And off we go, but first, don’t forget to tip your wait staff AND the bartender!!
It’s also been so long – TOO long, that I don’t know how to navigate WordPress as well ad I used to. Oh well. We all shall live.
I don’t know where to start, but at least I can fill up the page with some photography. Why not?
Dream Porch, Woodstock, NH 2021
Spring Joy 2021
Ok, these are fine, but I can’t move them around too well. Grrr! Anyway, I think I did a deeper dive in my last newsletter on what’s been going on in the last several years, so please check it out. What is NOT in the newletter is our new addition to the family, Scampers.
Here he is!
Scampers – February 2022
I’m not so silly as to promise I’ll post more regularly, but I will try. That’s for damn sure!
During life’s many challenges think about taking time to slow down, think about what works and what does not, then make changes, reflect and recalibrate. Let me explain. Go pour a cup of whatever, and enjoy.
Life has been pretty interesting in 2017 so far, and as you know, “interesting” is often a euphemism for something unpleasant but not quite dire. You most likely read how I had a knee replacement in February, and went through months of rehab and physical therapy and depression. It wasn’t all bad, not by a long shot, but it was definitely “interesting!” Add to that a pretty bad case of diverticulitis, and heck, I kind of wanted to have things a bit more boring.
Eventually I began to feel like myself again (yay!) and by late June I was running errands and feeling pretty good. Around this time I also had finished rehab and after giving myself a couple weeks off, I started up again at the gym. And – go me – I also hopped on my mountain bike (set on a trainer) and rode in 25 – 30 minute sessions while binging on The Handmaid’s Tale.
Something else I did post-rehab was to start to look for “work outside the home.” The dreaded WOTH project. Yeah, I know, I shouldn’t’ refer to work as dreaded, but damn, it’s been a long, long time since I had to report to someone else. Someone else besides the family. Someone else besides teams of doctors. Someone else besides a surgery schedule, teacher meetings, GI specialists, transplant nurses, orthopedists, physical therapists, hematologists, lab technicians…and more. And that’s just one son. My older son has unfortunately been going through a lot of tests with more coming, to determine what is going on with his gut, liver, and lymph nodes.
Interesting!
And scary. Uncomfortable. Confusing. The constant re-thinking of this plan, tweaking that schedule, wondering if I’m explaining everything to him as well as I can, wondering if I am doing the right thing. Naturally I’m concerned about making a commitment to a new job and then have things fall apart because someone will desperately need my attention, my energy, the way Tom had needed me. Yet, because in a larger sense life had calmed down in the last few years, I feel like I have a certain amount of freedom to work out in the world. My older son’s issues are definitely concerning, but at the moment, his signs and symptoms are not directly pointing the way to a bad diagnosis.
Plus, the need for extra dough is quite the motivator.
For so long, while Dave was working for Fidelity Investments, he made some decent money. Nothing to make us rich, but the worries were not so bad. There were a few times that money was tight, and at one point we needed to refinance the house, but mostly the salary was quite adequate. Then a few years back he learned that his job was being relocated to Research Triangle in North Carolina. Wow.
Because we had strong ties to New England, plus were very leery about taking Tom away from his doctors, we knew early on that Dave would accept that severance package and leave the company. However we did allow Fidelity to fly us down and stay for a few days to get the feel of the place, meet with real estate people, and chat with other employees who had already made the move. It was a nice little trip, but not a deal maker. So, he worked up till the agreed-upon date, left, and had a bit over a year of severance to find a new job. Interestingly (there’s that word again), the timing was kind of perfect, but that’s something to elaborate on another time. Anyway, the new job was OK, closest commute ever, but the pay was considerably less.
Therefore, because vehicles breakdown, along with major appliances, plumbing, and who-knows-what-else, the expenses grew but not the income. I did contribute where I could, but my skimpy earnings from freelance wasn’t enough. I knew I had tools to grow, and the talent to produce a product that people would pay for, but I felt like I was always spinning my wheels, but not reaching any real destination. When a person is constantly worried about money, it puts a freeze on creativity. Well, at least for me. I’ve seen people in worse circumstances tread water and actually get somewhere, actually thrive, with more elegance than I was mustering. Whatever, that’s fine. I am happy for those who succeed, and try to use them as inspiration.
