An Act of Generosity

Today as I was leaving Kaiser Permanente Medical Center to get to my parked car, there was a fair amount of coming and going just before lunch.  I came up to a main cross walk at the same time as another woman who was moving slowly using a cane.  

I started across with her and laughingly said to her, “I’ll take this side, the direction the cars are coming from, so they’ll take me out before they get to you.”

She laughed and said, “Thank you. It’s very unusual for someone to be willing to give their life for a someone they don’t know.”

We neared the other side.  “Yes, well, it’s a calculated risk in making an act of generosity I’m unlikely to be taken up on.”  I chuckled.  “Have a good afternoon.”

“You too.”

I pondered that small exchange for several minutes. In my response, should I have taken credit for being brave hearted?  I couldn’t do that.  It was a humorous offer that nothing was likely to come of.  And if I died by being hit by a car before her, I would die with a generous, loving spirit.  

That’s the thing.  Death will come for me.  Better it should find me with a kind and open soul.  Since I don’t know the actual date with Death, it’s strategic to walk around in a loving state of mind.  It’s a calculated risk that is likely to pay off one day.  I just won’t be around to report on how it goes.

——

I wrote these words at midnight, reflecting on my day out in the world. After finishing, I noticed the light from a nearly full moon and stepped outside to look at it and the lake. My 84 year old neighbor, Penny, has been at the end stage of life with cancer for two months. Her sons have been taking care of her alone at times without help due to COVID. 

Ronnie and I have been doing our own vigil. In her living room, her bed is only a few short feet from us. She had grown so weak. We knew the end was near. On our deck, I walked over to Penny’s side at her window sending her waves of love. I told her it is okay to go and said my only Hebrew prayer before getting ready for bed. I don’t understand Hebrew. All I know is I’m saying a prayer.  

Her son texted us at 7:15 this morning saying she had passed at 3 a.m. It was time. Her body could no longer sustain her life force. Laying in bed, I shared the text with Ronnie. I didn’t cry. I’ve already cried many times at losing Penny.  She reminded me of my Granny.  A woman who’d survived tough times, presented an inflexible countenance, but radiated love for those she cared for.  Many times, she said how happy she was to finally have neighbors she was close to.  Ronnie and I are lucky enough to be two of those neighbors and enjoy her fierce presence.  I can’t make those I love never pass away.  I can only enjoy them in my life and hold them close when their bodies fail.  Rest In Peace, Penny.

Reporting from Life’s Front.

Joceile  

1.19.22

[Picture of a clouded night moon reflected on the lake.]

When Almost Nothing Hurts

Occasionally, I have a couple minutes where almost nothing hurts. Physically, I mean. I have no great expectations of this as an emotional state. Though, I sometimes get ten minutes of being at peace with the world. If I’m lucky and the schedule allows, I can catch a nap wave, a feat so pleasurable it eclipses my imagined experience of real surfing. If I was a praying person, I’d pray for more of this. But that ship has sailed. 

When I was 23, I started counseling with Barbara. She asked me what my goals were. I said, “I want to be pain free.”  Bless Barbara, she didn’t burst out laughing. Nor did she say, “I’m sorry, Joceile, there’s no such thing.” They probably teach you in therapist school to be more circumspect. 

Over the years, I’ve reflected on the impossibility of that goal and my youthful misunderstanding of what life is. It didn’t take very long in my work with Barbara to find ever more concentric circles of pain, emotional and physical. I kept thinking, “Wait! I don’t remember signing up for this.”

No one asks like some sick carnival barker, “Hey, you can have searing emotional pain or terminal cancer. Which would you prefer?” 

“Is there maybe a door number three?” I’m sure I’m on the wrong game show. 

Everyone who’s managed to get to the ripe old age of 64 knows there’s no such thing as a pain free life. Aging changes our imaginings. I look at strangers older than I struggling to get around, walking, shuffling, or being pushed in wheeled conveyances, and I know they were once vibrant, light stepping young people. I know that young person is still in there. I know I need to remember this and not believe they are as they appear. If I’m lucky one day, it will be my turn for my body to be merely a shell holding my yearning heart and lightness of spirit. How will I look to others?

My next door neighbor is dying of cancer at 84. Her body has been failing her for a couple years. Penny loved golfing. She took it up later in life. She was competitive. When she broke her leg, her most frequent comment was, “I want to be able to golf.” Her sharpness of mind is still there, but her body is skin and bones. She probably weighs 70 pounds. She’s still more than I can lift. 

Penny likes angels. We put battery operated candles in our window for her. She has an angel light in her window. We check it repeatedly, day and night. Her hospital bed is along the living room window looking out at the lake. We can see that her big TV is on.  She can’t take care of herself or get out of bed without help. Three of her four sons live locally. Between them, a daughter-in-law, grandchildren, and paid home help, she’s being cared for. Ronnie and I have done a shift. 

Penny is a crusty old broad. When we moved next door nine years ago, she announced she was the “Bitch on the Block.”  It’s all for show unless you cross her. She’s as tender hearted as they come. I love her. I can’t make her well. I have to live with the pain her dying brings.

Penny’s still pissed off at the neighbor who built our house. She was a poor single mother of four boys always in need of money. Gratzer built the roof eaves of his house over Penny’s property by a foot. Gratzer was a grumpy guy. Penny pointed out his error and said if he paid her a thousand bucks she’d forget about it. Gratzer was having none of it. He took his circular saw and cut a foot off his roof. I’ll never look at that roofline without remembering it. Penny says she just wanted the money. She can still get animated about it over forty years later. 

I don’t want to say goodbye to Penny. I don’t want her to suffer. I don’t want a new neighbor. Life doesn’t give a shit about what I want. It just happens. The whole pain thing revolves, spinning like our planet. If I can sneak a few minutes of almost nothing hurting, I’ll take it. It doesn’t last. It’s a blessing when I catch the wave before the next wipe out. 

If there was magic, I’d use it. Just like all the other times I’ve wanted it. The magic of life is that there’s any life at all. Blink and it’s gone. I watch it carefully. I want to soak in all I can. Pain or no pain, it’s the spark that keeps the world evolving. Not being in charge, I get to enjoy the show while I’m in it. 

I love you, Penny. I’ll keep you close to my heart…always.

Joceile 

1.8.22

[Picture of an ominous looking big white fluffy cloud reflected in the lake.]