Foreign Body/Foreign Feeling
Hello, there San Saba loves, and how has the world been treating you this past week? Well, it is official, I am a woman in the 70s club. I am sure there are a few of out there who actually remember the decade that was the 1970s, full of crazy, chaotic, cacophonous disco music and colorful clothes. Oh yes, and we cannot forget John Travolta and Olivia Newton John.
Wondering why I would relate turning 70 with the decade? As it turns out, my life changed significantly in the 1970s; yes, I might even say astronomically. You see, my precious San Saba darlings, in 1973, I gained a husband and four children. In 1974, a fifth child came into my life, and in 1976, I had my first cancer. Yep, it was quite the decade.
I occasionally hear disco songs, and it is as if my body becomes that twenty-something-year-old again and wants to dance with abandon. Stop laughing, we established long ago I am weird!
Harold has been home from the hospital for a week, and improvement has been slow. To say all of this has been a lesson and extremely taxing would be a statement in the ridiculous. I tried to help Harold empty his catheter bag, and I am telling you, my sweet friends, we looked like something out of a Three Stooges movie!
My health in such decline, and I have lost so much weight, I am pretty much useless. Harold is not able to feel or use his hands or fingers, so we may as well have been trying to climb Mount Everest. Yep, it was a complete comedy of errors, and I expected buzzers to go off. I had to text poor Mandy to rescue us again, and as ever, she was here in a flash.
I am not one to ever lose sight of the humor in any situation, but I will admit having to dig deep at times to find laughs in all the drama life has coughed up lately in life. It isn’t that I do not find our situation hilarious, but that I feel absolutely evil laughing about it. I mean, really, how would it make Harold feel my laughing at his being incapacitated?
My birthday weekend was quite pleasant with my daughter, Lani, and her husband, Roy, here to visit. They went to Fredericksburg on Friday for a stroll around the shops, but spent the rest of their time with us.
The past month has opened my eyes to how alone Harold and I are, and how incapable we are, at managing on our own, in certain circumstances. It is a bit strange because I don’t know about you guys, but it isn’t something I considered, or pondered prior to being in this predicament. While I have always been a staunch realist, I have spent my life living in the moment, not looking toward the future or putting myself in it.
I know for Harold all of this has been particularly difficult. Men seem to attach their identity to what they are able to do, accomplish, and provide for their family. Even before this happened, I would notice Harold reference his life in terms of what he used to be able to do and the age he was still able to do it. For instance, “I could lift and carry my kayak down to the water and row for hours when I was 75 years old!”
I find a certain sadness in living life in that way. I am not saying I don’t understand, I do. There are many things I have had to let go, too many to even recall, but rather than reminisce or feel sad, I find things of joy I am able to do. I mean the simple fact is since life goes on, the best thing to do is for us to go right along with it.
Every night when I go to bed, I talk to the wonderful picture of Herman on canvas. I tell him the day would have been so much more wonderful with him here, no matter how horrible it actually turned out. I tell him I miss his loud bark and him bossing me around. Yep, I talk to him as if he can hear me, just as I speak to you guys as if you can hear me. I suppose that is why Hermie was so very special to me. He was my dear friend, and I talk to you as if you are as well. I hope you have a wonderful week until we speak again. I wish you such good things, and thank you for being.