Luckily, I was also beginning to see what I was doing wrong. I could see outside myself to know that all the skills and tools aren’t worth much without more drive. I definitely had (have) periods of laziness. Easily distracted as well. One thing I began to realize is that I didn’t take myself seriously, more importantly, I didn’t give myself permission to REALLY work at all the freelance stuff. Part of this was due to being constantly worried if I was doing the right thing, should I really go all on in my book, do nothing until it’s done, hire an editor, market the fuck out of it, etc? Work hard to become the newsletter queen? Join some local networking groups to hawk my content wares? What about my oils? I’d been neglecting that a little too.
Heavy sigh.
Alrighty, so fast forward to this summer, and I came across a job on Indeed, for a part time office person in a church one town over. I ticked off my wants: Part time, close, non-profit, and I probably, could actually, do it! They needed someone with experience with Word, newsletters, MailChimp, blogging, phones, and a little social media. Check, check, check. They also wanted someone who understood the flow of how a church works. They weren’t looking for someone who had to absolutely share the same faith ideology, but who was open to diversity, and was welcoming. Yes, I think I can handle that too. And, while this ain’t going on the resume, I’ve been told by a co-worker in the past, that his friends all “wanted to know who was the hot chick answering the phones!” Don’t think the church would want that to be my main skill, but it helps the ego.
Anyway, while we were on vacation at Cape Cod, I went to a craft fair. (I just LOVE craft fairs, I have the best conversations with crafters and see the neatest stuff.) One of the vendors was called StoneSpirations, and the artist, Valerie, had the coolest smooth little rocks and stones that she painted in beautiful vibrant colors, with mostly
A Galaxy of Inspiration
abstract images. I said mostly, there may have been a peace sign, or an Om symbol here or there, and many had versions of the mandala, but still, they were abstract in nature. I only bought two, but I loved many of them. Here’s one sitting on my desk, pretty, right?
The other rock however, immediately became special to me. First, I was drawn to the design, intrigued by the arrows. I also loved the colors. As Valerie was taking care of purchase, she mentioned that she sometimes titles her pieces, this one I was buying she called “calibrate.” We spoke a little more and then I went in search of my husband and we found a few more neat things at the fair before we left.
In the last weeks since I’ve come home, as I started to really process what this new job will mean, the phrase calibrate came back again and again into my mind. I took the liberty of retitling it in my head as “recalibrate” as in taking stock of what’s changed, and making adjustments. This whole first half of 2017 has been a very big recalibration for me, and I imagine that the year will finish out the same. Constantly thinking about what’s working
Calibrate!
and what’s not. Making the right changes, and praying that I have the sense to realize it a little sooner.
If you’re just reading about my adventure with a knee replacement here, that’s fine. If you’d like to check out Part One, read here. Otherwise, this is about the icy depression that settled in my soul, post surgery.
At some point, I was feeling well enough to sit up in a chair with my laptop on a portable table. I thought, “Well, I really should post something on my site’s blog about this adventure. After all, the site’s about finding sanity and peace, let’s share my damn brilliant insights with the masses!” I sat there, opened up to the WordPress page, and…
Blank.
Blank.
Blank.
I got nothing man. I felt…blank.
I figured I wouldn’t give in to the whole “I sat staring at the screen”, locked-brain thing, I was surely stronger than this. So I forced myself to pick up my hands and start typing. Excellent! Except my arms suddenly weighed too much. My hands felt like wooden blocks, and none of that cheap balsa wood stuff, nooo, I’m talking full-on mahogany. My arms felt just as heavy and awkward. I could continue like this and add that my heart had turned to stone, but who am I to be overly dramatic? Oh right, you’ve met me. Still – I wasn’t in a good place. That part is real.
