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Victorian Conversation
Category Archives: Relationships
A Meeting with the Spirit of God
Okay, so it’s not like I called God up and asked to meet for a cup of coffee, that is true, but what did happen felt like I could have been doing just that.
I went to orientation as a lay-chaplain today which included getting a spiffy new badge with my broken nose-tape picture on it. My name as well as VOLUNTEER prominently displayed. I spoke with the HR person while she assembled the necessary paperwork. She was far more stressed than I was because she felt like I needed to be out of her office ASAP. I didn’t feel the same way. I figured it would be done exactly when it needed to be. And, as it turned out, it was.
I met with the lead Chaplain SL who was training me. She took me up to the charting room where we gathered necessary supplies. She showed me how to keep the records which involves room numbers and a general description of the visit. She gave me cards that are to be left if the person is sleeping so they know where to call if they need spiritual support.
We then stopped at the nurse’s station, got information about the patients on the floor (which I wrote down), then we went to the first person’s door.
There sat the Spirit of God in a hospital gown too big to fit the slender body it was covering. A meal sat nearly untouched on the table in front of them. As they related the story of why they were in the hospital, my heart wrenched with compassion. I know it sounds a bit arrogant to tell the Spirit I understand, but I really do. I was able to meet God’s Spirit in such a way that I watched their shoulders visibly relax. To hear the laughter that I was able to coax from their lips was angelic. As my guide and I went to leave the room, I reminded the Spirit of God how loved they were. Thank you was returned with sincerity.
At each room we visited, we engaged with a different version of God’s Spirit. I was asked to lead a prayer, which frankly intimidated me because I’m rather private about my talks with my vision of God, but I did it. It wasn’t as smooth and flowing as SL, but it was sufficient enough for this face of God to Amen throughout my version of prayer. I reminded them of how loved they are and ended it in Jesus’ name which felt alien on my lips, but in this neck of the woods it is a Hallmark.
I hope you have felt this way at some point in your life; like you were doing exactly what you were supposed to be doing exactly the way it was meant to be done by YOU. A feeling that leaves your soul fluffy with grace, compassion, and overwhelming kindness, almost like I feel when I go to church and feel the love there.
I had a meeting with God’s Spirit today in many different bodies. Some were awake, aware, and lively. Some were intubated, refused a visit, or were sedated heavily to help them through their crisis. One face was not in this world but was lost in the colors of flowers and what everyone’s favorite was so they could bring them the next time we visited.
To say that I felt broken open would be a bit of an understatement. I didn’t feel broken, I felt like I was finally rising to the task of my soul in an entirely different way. It was rich with experience, understanding, and a conscious bonding to injured spirits.
I may never experience those Spirits of God again, but today I did. May I never forget who I’m talking to when I serve as a lay-chaplain to those incarnations.
May peace be with you wherever you are or go. You are loved.
Pass it onward!
Always Dying
“For when is death not within ourselves? Living and dead are the same, and so are awake and asleep, young and old.”
Heracutus
My recent explorations of the world have given me a gift. It’s shown me that life is filled with experiences that we create, that happen, or that we observe “in the wild.” Filled to the brim with an emotional connection to how things work, how we process, and meet the situation it’s intoxicating, intimidating, and exhilarating.
In all the living that is to be done, death lurks. It’s always there with a potential to manifest unexpectedly. In a way, living fully, saying yes to new things, learning what knowledge can be found, following your arrow wherever it points are all death defying, or maybe a better term would be death defining.
At the end of my days, I want to be able to look back over my life and know that I lived a good life filled with human moments. I want to look at the mistakes that I’ve made and know that, at the time, I made the best possible decision with the information I had. I want to be able to tell stories of a life well lived. I want to be the best me possible.
Knowing that this could be my last day or even part of a day of my life motivates me to strive towards being immortal. Not in the sense that I will physically be alive, but that what I do in my life will be talked about by people; my friends, loved ones, and those in the wider community. I want to create a legacy of love, kindness, compassion, service, and be known for my sense of humor.
Death is going to happen. The age of death is an exclusive personal interpretation. But while I can, while I’m still breathing and have opportunities, I want to live as fully as humanly possible. When the inevitable happens, I want to know I’ve accomplished a good life. This tracks. So far, so good.
