A Year out from the Beginning of a Firestorm

Because the word "surreal" is so overused I hate to put it out there again, especially because there have been more than enough cliches and empty words swarming my world these days. In many ways, the power of commonality and shared experience can be so healing in times like this and, in its own right, so existentially disconcerting at the same time. I want to know that other people have survived the pain that continues to rip through me, even when I least expect it. And yet I don't want to be reminded constantly that "this is part of life", this is what makes life so valuable, this is what so many people experience every minute of every day that Hallmark could probably have its own subset of stores to capitalize on the variations of the sympathy card.

There is a deep sense of "knowing" with those who share in such an experience, especially those who have lost at a similar time, those who have grieved that same relationship across time and space, those who seem to say what I feel before I am even aware there are words for such a thing. In moments that seem impossible I am desperate for this bond, and yet I can't stand to believe that I have access, let alone membership to such an alliance. I think that it is in these moments that I realize all over again that life has changed; my earth has shifted on its axis in such a way that it will always limp a bit, even if it does have a clearer view of the moon.

This weekend last year Mama Marian turned 57. In all of the trillions of thoughts that pass through the mind each day, the idea that this might be her last birthday was nowhere in the vicinity for me at this time last year. Her last day of work was the 13th, but it was supposed to be a temporary leave of absence. Just before election day she started noticing some changes.

I look back on emails we had written back and forth from work that week and remember Mom laughing about falling with the coffee pot, tripping up the stairs, people on Saturday night at a restaurant looking at her like she was falling-out drunk because she suddenly couldn't walk or keep her balance... Web MD told me again and again that, among the countless ailments she might be experiencing, none of them were serious. We suspected a pinched nerve or even Lyme's Disease.

I was concerned because Mom was concerned... and she was concerned because the doctors were concerned, but we didn't know why? The thought that it might be a tumor seemed outlandish, and besides, all of the tests were negative! Mama Marian, Caitlin, Esther, and I went out to celebrate after the last of the tests was complete. Mom told us all that no one was "more cancer-free" than her. I had come home that weekend because she asked me to, because she was scared. And I was going to go to the airport to go back to Virginia after I took her to the follow-up appointment on Monday morning. I changed my flight for Friday instead when the doctor told us that he thought she should see a neurosurgeon. It was all a mistake, it seemed... people were overreacting, this was probably just Lyme's Disease for the love of God! I never did get on that plane.

Going back, it feels like a different life. It seems like "a bad dream", that stupid old cliche. The next sentence goes something along the lines of, "I'd give anything..." but it nauseates me to hear these movie script lines about something that is so personal, that only seems cheapened by the voice of the common bond of experience. And yet, it is one of the only things that comforts sometimes.