Looking at the computer, I just didn’t know what to say. Weird, with all kinds of life events I always have something to say (sometimes too much), I always have a reaction (sometimes an over-reaction) – what fresh hell was this? But really, it didn’t take much to figure out the score, I was depressed.
Hell, it made sense. I was in physical pain, some of it quite bad at times. I was almost 100% dependent on someone else, at least for several days, and even as I did more and more, there was STILL so much I couldn’t do.
I don’t always sleep well, but things had become worse. I was sleeping on a couch in the den and had to pretty much lay on my back, which I wasn’t used to, if I tried to sleep on either my knee hurt. If I did fall asleep, pain would often wake me up.
I could rarely ‘sleep in’ the next morning, there was always either the visiting nurse, or visiting PT who was due in two hours, and it took me a good 45 minutes to get washed up and dressed. I was also on narcotics, which helped the pain, but left me a little groggy AND as a bonus parting gift – constipated. Great stuff. Not to mention totally off my regular schedule of life. Where was my ‘to-do’ list? I was really unnerved by this new non-schedule. Oh, and I couldn’t drive. It was my right knee damn it, so when it was time to arrange my outpatient physical therapy, I had to find rides. This was a bit demoralizing in itself.
I don’t know why this bugged me, and I didn’t have too tough of a time lining up a few helpful souls, but still, it was awkward. AND I think it was mostly awkward for just me. I had to get over myself, and my lost independence. IT WAS GOING TO BE TEMPORARY!! Still – I got cranky.
In the middle of all this, one Monday in March I woke up feeling poorly. It took me a little bit to put it together, and I realized I was having a diverticulitis flare. It felt worse than what I’d experienced in the past. I did what I always do, I started using my essential oils. The last couple of times this happened the oils worked fine, but not this day. I was in a lot of pain and my husband brought me to the doctor. I started on antibiotics that night and felt much better in a few days, and managed to even go to the movies with friends on Thursday. But Friday there was some kind of relapse and I ended up in the ER on Sunday. Through all of this I was trying to follow a bland diet, which meant pudding, applesauce, chicken noodle soup, and mashed potatoes. Not a lot of fun.
Did I mention the ugly crying? No? Oh well, there was lots. Starting in the hospital, the day after surgery, and ending…probably not yet…but the most recent time was Marathon Monday in the late evening once we finally got home – this was the freakiest session ever. I think I scared everyone. Hyperventilating and gasping out… “I can’t stop…I can’t stop” It was nasty. However, it had been a couple of long-ass days, so it made sense I guess.
The other day I went for a follow up visit for the gut stuff, plus my BP had been a little high the last time, which is unusual for me. This time my BP was fine, and I’d even lost some weight, so that was all good. My knee is slowly progressing, and as we spoke about all these things I eventually talked “about my feelings.”
When Kathy, the nurse practitioner, paraphrased my words back to me, “no desire to do things that in the past has brought you pleasure,” it was clear to her that I was depressed. I think she was glad I was speaking in upbeat tones, and when I told her that I could finally drive again, she told me her first thought was “freedom!” I knew when I first realized I was depressed, that it was temporary. OK, I am prone to depression, so how temporary, I’m not 100% sure on, but I wasn’t overly freaked out. Like I laid out already, there were good reasons to feel messed up.
But now that it’s really been mentioned in front of a health professional, and written here, I owe it to myself and my family to keep aware and work hard to shifting back to normal. It’s a process, like anything. And there is no real normal, but there can be measures of happiness, productivity, and yes, sanity.
So, back in February, I had total replacement of my right knee joint. I don’t regret it, I know it was the right decision, and the doctor and hospital staff did a great job. But as I learned, a knee replacement takes work!
I have had “bad knees” forever, part of it due to aging, part if it a hereditary predisposition for arthritis, and part due to carrying extra weight. I’ve had two ‘scopes, (arthroscopic surgeries to repair cartilage) at least one of them in my right knee, and I’m not sure about the left – but the right knee has always been worse.