Notice your moments. Move forward with grace and mercy. Don’t give your power to what if’s and what was. This is it. Be love. Do peace. Create Joy.
May peace be with you wherever you are or go. You are loved.
Pass it onward!
Ravenous
The soul eats time ravenously
savoring the flavors of the tempest
diving into the depths of despair
Flying with euphoric joy
Bathing in love with bubbling compassion
Filling buckets of companionship
Devouring knowledge of experiences
Exuding the light of the spirit into dark corners
Rampaging through injustice covered in battle armor
dressed in the scars of survival
Striding towards purpose
Hat out as the soul sings a song, waiting for change
Love the binding that holds tight the life
Pass it onward!
I had a dream…
I went to church on Sunday. I gave our interim minister a holy water hanging made of hand painted porcelain from Portugal. I gave an origional watercolor from a street artist depicting the city with the bridge, made by the same designer of the Golden Gate bridge to one of my clients. I gave a tile drawing kit to his wife. I gave the requested magnets and a bonus keychain with my tile design on it to another of my friends. I returned the book on Paris to my Auntie.
The speaking pastor was from the UUA and he was really good. I enjoyed his sermon immensely.
I got to hug and be hugged. I got to love and feel loved. Emotionally and spiritually I was doing great. There was a fundraising lunch after the service to benefit Fruit for Kids that makes sure children in our area schools get healthy choices. I enjoyed a soup (one of the few things I can eat right now) and had an Always Beautiful moment with the maker of that soup.
After everything was done, I wasn’t feeling too well so I went home to take a nap before I was supposed to head over to my Beastie Diane’s house. Then things went amiss.
I was in my shower enjoying the hot water when I started to feel ill. I turned my head and got sick into the water. I turned back and realized I was wet and that I wasn’t actually in the shower. I’d been sick all over my pillowcase and sweater. Dang it.
I texted Diane to see what time I could come over but she was having a bad day and asked to change it. Well crap. I called another friend who offered their washer and dryer. Excellent. I went over, watched a show called Reservation Dogs (It’s an FX show and is really funny and a good watch.) Laundry done, I headed home with my little dog in tow.
Later that night, Diane messaged me that she couldn’t find her bunny anywhere. She was more distraught and crying. I dropped what I was doing and headed to her house. I couldn’t find that bunny anywhere in the house. I searched high and low but to no avail. I went outside and checked under the first deck, no dice. I climbed as far as I could under the second deck and there he was just minding his bunny business.
After several attempts to corral him, offerings of apples, carrots, and celery, he still wouldn’t budge. A few pokes by a stick got him running the wrong way. As I crawled out from under the deck, I spotted him running up the hill towards the vast back yard. I hollered and pointed him out. Diane went after him trying to catch him, but he freaked out and took off running.
I climbed up the stairs on the other side of the yard and cooed to him, speaking gently in a quiet manner. He came over to where I was and waited for me to pick him up. Man, I snuggled the crap out of Bunbun. He seemed relieved.
Bunny safely inside his room (She has no idea how he got out of the house, I suspect he learned the doggie door), I hugged her goodbye and went home at about 11 and by 11:30 I was asleep.
I was standing on the edge of a southwestern canyon. I could see the blue skies above me and the red and gold earth below my feet. The sun was shining, inviting me to spread my wings and fly. The wind enticed me to the edge. I looked down and knew with all my heart I was going to experience a euphoria I’d never learned. I jumped…
I landed on my shoulder and hit my poor head on the floor of my closet. My bed showed no evidence of a struggle. It looked like I’d pulled back the blankets neat as you please. I must have yelled out because Matthew, my nephew/son was at my bedroom door pretty quickly asking if I was alright. After I caught my breath, I affirmed my being okay and embarrassed returned to bed.
Just before 9AM I woke up. I knew I was going to be late for the breakfast date I’d made, so I quickly texted and got dressed. I took care of my morning routine and headed out the door. By the time I got to where I was going, I was having a hard time lifting my arm very far and if I tried lifting anything, it was popping up to a 5. I ignored it, I mean, I was trying to fly for Pete’s sake.
