This morning I met my ex, Kurt, to transfer the kids for the weekend. We've had a rocky year. Today we were trying to mend fences, get back on an even keel, when he mentioned that his sister just went through a masectomy - I had no idea she had been diagnosed or anything. It was a sad shock.
Turns out she's only been diagnosed for a month, but they had to remove a breast and 7 lymph nodes. It's stage 3 (out of 5). I finished the conversation after the usual expressions of sympathy and left.
Five minutes later I was driving to work in tears for a woman who has often hated me (and it was mutual). The years of resentment and mistrust and wounds were instantly burned away with the stark reality of her devastation.
Wow. That quick.
I cried some more, with the knowing that we are somehow connected, she and I, though the past was no less "real". It felt like an incineration of all the layers of ego and interactions and tangled humanity. She is a soul in deep distress and pain, struggling to make sense of her body and her life.
My sense of connection went beyond the Woman to Woman and more to something I read last weekend on a bumper sticker:
There is only us.
(There is no "them")
How come it takes such a horrific revelation to strip away the years and fears? Had she been in front of me in that moment I would have taken her in my arms and given her all the love I could for as long as I could. As much for me as for her.
Maybe it wouldn't have changed anything.
My sense of boundaries and of my self, along with its history and baggage, snapped back into place slowly over the next hour. I'll probably send her an email or a card.
Still I'm left with a deep appreciation for the tragedies in our lives - because nothing burns away the nonessential so well.
And maybe I did take her in my arms, just for a moment.
v
T and I noticed a pattern last weekend. Was it because my birthday was coming up? On a Full MOON?!
There's been a rash of bizarro news lately. Here are some examples of strange happenings with my own story titles:
Congressional Representative Blames Divorce on Everyone Else
CaliFORnia (the "Gordon" state) is swept up in Tom's new game: Unlikely Celebrity Governors. Besides Arnold, other winners include Tammy Faye Baker for NC and The Colonel for Kentucky, Woody Allen for NY, and of course Jesse Ventura for Minnesota. (Feel free to add your own nominations in the Comments section:)
Judge Barely Dodges a Transexual Bullet
Copy Cat Tiger Attack modeled after poor Roy. The absurdity of Roy fighting off a tiger with a microphone is only eclipsed by the sureal reaction of the audience - many thought the attack was just part of the act. So thousands sat there quietly while Roy was drug offstage by a 600 lb. cat.
btw, once backstage the crew used a fire extinguisher to rescue Roy.
There's always lots of other weird news, the young Romanian gypsy girl, 12, who was forced into an arranged marriage, (groom was 15 years old), the Lake Norman (Charlotte) speeding boat that struck I-77 at 2 a.m. and went airborn. But usually they're too sad to retell. (Including the Sox losing to the Yanknees last night.)
So I'm reading a new Diana Galbadon book - lovely birthday present from C! - to escape and trying to help my sister as she prepares to move all the way to CaliFORnia.
I looked in the mirror today and, turning away thought, "I'm 40." It registered as a fact - not a lot of emotion around it, like playing with a loose tooth when you were a kid, an idle action/thought. Something very attached to me and yet somehow separate.
I've had several days of fetes - dinner with the family Thursday, lunch with Tom on Friday (the actual date of the
I'm excited about my forties. Partly because my thirties really were good - I learned more that decade than perhaps all the others combined (well, except for the first couple of years when I was learning how to drive this body around:). Alot of this growth has to do with love (lost and gained), with the agony of loss, and with learning to relax into my life, into my self.
I'm not alone in recognizing the freedom that comes with "middle age". There's power in anonymity, the thing I didn't have when I was young and sexy. Now that I'm older (and sexy) I don't turn heads quite like I used to - and I see more.
Maybe I see more because I know more, have traveled more miles in this universe.
I don't have to be the center of attention, at least not all the time, and I don't need constant reassurance of my value and attractiveness. Granted it was a strange moment when I first realized I'd dropped off the young male radar screen. But I slowly found the gifts in this new terrain.
Now I enjoy the freedom of age - I've figured things out, by myself and with help. I know who I am. I know who my friends are - and how to spot "energy suckers" early. I know fear when it comes out as anger and aggression.
I know what size I am is ok and that I want to be strong. I know my other faults and I know deep joy, the kind that goes beyond words. For someone who loves words like dolphins love the surf, this is saying a lot.
I know why old people talk less. And I know when they talk too much how deep that loneliness goes. I know I can't heal the world, but I can help heal in my own little personal space. Just as far out as my fingertips, within my wing span.
So enjoy this day. Drink in the beauty of your life. And never forget that it's ok to forget whatever you don't need.
Namaste,
Vicki