In 1998 I began to train in Kenpo Karate. I’m pretty sure this was the year I turned 40, (I know you’re doing the math, that’s OK – yeah, I’m old) and although the constant twisting of the knees during quick moving and stance changing probably didn’t help the knees, overall it was a great pursuit. I had both of those knee surgeries while I was training, so that meant taking months away from the mat, but I always came back. As my chiropractor has told me several times, “Karate saved you!” I would have to agree.
What he meant was that along with having a regular exercise routine that would help my back; karate involved such good mental and spiritual development. And the camaraderie was priceless. I attained my rank of Shodan (First degree black belt) in 2004, and this inspired me to keep going.
Things changed a few years later. Tom had been diagnosed with liver disease in the fall of 2007, and although I took some time off, having the dojo to escape to was helpful. After his first major surgery, he recovered pretty well and was almost a normal kid – except he had liver disease. But with complication after complication that began in February of 2009 and kept going until June, I was wiped out. I couldn’t sustain enough energy to cook, let alone do much else. So, karate, like a few other things I loved, had to be set aside.
I’ve been back quite a few times for special seminars and whatnot, but my routine exercise schedule disappeared. For several years the only exercise I got was stabbing the elevator button at the hospital or punching the doctor’s number into my phone’s keypad. Luckily I found yoga at some point, which was perfect timing. Not only is yoga true exercise – but the lesson in mindfulness was crucial. Also, in the last three years I began to go to the gym regularly, but the damn knees were shot, or close to it. Hence the surgery.
While I was still inpatient, and after I came home; the nurses and physical therapists often quizzed me on what to be on the lookout for:
“Tell me the signs of infection, and what do you do”
“Redness, swelling, fever, heat…and you call the doctor”
“Very good. Now what about a blood clot…?”
“Similar, except usually extreme pain in the leg.”
“Yes! Now remember, if you have unexpected pain in your leg, don’t rub it. That can cause the clot to break away, and it can travel to the lungs, that’s a pulmonary embolism. If you have sudden shortness of breath – call 911.”
What the hell? Scared much?
The thing is, I was actually glad for these warnings. Health professionals don’t actually like to instill the tendency for hypochondria in their patients, so when they do emphasize certain issues, I pay attention. About the rehab in general, I was told what to expect by either my surgeon, the physician’s assistants, the hospital nurses, the hospital PT’s, as well as the visiting nurses and PTs that saw me at home.
Of course my surgeon glossed over the parts about the swelling that would last seemingly forever (up to a year), nor did he mentioned the potential for bruising. In fact, I had a freakishly scary bruise that appeared a couple days after I got home and threatened to take over my whole inner thigh, and trust me, that’s a lot of fleshy real estate to cover. I didn’t know what to make of it, so I made sure I got a visiting nurse to come by the same day, plus I called the on-call doctor. I was relieved that this was considered normal, but yikes
My doctor also made it sound like my rehab would be snappy fast. “You’ll be up and around in no time! We get you up the same day as surgery!” Well, he wasn’t lying. During a routine vital check on my first night’s stay, the nurse and CA (clinical assistant) decided I should get up and try to walk. It sounds a bit sadistic, but although I wasn’t super enthusiastic about it, it’s not like they wrenched me from slumber and made me do laps. First, there’s not much slumber happening anyway, and I only had to walk a few steps to the doorway and back, with my walker and with the two of them on either side. We all survived.
The day I was discharged, I even managed to make it up the stairs to my house. At first I wasn’t too nervous, I had gone over the mechanics of stairs with a PT at the hospital earlier that day, I did manage the small wooden steps in the PT room. But once I hobbled out of the car and over to the stairs, everything changed. How was I going to do this? I felt as weak and uncoordinated as a toddler learning to walk (and scared as hell).
I nearly started to cry, but I did it. Clinging to my husband on one side, and the railing on the other, I slowly made it up the steps. Of course I vowed to never leave the house again – ever – if it meant repeating what I had just done – NEVER EVER! I was kinda serious too. But for the most part all the guidelines and milestones given by the experts have been pretty much on target.