Plans made to get with my doctor and decide further care, it occurred to me that I wasn’t feeling well…again. I kept my next appointment but confessed I wasn’t up to par. Another adjustment and I agreed to head to the ER.
I went home to lay down for a bit before going. I was tired and didn’t feel like moving. My bestie Jen came over and hounded me until I got out of bed. We headed to downtown Knoxville.
As I sat waiting for an x-ray, a man came and sat next to me while his wife was getting her x-ray done. She’d broken her spine, was clausterphobic and they had to put a brace on her. As he told me what she was going through, I asked him how he was doing. He seemed surprised. He was struggling with emotions. I asked if I could do anything to help ease his worries. He asked me to pray for his wife. I prayed for both of them. He reached over and squeezed my hand. He thanked me as he left with his wife. Pictures of my own were taken.
Off to the CT to get imaging done on my face. As I waited for my turn, a young man, late teens maybe, was sitting to my left. He was pleasant and chatty. He told me he had nothing to eat but ritz crackers for three days and he couldn’t keep those down for long. He was hooked up to saline and some other bag that I couldn’t read.
“I’m here with my mom and dad,” He told me. “I’m really scared it’s something bad.”
“What if it is?” I asked him.
“I just don’t want more needles and I don’t want to make my mom and dad worry.” he answered. “If it’s bad, I don’t know what I’ll do.”
“My friend Miss Marge lived to be 101 years old. She said the secret to a long life was to keep moving, even if it’s a sidestep. If it’s bad, you can only move through it no matter the outcome. I can’t promise you you’ll be okay, but I can promise you that the fact your parents are out there waiting to hear word of you shows great devotion. You are clearly loved.”
He smiled at me. A look of accepted relief washed over his face. “Yeah, I am. Thanks. Are you okay?”
“You should see the other guy!” I quipped. We laughed at my foolishness. The attendant called his name.
“Thanks for talking with me.” He stated as he pulled the IV tree with him.
“Any time.”
The two conversations I had with these people felt so deep and real. Vulnerable in a bad situation but comforting in our company together. It was more satisfying than going to church (some Sundays) in my spirit. I felt like a conduit, not the one actually speaking.
HOURS LATER:
A doctor finally came in to see me, made a plan, then left quickly. In his defense, there were so many people there. A phone conversation I overheard was by a woman who had gone to the hospital in Oak Ridge (I absolutely refuse to go there because they tend to not take good care of people). That hospital told her she had a herniated disc but she didn’t think it was right. It turns out she fractured her spine in two places and was going in for surgery. Yeah, that’s why I was where I was an not in my hometown hospital.
A plastic surgeon came in to set my nose and remove my stitches from my lip. The lip was a cake walk. Snip and done. The nose, on the other hand, good Dude in a handbasket.
They had to inject numbing into my nose, the floor of my nasal cavity, and up the sides of my schnozz. “Be still,” He told me. “You’re going to feel a little pinch.” Pinch my ass!! He didn’t but JEEHOSEPHATS! I wish to Dude he’d had said: This is going to hurt quite a bit, but you need to stay as still as possible.
I nearly came up swinging when the first needle went into my face. By the time the third one was being placed in the floor of my left nostril, I was weeping and shaking as if I were in a Michigan winter with no coat on. How I kept my head still, I don’t know, but the rest of me looked like a beached fish flailing about while the doctor’s reassured me I was doing fine.
They put a metal tool up my nose and pushed until I heard a pop in my face. Although mostly numb, it was by far not my favorite moment since I first injured my face. They put a splint up my nose to hold the septum straight and put a brace on the outside of my nose. It could have been worse. I moved through it and abided the best I could considering.
My nose is now set and quite lovingly braced. (insert eyeroll here). They tidied up and left with instructions of a soft food diet, don’t lay on my back unless propped up, and to see the plastic surgeon in 7 days. I wish I felt more warmth towards them doing their job, but I could barely see through my tears.
The first doctor came back in and said although I had no breaks in the bones of my shoulder and hadn’t dislocated it, there was obviously some damage. He thinks I did some soft tissue damage and possibly messed up the rotator cuff again. Great.
