while and fixed a super late dinner. So mellow. And there was no responsibility for anyone else. Nice.

But then, when I did come home, it was lonely. No one to talk with about the day. No one to laugh with in the kitchen. No one to tuck into bed with and to kiss goodnight and to feel the warmth of their skin next to me. Well, my dog... not quite the same, right? So I think I stay away as much as I can. I get on my bike or take Wyatt for a run until it's dark. And I quickly fix dinner and then head to bed ignoring all that I miss about having someone there.

It's so nice to have someone there. To sit and breathe together. To have breakfast together or to sit outside near the fire together. Someone to fill up the car with gas while you take care of something else. To bounce ideas off of. To laugh with. To love. And to be loved. I think that's what I miss most about being married to Robert. He really loved me. Of course, that came with a slew of other issues. I began to wonder if it was possible. I didn't think a man could really love a woman. But I know it is possible. Just rare. So maybe the total independence isn't all it's cracked up to be. Ah, life.

Goodnight, then, computer. And dog. And ceiling fan. Goodnight, closet. Goodnight, dishwasher.

Turning Twenty-Nine

Well, on Monday I turn 29. Real 29. Some of you turn 29 year after year. But I think I'll just do it once. I love my age. My twenties have been really wonderful. I started a career that I love. I bought a house. I got married. I learned so much about myself. I became a better climber. I grew into a better person... except for the one year, of course. Twenty-six was a terrible year. I am glad I never have to live those days again.

But I feel fortunate to have learned as much about myself as I know now. I've been through some really difficult times that stretched my character. I wonder if I would have become who I am without those times. Likely not.

I've always looked forward to my thirties. Who knows now whether it will bring what I thought it would bring. Being a twenty-something certainly was worlds different than I expected. But I hope I'm moving into a stage of life that I can settle into... that I can be comfortable in. You know? It's probably my choice, right? I wonder sometimes if I could be comfortable in all the situations I can visualize for my thirties - living here in the states... living in Argentina... being single... being part of a solid relationship... teaching... pursuing something else in the field of education... being a mom or a sort-of-mom

Whatever it is that is in store, I think I've learned that for me to be content in my situation, I have to continue to pursue the things I love - music, travel, climbing, family... really that's it. And if I can avoid getting sidetracked, I'll continue to love the days of my life. And if I can love the days of my life, then growing older will never plague me.