However, they didn’t warn me about the depression.
It’s time for my regular irregular update, I mean my quarterly update…no, that’s not right, at least that wasn’t my intention, to blog quarterly. I sit brokenhearted but not broken of spirit.
Bloody hell.
Hey kids, here’s the scoop. Actually that implies some kind of breaking news. And I just can’t seem to commit to anything current enough. The only thing that’s breaking is my pride. And little piece of my heart I suppose. Enough about that later.
SO, it’s January, that means Christmas has come and gone. During the early fall, Mike was concerned about not starting his Christmas shopping soon enough. “You know how things are always the last minute at Christmas, you know that’s going to happen again!” Well, shoot. He had a good point. We all have good intentions of not procrastinating, and I do think each year I do something better than the year before, but as the Big Day got closer, things got mucked up.
One mucking factor is that during sometime in November, my right knee began to ache more than usual. Several weeks later, I’m sitting in an exam room of my orthopedic surgeon, looking at an x ray with his nurse practitioner. She asked,
“So, what do you want to do?”
“What are my options?”
“Total knee replacement. You’re bone-on-bone.”
Yikes. While I mulled it over, in the interim I had cortisone shot which caused great pain several hours later, and didn’t help in the long run. Soon I was back at the Docs to set a date for surgery.
Since November, the pain has increased, and simple chores and movements have been difficult. Even the thought of yoga was a turn off. But still, it’s not all miserable, although it’s becoming more miserable than not, I am still going out, to the gym, bank, my writing group, even groceries. (You can hang on to the cart for support!)
It’s been interesting, and disconcerting as hell, contemplating being totally dependent on others after this surgery. So not looking forward to it, but I know that this will be a great thing, and by spring, I should be feeling a LOT better. But when you’re used to being a hands-on caregiver/parent – it’s sort of horrifying knowing that this will all change. Speaking of caregiving…
My older son Mike has been going through some lousy GI stuff for almost a year. He feels fine for a few months, and then he gets feeling ill, begins to vomit, and this lasts for a couple of days, and then he’s OK. Pretty sure it’s NOT cyclic vomiting syndrome, his brother Tom went through that for months back in 2010/2011, and Mike doesn’t seem to fit the pattern.
Interestingly, during the exams and testing to figure out what might be the problem, it was discovered that Mike has
Navigating the Ups and Downs
NAFLD – Non-alcoholic Fatty Liver Disease. This – unfortunately – is quite common with American adults. It doesn’t signal automatic liver failure, and it can even be reversed with good self-care habits like nutrition and exercise. But there’s also an enlarged lymph node nearby that they are keeping an eye on.
But this undiagnosed pukey stuff has taken a toll on us.
Ironically, the night that Tom was to be honored at a fancy American Liver Foundation event, Mike was too sick to go. He was stable enough to be home alone, but later that evening he had to be brought to the ER, he was so miserable.
Ditto on Christmas Eve/morning, and again last week. But we did learn something. Mike had an endoscopy on 1/6 and the doc took biopsies. Well, they just found out last week that he had H. Pylori bacteria present in his stomach. So, they prescribed two antibiotics, but wanted him to wait a few days before he started on them.
Currently, he’s doing ok, but not great.
Not only does it suck for Mike, and for us as the weary parents, but it’s so painfully reminiscent of Tom’s various bouts of illness. While I’ve always kept my guard up concerning Tom, overall the feeling of dealing with this kind of uncertainty is – shit – kinda thought we were done with this stuff. The “stuff” being big picture worrying and the more immediate frustration of plans getting messed up is exhausting and sad.
So, I mentioned the fancy Flavors event that Mike missed, and also being in the hospital on Christmas morning, but also in the last couple of weeks he’s attempted a live wrestling event, but had to go home not long after it started.
A couple days later, after an ER trip, a doctor’s office visit, and finally feeling good, he attempted a second wrestling event, but had to turn around and come home before he even got there. Then he felt better on Saturday and into Sunday, and we made plans for the four of us to to to Chunkys, a pub style movie theater to see Patriot’s Day. But again, Mike felt poorly and had to leave before he could eat.