I look like I was in a doozy of a fight, but despite all the shenanigans and the ungodly amount of time spent in the ER, I have referrals to the doctors I need to see, financial aid papers to fill out, and now the healing begins in earnest.
How can you thank someone who would sit with you while you endured the ups and downs of medical issues? How can I show my gratitude for being so loved? What can I give that will demonstrate the level of trust and devotion I have for someone who would do that for me?
Jen, if you’re reading this, know that you have my heart, my devotion, my love, and my loyalty because you have given it so willingly, openly, and honestly to me. I know you have my back no matter what. It’s surprising to be able to call you up and know that no matter what, you’re there. I hope I don’t have to ever watch you suffer as you have me, but if you ask (and probably even if you don’t), you have my truest devotion. Thank you for being you so well, so honestly, and so truly.
For the rest of you, may peace be with you wherever you are or go. You are loved!
Pass it onward!
Day Fourty-Five, Cascais
Ten-Thirty this morning (Earlier than that but I wasn’t awake yet), Lori poked me to see if I was awake. We had a brief conversation where we discussed the plan of the day. She and Dave prompted me to choose something, but honestly, everything they’ve shown me has been extraordinary in such a profound way, I bowed to their wisdom and encouraged them to light the way.
There is a Galp petrol station in front of the marina. The woman who works there has wild curly hair that is both dark and light in a pleasing combination. She makes REALLY good espresso. That’s the meeting point. I was told to bring my laundry with me today.
The other day when I had my wreck, I grabbed the first thing from my dirty laundry to control the mess. I grabbed my bath towel which at the time was a perfect choice. However, it is my only towel which has prevented me from being able to take a shower. I have Dude wipes and some wipes called HoneyPot which have kept me at least presentable and not stinky. I’ve washed what I can, but without a towel, it has been limiting.
As I waited at the station sipping my cup of espresso (double shot), I observed a sailboat pausing at the dock below me. They were getting ready to head out. The Captain of the boat untied the front rope and gave a mighty push to the front of the large sailboat. Then he quickly went to the back of the boat and pulled the rope which forced the back of the boat toward the dock, pushing the front to where it pointed to the marina entrance. A man at the wheel obeyed the Captain’s commands, steering appropriately. Once the boat reached a safe trajectory, the Captain boarded and guided the boat out into the river. While this was happening, two other boats exited the marina, one with full sail (much smaller sailboat).
Dave and Lori arrived, loaded me and my laundry into the car and we headed off. Now, Lori told me where we were going, but I forgot which made the destination a wonderous surprise. We went to Cascais (CAS-caysh).
First we found a laundry. The roads were more narrow (I didn’t think it possible) than France. Dave navigated skillfully to our destination.
This Lavanderia, Mary Clean, was small. Three washers of various sizes and three dryers. It was very clean. How freaking cool is this? The washers put the soap into the wash for you! Load your clothes, pay, and your clothes get washed. What a revolution!
With time to kill, I offered food because I was hungry, they’d already eaten. I found a restaurant at the corner that had food I thought I could eat. We sat outside under giant umbrellas.
I ordered a soup and a tofu dish that came with rice. When the soup arrived, I was able to eat the broth, but not the actual vegetables. I asked the server if he could request the chef to blend the food so I could enjoy it. Absolutely. It came back with the texture of a thick oatmeal. Farts, that was outrageously good.
As Lori enjoyed hot jasmine tea and Dave was off getting his ears lowered, my entree came. Tofu, lotus root which looked like crunchy waffles, sweet potatoes, a curry sauce, and other vegetables mixed together but, I couldn’t eat anything but the tofu. I asked the waiter if he could do the same thing to the entree, which he did. Hokey smokes! It was stupendous. It came out with the texture of the rice. It was fantastic!
While I slowly made my way through my brunch, Lori popped off to put the clothes in the dryer. And again, she popped off to take them out of the dryer as Dave arrived shiny like a new penny with his spiffy haircut. We sat and chatted as I finished my decadence. I paid the bill and left tiny ducks for the waitstaff who had been so kind and entertaining.
