Heidi Beth

We pulled off at a small town in the cornfields and drove past the town to where farms sit wide apart. My mom needed to rest on the way home from treatment(a three and a half hour drive each way). When she first learned that cancer had returned, I offered what I hoped to be a ray of light. “So many friends are jumping in to help you. Community building through illness isn’t ideal, but it’s still love and people coming together.” She agreed, tired, but smiling.

On our way to the farm where my cousin was watching two of her nieces and both nephews, I commented similarly, “Seems like this is bringing our family closer together too.” I’ve had good intentions for years.

While my mom stretched out on the couch and the older children made a mess in the basement, I rocked and fed my newest second cousin in a big squishy recliner. I’ve never bottle fed a baby before and really didn’t know what I was doing. I earned a giggling smile from his aunt (my youngest cousin) and a suggestion for how I might fare better. Once I got little guy to a familiar-to-him position, he stared up at me with his big, beautiful, blue eyes and for a few minutes, I hummed him a lullaby, and whispered, “You are beautiful little one.”.

Smsll hands, tiny finger nails, slow-motion movements, wordless (but clear) communication, how he seemed to say everything with his eyes and a few soft sounds. These were what I noticed today.

Day 13

We’re at the Cancer Treatment Centers of America with my mom.  Many of the people in the dining room wear scarves that frame faces that seem rounder than most. Humbled by disease, either as the sufferer, caregiver, or staff, there are no strangers.

A nod and a smile are given every time folks pass in the hall way or between tables. Too many sad eyes, but more sincere, friendly interactions than just about anywhere else.

Day 12

I dreamed an apology, one I gave to an old love
for treating him as an interesting pastime
rather than a human being.
He was the school boy again, not the heavyset father of three.
I was me today, wishing he would accept my words,
knowing he had no plan to care. I dreamed he would not speak,
but held my gaze from a frozen place.
His twin brother and I danced apart
in lieu of conversation, each movement a simple message.
Faintly brother smiled. A small path had been made,
until I woke to the crunch of a backhoe gutting our street.
To sleep soundly enough for such a meditation, this is the blessing.

Day 11

Day 10 – All I wanted to do was take a nap, wander into the bedroom, pull up the comforter and doze off. Not tired, just sleepy, in the land of being a woman once a month. I didn’t nod off, but I did yawn a lot.

Regardless, I was determined that the boys and I should go to at least a couple of the late afternoon drum performances at an all day festival I’d learned about the evening before. I figured my children would tolerate the experience, enjoy parts, but maintain (as they always have) that drums are just too loud. Getting ready to go, my younger son, who heard me tell someone about a drum circle in the late afternoon, skipped over to our djembes, and with a huge smile, asked if we could bring one or two. He was gearing up to be part of the circle!

Drums at the ready, we walked into the great performance hall lobby. Nothing looked right, but we also arrived five minutes before a session led by folks who use recycled material to create rhythm… so maybe they were setting up… in a smaller theater, but which one?

A quick look at the link assured me we had arrive six days early.

No wonder everyone was dressed up and sans drums.

I’m actually grateful we have more time to plan for it and invite friends. It’s also lucky that the one friend I did invite couldn’t make it yesterday. The best part? My son is still excited about going even though he has to wait.

Day 9 – I tiptoed through a quiet house where everyone still slept at 10am when our friend came over to help with whatever we may need. She stayed until after 3pm, chopping vegetables for my mom, watching the boys while I went grocery shopping alone, played Legos with our younger son, learned all about the series we’re reading, only our older son bounced back and forth in “time” in such a way that only one who had read the books could follow. She gracefully extracted a detail here and there and asked interesting questions.

I made almond-butter brownies to be done before she needed to leave. Recipe emailed as requested. They really are a moment of near-perfection.

A couple hours before show time I decided we were to attend the final production of Willy Wonka. (I just realized that our life is mostly made up of families who are friends. There are no age lines to mark who’s friends with who(m?).) Anyway, two of our family-friends were involved in putting it on, and two of the children were part of the cast. Half an hour before we headed out the front door, I told two surprised boys to get dressed, that we were going to the theater.

At the ticket office, my younger son asks, “Mom, when you were little, movies were just black and white right?”(yikes!)

During the open musical number, I was asked by the shortest member of our family (same kid with a distorted time line), “When are they going to stop singing?!”