But yesterday he felt great and started eating regular foods and tolerating them fine. This morning started out OK, but as the day went on…pain and upset stomach. So, realizing that the antibiotics might be to blame for the more recent issues, we are just monitoring. AND applying some essential oils to help!
There is another meeting coming up in Feb with another specialist – hoping this will lead to some answers.
So what’s my point? What about that achy-breaky heart feeling I mentioned earlier? The point is, life has been sucking around here. You can glean that from what I just said, but what has been tougher is how MUCH this is similar to what Tom went through.
Unbroken Heart
There’s the physical fatigue, from helping Mike when he’s been acutely ill, mostly in the middle of the night, but sometimes all day, the physical pain I’m in because of my friggin knee, and the poor nutrition we all are going through because take-out and boxed foods are much easier. Not fun, but what are you going to do.
The emotional part is tough too. Crying every other day (and that’s just me), following up on meds and appointments and trying to describe things to an unknown on-call doc at 2:30 in the morning. Trying to be up and positive with friends, trying not to vent too much when I need it way more that usual. Trying to be positive with Mike.
Watching Dave doing more because I can’t. Hoping he stays healthy. Fearing that Mike won’t be well by the time my surgery comes, and Dave will be torn between patients.
It’s all too familiar and it’s heartbreaking.
And yet…and yet we still have many good things to be grateful for. Medical professionals who are compassionate and communicative. Spring is coming – eventually – yes? Tom is back at school with a renewed plan for success this semester, AND is preparing for his third Boston Marathon.
And this would be a great time to appeal to his fundraising efforts. Every little bit DOES help! The American Liver Foundation does great work, and because liver disease continues to affect our family, we take this seriously and very personally.
Cancer is an indiscriminate bitch, and that’s all I want to say about that right now. I’d rather talk about Daisy, and how her passing has reminded me of a lesson.
On Saturday, October 29th, our church held a beautiful memorial service for this cool lady, a friend I got to know initially during a women’s retreat at the great Craigville Conference Center on Cape Cod. Facebook reminded me that this retreat was four years ago, almost to the date.
We met on Friday night at the church, and set up car pools for the trip. I was in the same car as Daisy, there and back. I don’t remember what we all spoke about on the trips, most likely family, work, faith, the weather, whatever.
On Saturday afternoon, Daisy was offering manicure sessions, and since my nails weren’t looking too great, I waited for my turn. Finally I had picked my color and was ready for Daisy to start working on my pathetic fingertips. She picked up a hand and started filing away. Soon though she exclaimed, “Geez, your nails are awful Mary.”
“What? They’re what?”
“You’ve got all these ridges, might be a nutritional deficiency or something…”
She kept filing and occasionally tsk-tsk to herself. But she couldn’t help it and again commented how crappy my nails were. Probably made a comment about my dry skin too, which I hear a lot from manicurists. (I blame my crappy thyroid.)
At first, I sort of didn’t know what to think. I wasn’t used to someone being so blunt about anything having to do with my appearance, except for when various doctors would say…”You know, the heartburn wouldn’t be so bad if you lost some weight.” With Daisy, I wasn’t upset, or mad, just a little surprised.
The pesky ridges in my nails were again a problem when she started applying the polish. “Oh, I don’t know Mary…the ridges…”
I decided right then that I really liked this lady.
Every time she commented somewhat disapprovingly about my nails, it made me smile. Don’t get me wrong, she wasn’t totally dissing my grooming, she was just noticing something problematic and giving her honest feedback. It was harmless. My nails ended up coming out OK, but I didn’t even care. I enjoyed our time together more.
Daisy and I never became best friends, I never met any of her family, I just knew her as a member of our church family. We’d run into each other before or after service, and hug and that was about it. When she was diagnosed with cancer I told her how sorry I was, and that I’d pray for her. At one point she said, “You know, I was angry with God. I hate to say it, but I was angry.”