Lori had folded my clothes already! Man, how lucky can I get?! We went back to the car, loaded up again, and headed off to the next destination. Unfortunate event, we got a parking ticket. Abuh! But it has a QR code on it so you can pay it right then and there. That was an expensive parking spot.
As we rode through winding roads, I felt like my eyes were seeing the world in an entirely different perspective. The houses are painted in yellows, pinks, tans, cream, white, and almost all of them have terra-cotta roof tiles. It’s an incredibly pleasing aesthetic.
Dave pulled off into a parking area because they wanted to show me something. The video you’re about to see if of today and I finally got video to load from yesterday, so you get the bonus clip. The Ocean’s Music:
We arrived in Cascais about 2:30 PM (9:30 AM East Tennessee time). It was similar in style to Pigeon Forge only the buildings were definitely not Southern American. Brightly colored with wares pouring out the doors. As we walked towards the shopping area, the ocean crashed and waved hello to us. The air breezed past us with scents of a variety of restaurants, the ocean, the scent of anticipation.
We popped into the first store in search of a sweatshirt for me. We found one, but the price made me balk. Lori reassured me there was plenty more to see. I left, making a mental note where to get it if I felt the need.
Look! I’m an ice cream store!
The shops were bustling, the outdoor cafe’s were filled with people. I popped in and out of stores, browsing from the many choices. Lori suggested a shop called The Bijou which had the best hot chocolate I’ve ever had in my life. Outstanding!
I didn’t purchase anything. I saw a lot that I was tempted to impulse buy, but I had a couple of people I wanted to bring things back for. Lori suggested a small corner shop that was deceptively large. To say I went hog wild in that store would be saying too little. I was able to get the gifts for my people in sensational style. I can’t show you the pictures of them because I want them to be a surprise, but I will post them after I’ve given them away.
Finished with the shopping and trying to meet the “deadline” for Dave and Lori to return home, we hopped in the car and drove all the way down the coast. Surfers were out paddling in the crashing waves. People were swimming despite the cool air. There were kids playing beach volleyball. At points on the road, the waves hit the guardwall so violently that it splashed up into the air and onto the cars and road.
Day done, we arrived back at Doca De Belem. Warm hugs, empty bladders, sunshine brightly lighting the afternoon, we bid adieu. They gave me a gift of their presence which was more than I could ever have imagined. I didn’t know I needed it so badly, but I did. I will cherish the memories we made together for as long as I live.
Falling in love with my friends, sharing moments in a life well lived, putting down the camera and just existing in the time we had together was a highlight of my trip. Gratitude has no bounds.
“Stop being a tourist and just be in the moment.”
Mare Martell, 2023
Storms A'Brewin' Sailboat windchimes wildly chorus obeying the Mistress of the Winds The strength of ropes is tested creaking, groaning, protesting as the waters stake ownership A waving power rising and falling obediently testing boundaries Like ashes to ashes dust to dust the ocean claims what it must. Mare Martell 2023
May peace be with you wherever you are or go. You are loved!
Pass it onward!
Day Fourty-Four, The Ocean
Yesterday afternoon as I was walking with Dave and Lori, I observed the waterline was quite high up the walls. The water was filled with bits of debris, but not too bad. There is a breakwater that extends out towards the marina which is made of concrete. It was fully visible down to the base that met the water.
Last night I didn’t sleep all that well. The boat was being tossed about hard by Yellow Zone warning meaning the waves coming in were 4-5 meters high. There is a breakwater to get into this particular dock, but that didn’t stop the violence of the water. It was jolting me frequently enough that it was hard to get to sleep.
At 2 AM, my bladder went off. Damn it. I put on my shoes and walked to the bathroom. There is a gangplank from where the boats are up to the land. Normally, there is a rather steep grade to get up, but this was barely a slant. I looked over to see that the waterline was gone. The jutting breakwater was now nearly underwater. Well no wonder!
After I observed this, I returned to my warm bed. At 5 AM my bladder went off again, Oh for Pete’s sake! I hauled myself out from under my blankets, put on my shoes and made my way to the bathhouse. To my surprise, the grade to get to the gate was steeper and the waterline was again visible.