The second number was much flashier, dancier, bouncy-singinger. During this song he turned to me and said, “Mom, this is really fun!”

Our older son, having been the lead in a show last year, appreciated just about every moment and tried, for the first few minutes after the curtain went up, to tell me all of his observations. Fortunately I convinced him to hush so I could enjoy Willy Wonka in real time.

The show was so good neither child was ready for intermission or for it to be over almost two hours after we arrived. One bit of fun was enjoying our view from seats in the upper level.

We arrived home singing and dancing ourselves.

Day 8 – I went grocery shopping by myself this morning. A friend came over to help my mom with whatever she may need, and also around the house. After she helped me make a grocery list by simply carrying on an unrelated-to-food conversation while I jotted down the finally-clear idea I had of what to buy for the week, I headed out on my own.

I soon realized I was in a cloak of perfectionism and had better make a “mistake” and quick. I made more than one. Bought ingredients for almond-butter brownies and a couple boxes of pasta for the boys. This may not sound like an infraction to anyone else, but I had managed to convince myself that the only way I would feel right was to do “right” which, oddly, meant following rules I made up myself but are not in place for any truly important reason.

So now we have a pan of freshly baked brownies to enjoy and the boys have knowledge soon, they’ll be enjoying a bowl of noodles ( a rare occasion in our house).

Day 7 – I’ve deleted three opening sentences, each the beginning thought of a highlight from yesterday. Now I’m paused, fingers hovering keyboard, waiting for inspiration on how to continue. The inner voice says to make a list.

• Snuggling under a fuzzy blanket most of the afternoon, eating chocolate, leftovers, reading blogs, and watching TED Talks.
• The last drips from our one-cup, manual, steeping brewer (about a third of a mug of coffee) was rich and perfect with a splash of cream. The tall coffee beside it was excellent as well.
• Picking my mom up for a monthly Baha’i gathering after she had decided to not go. Her change of mind consisted of, “I can feel lousy at home, or I can feel lousy with friends in a spiritually uplifting environment. I prayed on it and I feel it would be wrong to not go.” My mom is still teaching me.
• During the devotional portion, my son’s reading (the next one on a sheet of readings, therefore not chosen), was about detachment not being about burning your house down, but rather not being emotionally attached to your belongings, but rich in spiritual things, virtues. (I may have mangled the quote here. I’ll add it later if I can find a copy) Anyway, it made my son giggle, and his brother too. They’re quite familiar with detaching from material possessions since we moved into a 27ft RV last June.
• Later, at the same gathering, standing around with a few friends, my niece, and sister-in-law, rehashing the crazy circumstances before and after our second son’s birth, finding out more of another funny story from the same time period, and generally having a laughter-filled time discussing whatever engaging topics came up.
• Watching the dvd of our recent Children’s Theater Company show. The sound quality was excellent, even though the kids were often speaking in regular voices. We skipped to interviews after the closing show. Such lively jolliness!

   

Day 6 – I spent the morning, afternoon, and early evening in my pajamas yesterday, either lounging on the screened in back porch, or at the dining table. The day was warm, windy, bright. My kids got along all day, and also enjoyed a break from the extra errand-running we’ve been doing lately. Though the later evening found us needing to go to a couple places, I was grateful when, later, my husband and boys decided to opt out of starting the next book in a series we’ve been reading, and instead watch the first ever Word Girl movie. Happy to oblige (I’m the family book reader), I went upstairs and promptly fell asleep.

Day 5 – I fell asleep easily last night, after finishing a book I’ve been reading to the boys for weeks. I woke nine hours later to a bright and beautifully clean bedroom. For several nights I’ve been waking every hour still tangled in strange and difficult dreams, then going back to sleep but not fully resting. This is reminiscent of what was happening for months before we made the major life decision to sell or rent out our house and move into an RV. Since we started purging, cleaning, for that transition (completed Sept 20^th last year) and up until a few nights ago, I’ve been sleeping soundly through the night.

Presently, rested and content, I’m sitting in the sunny, screened back porch watching mother nature swing paper lanterns, wind chimes, and a thin white rope hanging from the side of the porch. Chocolate at the ready, strong coffee with a shot of stove-top-brewed espresso added, and the whistle of wind whipping through the V in a nearby tree trunk, through the surrounding mesh and onto my face, hands, neck, rustling leaves still scattered from where autumn left them to nourish the earth – these gifts are my company.