I think that kind of honesty is the best thing, and as I heard her husband speak about her during her memorial
Daisy and her husband Kevin
service, he noted that Daisy wasn’t one to mince words. So hearing her speak about her anger was refreshing. Painful yes, but real. I remember telling her that I was sure that God could handle her anger, he understood.
In the last month of her life, small groups of people from the church would visit her every Sunday after service. I never went. I thought about it, but just never made it happen. And then it was too late. But this post isn’t about regret. This is about holding onto the simple, little moments.
Years ago I wrote something called The Soul Puzzle. I don’t know where that essay went to, but the general theme was about being grateful for simple connections you make with others. As much as we love to celebrate long enduring friendships and of course the love of family, we often have very significant moments with others that have lasting impact. Sure, some of these interactions might be you and another angry driver flipping each other off, or recalling verbatim some crazy exchange you had with a rude bureaucrat.
But like me, I’m sure that you have all had moments with acquaintances, or even strangers that stick with you, because you shared something honest with them. Maybe you met in a hospital, you were both nervous about someone you loved undergoing surgery. Or maybe at a support group. You spoke together once, and you never saw them again, but the words you shared were wonderful. Maybe it was waiting for an oil change, or you were both on line at the bank.
When two people fall in love, they use the term “soul mate.” There’s even jewelry that comes in two sets , each with a broken heart, when the two pieces are combined, they form one whole heart.In my essay, I spoke about life as a giant puzzle. In a soul puzzle, I believe that there are people destined to click into place in your life. Not necessarily for romance, more for guidance. I’ve had lots of these conversations that I treasure, and it was because there was just something unique about those moments that stood out.
When we speak of someone having an “aura“, it connotes them carrying some interesting color cloud floating above them, or surrounding them, like a full-body halo. When I think of these special interactions with others in the Soul Puzzle, I imagine that they are set apart from other conversations by an aura, practically invisible but still felt. As a matter of fact, there is a study of something called “Empathetic Blending” that covers this in more detail. Granted, this falls into the metaphysical realm, and it might not be for everyone, but I do know that I hold onto certain interactions with others in a special place in my heart. These encounters have encouraged, empowered, or enlightened me in a way that I cannot explain. Maybe a form of divine intervention?
Years ago, when my father was close to dying, my brother had called me to tell me if I wanted to see him before he passed, I should come home. I didn’t go. It wasn’t due to a grudge or anything out of anger, this was more of a logistical issue. I think now it was actually a poor excuse on my part, but this was literally days before Christmas. I had it in my mind that I HAD to purchase a Sawszall for Dave from Costco THAT DAY. For whatever reason, there was no way around it, at least in my head at that moment. I had to go to Costco, and then I’d see about driving the grueling 30 minutes to my childhood home to see my dad. Yes, I’m being sarcastic, I’m a bit miffed with my younger self about all of that.
My point, which I fear is becoming more diluted as I digress, is that my stress on that day was due to a combination of some guilt, some sadness about my dad’s impending death, and overall holiday stuff. I was feeling low. Anyway, there I was at Costco, with Tom as a preschooler. We purchased the Sawzall among other things, and on our way out, stopped for a quick lunch at their snack area. We ended up sharing a small table with a stranger. I don’t remember a thing about this woman, her name, what we spoke about, or what she looked like. What I do remember there was something different about this conversation. I am pretty sure it was mundane topics we covered, but yet…something stood out for me.
The thing is, and I can’t shake this, every time I thought of this woman from then on, I kept thinking of the word “angel.”
She was my angel that day. I can’t explain it any better than that.
So was Daisy my angel back on Cape Cod? Have countless others in my own Soul Puzzle been God-sent angels? Oh I don’t know, and it doesn’t matter. What matters is that when I reflect on Daisy’s life, and that nail-polishing memory, it reminds me, not just to hold tight to loved ones, but to also be grateful for the moments we share with others, and what a simple conversation can mean years later.
Don’t overlook the simpler things, don’t always ignore the daisies in favor of the roses.