I thought to myself, “How often do you actually think about the tide?” Being a land-lubber, hardly ever if at all. But here, it was brought into sharp focus. Something I don’t think about because of where I live, but to observe it happening was astonishing. It inspired me to write a poem.
Tides Be mindful of the tides Waves prowling, the waters rise Deep green home to long black fish silvery minnows a seabird's dish Boxy grace flowers below Undulating with aquatic flow The deepened walk becomes less so As the river rises and the rivers go A breakwater holds the mari-"time" cyclical clock of moonlight's bride.
Dave and Lori stayed in a hotel last night and this morning they were up and ready to go. They came and picked me up. Lori let me ride in front with Dave so I could better see the sights. It made me feel great!
We started to go to one place, but we got distracted and ended up going someplace really cool. We showed up at the Palacio Nacional De Pena. We opted for the garden ticket because the palace only allows a certain amount of people at a time and the next available entry was 2.5 hours away timewise.
We entered the grounds like cattle. Cobblestone walkways lined the paths. Their shop consisted of vending machines which was rather disappointing, but there was a scale model of the palace itself.
I have no idea what is happening with my phone. It keeps breaking pictures, deleting others so it looks like a trip to the phone store when I get back to the states.
This was a decent model of the grounds. I had a picture of the other side too, but that’s gone. 😦
As we were making our way up to the palace, there was a cafe in a forested garden area. My body was telling me my blood sugar was low so we went to get drinks and sit in the festive red chairs. While we were sitting there enjoying the view and chatting, the rains came. Oh boy, did they!
Lucky for me, when I was in France, I picked up these handy little grocery bags that are made of nylon and fold into themselves so they’re no bigger than a potato. I whipped my purple bag out and used it as a rain hat. People were laughing, but I was staying dry.
We went to the palace and then walked down a LOT of stairs with long steps down to the next level. Back to the parking lot, I got a call from one of my favorite clients. It was so great to hear his voice. We chatted a bit and I told him of my mishap. After a brief conversation, the three of us loaded up into the car and headed off to the coast to see a lighthouse Lori wanted to see.
Dudes, the roads are narrow like in France, but only a bit wider. There are a lot of blind curves which Dave handled beautifully. As we climbed in elevation after our descent from the palace, the views were filled with vast vistas. The buildings are primarily white with terra cotta shingles on top. To see them against a forest of green was such a striking contrast it made me wish I had time to paint the scenes.
The music from these musicians made a lovely soundtrack as we viewed the ocean. The man, at first was playing the accordion and singing in a rich, true voice. She played the keyboard accompaniment. Her son (The man is just her music friend) danced wildly with abandon to the songs. It was pleasing to witness.
Their sign reads, “We sing for Ukraine” I emptied my change pouch into their box. I gave the boy and the woman each a tiny duck. It lit their faces up with smiles and thanks.
This particular song he’s playing in this picture was haunting, moving, emotional, and passionate. The rain started so we had to go.
My friend Cathy E. suggested that if I get the chance to try the roasted chestnuts. I can’t chew anything, but there was a vendor near the parking lot who was roasting them on his cart. 3 Euros a dozen. I bought them, peeled the first one with stinging fingers (They were hot!), broke off a tiny piece and ate it. It was sort of like eating almond butter with a slightly different flavor. I shared with Lori and Dave, but they didn’t want any more than a few. I gave the rest of those delicious tidbits to an Asian woman explaining I couldn’t eat them and she could have them. She tried one and smiled with satisfaction.
The wind was getting stronger, drops were starting to fall as we made it back to the car. We got in, decided to find somewhere to eat, and toodled off again.
Lori admitted she wasn’t one to make solid decisions, but when we got to a turning point, she told Dave the directions with fierce confidence. We arrived at a restaurant called Don Quijote’s. It was a homestyle villa with a beautiful garden and a windmill. From what I read about it, the mill was where the locals used to bring their grains to be made into flour but it fell into disrepair. It was lovingly restored into a magnificent place.
Haunted Risotto which had zucchini, pumpkin, spinach, and parmesan cheese in it. The appetizers were organic sauted mushrooms, and a dish called Naheleh (maybe?) which was a cheese that tasted a bit like a cross between cream cheese and cottage cheese. It was seasoned with olive oil, roasted cherry tomatoes, black olives (with the pits unfortunately), and a parsley. They served that with toast made of a wheat bread.
The pink stuff is an iced tea that had fruit and honey in it. I’m not a fan of sweet tea at all, but that was quite tasty.
I was stuffed. It was SO good. I checked out the dessert display on my way back from the restroom. They had a lemon meringue pie which had a spider web design set in the top. They had a pumpkin pie which had little ghosts of whipped cream. The cake had a finger shaped cookie with an almond fingernail on the top of each slice. They looked fantastic.
We stopped off at a grocery on our way back so I could get enough supplies to last me. As we navigated back to the marina, the rain started falling heavily. By the time we reached the dock, the rain was still going, but not heavy. Dave and Lori went off to their hotel and I made it back to the boat (low tide but currently rising) safe and sound.
What an incredible couple of days! May peace be with you wherever you are or go. You, my friend, are loved!
Pass it onward!
Day Fourty-Three, Lori and Dave
I’m a multiple trauma warrior. I’ve seen some shit. Because of that, I’m primarily hyper-independent which is, in fact, a trauma response. When you can’t trust the people around you, you become self-sufficient at a level most people don’t realize. It makes asking for and accepting help extremely difficult.
After yesterday’s horrors, my bestie Jen contacted the people I was supposed to go see today and let them know what happened. They didn’t hesitate. They said they’d be up to see me instead. When I found this out, I told them thanks, but you don’t have to do that. Nonsense!
They arrived early this afternoon, Lori and Dave. Bless their beautiful hearts.
I’ve been thinking about love a lot lately. What it is, what it takes, what it gives, where do you find it, is it even real? It is.
They showed up, they brought me hugs, friendship, warmth, kindness, compassion, but most of all they showed me what love is. It’s about showing up. It’s about being available. It’s about sharing moments, stories, and time together. It’s about accepting one another just as they are. It’s a trust found in relationship. I can’t even begin to express how grateful I am for them making the trip up to make sure I was okay.
We walked together to the Coach museum, with a side-jaunt to get some ice cream (Poor Dave had motion sickness from being on the boat for 20 minutes), where I took assloads of pictures of some of the most ornate coaches I’ve ever seen. They practically carved statues onto these rolling monuments. I’m not even kidding. When I took the pictures, I took a picture of the name of each one. I took a picture of the description in English so I could remember what I was looking at. Then I took pictures of the many intricate details that were added to make sure that particular carriage/coach was the biggest and the best. I was surprised at the size of the wheels on those puppies. Many of them were taller than my 5’3″ tall height. Heck, some of the carvings on them were as big as me!
When I downloaded the pictures to my computer, none of them came up in order. I have no idea what is what. On top of that, many of the pictures I took before we got to the museum didn’t make it. They don’t exist according to my phone. BLAH!
One of the pictures I took was in Portuguese. It said, “Se isso custa a sua paz, e muito caro.” which means, “If it costs you your peace, it’s too expensive.” Another said, “School kills artists.” Graffiti for the sake of tagging doesn’t seem helpful or add to the beauty of the world, imho. But, when you can make the world a bit better by reminding them of a message that needs to be remembered, that’s what I appreciate. Kindness spray painted on a wall decorates instead of desecrates.
I had planned to make this a picture heavy post. My intention was to show you what I’ve seen, but how can I show you kindness that was given to me? How can I exude the love that I feel and was given? What could I possibly display that would show you how broken open my heart is for the people I love so dearly? I can’t.
What I can do is offer you my blessing:
May peace be with you wherever you are or go. You, yes you, are loved!
Pass it onward!
Day Thirty Five, Champagne Farewell
I spend time with my client and his family today. It’s the last time I’ll get to see them until they return stateside in December. When I first arrived in the middle of September, it was because of them that I took a chance and stepped outside of my comfort zone. WAY outside.
My client and I exercised his body. I chattered on about things that I’m learning or figuring out. He’s pretty quiet, but he surprises me with how much he pays attention. It was a blustery day. Chilly, windy, rainy. The day seemed sad. I felt sad.
I fall in love with my clients in a non-romantic way. It allows me to give grace, feel compassion, and evoke empathy even when things are a challenge. I absolutely adore this family. Truly it has been an honor to work with them for three years and many into the future, (As Miss Pat would say:) God willing and the creek don’t rise.
We drank real champagne from the real Champagne region in France. It wasn’t quite how I envisioned it, but sharing it with people I adore and love made it all the better. They’re just incredible people.
This evening I’m packing up all my stuff to leave for Lisbon, Portugal tomorrow. I’ll be taking a bus (31 hours…don’t even) to Paris, then on to Lisbon. I’ll arrive Friday at around noon (Insert Miss Pat quote here).
I have felt such a raw presence of myself here. My eyes are open, my ears are hearing, my mouth is tasting, my senses are satisfied with my stay here. I’ve seen everything (but one) that I’ve wanted to see. I’ve made no friends which I’m okay with. I love the people here.
Au Revoir to my French Experience.
I knew that if I failed in France, I had the safety net of my clients to call on if I got in over my head. I didn’t, but knowing it was there was reassuring. The training wheels come off tomorrow and I’ll be striking out on my own to explore. I’m lollygagging, farting around, procrastinating even though I should be packing.
Okay, deep breath. Let’s do this, Mare.
May peace be with you wherever you may be. You are loved!
Pass it onward!
Day Thirty-Three, An answer
Back on day Twenty-Seven I told you about a course I was taking through Going With Grace called The Living Practice. Each day you’re given something to think about, write about, and enrich your living experience by thinking about your death.
Yes, I know that sounds counter-intuitive, but it really isn’t. Every day you do things, whether you realize it or not, you’re building your legacy. Your life is your message to others about what kind of a person you are externally, and to some extent even to yourself. But the juicy part, as Alua Arthur, founder of Going With Grace, likes to say, is that who you think you are may not actually be who you are.
We all have to go through the every day life stuff. We have to survive. We have to pay bills. We make time for social interaction or hobbies or adventure. But, who are we really? Without anything external, who are you?
I’m still pondering that one, but the question I’ve come to the answer for is:
Who or what was your most impactful death?
Of all the people I have loved and lost in this lifetime (part of the reason I became a Death Doula), the most impactful death would have to be my best friend L3 aka Bean. I lived with her and she with me for the majority of our adult lives. She was so freaking quirky, weird, and resentful of being pulled out of her comfort zone. A little secret I never told her, she MADE me braver than I felt.
I was friends with her for 37 years. She and I fought, laughed, created, sang, played, roadtripped, went to concerts, went on vacations together. She was my secret keeper. She was the fastest typer I’ve ever seen. I think they clocked her at like 125 wpm without errors. She was happier in a world of fantasy than in real life where disappointments followed her around like a rabid dog.
When she died, I got fucked up in the head. The person who was always there was gone. Who did that make me then? It took me about five years before I could think of her without crying or feeling devastatingly sad. Which, when you love someone like I loved her and know that you’re loved back, that loss is going to do exactly that.
Okay, so why was it the most impactful? I was 49, she was a month past 50 when she died. I suppose it’s a trick of my own disbelief or even a naivete’ but who the freak dies at 50? I was looking down that barrel myself and it freaked me out.
It made me really look at my life. I was unhappy. I was deeply depressed. I was so ridden with anxiety I couldn’t handle even missing a bus. Did I want to live the rest of my life like that? What could I change to make my life a better place to live?
She was the most impactful because I decided I wanted to live after she died. I mean live like we had intended to do together. She made me braver than I ever thought possible. She gave me the gift of life by leaving hers.
And now, here I am in freaking France getting ready to head to Portugal. The things I’ve seen would have made her laugh. The food would have blown her mind. The atmosphere would be right up her alley. She, although not physically, is still with me. She’s still here next to me,
(Well technically around my neck since I wear some of her ashes always) cheering me on to the best life I can live, for the both of us.
May peace be with you wherever you are or go. You are loved!
Mare Martell 