thisnewday

Went back this morning, for whatever reason, and read some of the entries tagged with "cardiology."

And, as I read, I thought about working on them again. You know, re-writing, editing, compiling them in a more meaningful and accessible way.

For whatever reason.

For myself or for whomever might need them, now or in some future time as yet unimagined.

In fact, I'd been contemplating never writing here again. Because, you know, what's the use in it?

Even though I still don't know the answer to that, I was reminded--as I was reading--of how often what we do is not well understood in the moment we're doing it.

That we discover, only later, that what we've done has served some purpose that we'd not imagined or intended.

And I imagined, perhaps hoped, that something like that might happen here...

LPK
Dreamwidth
10.11.2021

A few weeks ago, just before her birthday, I'd seen a large, probably metallic ring wrapped in thick strands of red and white nylon cord at the Michael's craft store near where I live. Attached to the ring were three different lengths of the same red and white cord, each with a hand-crafted, tubular-style bell hanging from the end of it.

I thought the bells were quite artful, in their rustic fashion, not fussy or showy but functional and durable as well as melodic.

In fact, I thought they were nearly perfect except for the decorative cords which adorned the ring and attached them to it. Because, although they were in tune with the season, that really wasn't what I'd been looking for. Instead, I wanted something that would remain appropriate beyond the season--along with surviving the winter weather.

The LAST thing I wanted was something which, come springtime, would look like one of those sorry decorations that someone had neglected to take down and store for a future holiday. And so I left the bells where they were hanging and chose some golden-yellow straw flowers instead. Because that shade of yellow had been her favorite color.

A couple of weeks later though, after I'd finished the rest of my Christmas shopping, I thought about the bells again.

But this time I drove to the Marshall's Home Center, which is in the same strip mall as Michael's, and began perusing their somewhat randomly-displayed goods. And there, I found another strand of bells. Two, in fact. One in bright gold, the other in bright silver.

They were more traditionally-shaped than the tubular ones, but were also hand-rendered from sheet metal--which I sort of liked. But they were hung on something like the baling twine that I'd seen during haying season on my grandparents' farm. And the finish on them looked like it came directly from the spray cans we'd used to "customize" our bikes when we were kids. (Our fathers said we'd "ruined" them.)

But now it was the day before Christmas and I was desperate. I continued through the store, searching even the disheveled "sale" tables for a chain that might be substituted for the baling twine.

Then I thought about the tubular bells I'd seen previously at Michael's. If I could bother to re-hang the sorry pieces of bling that I'd found at Marshall's, I could surely do the same with the ones I'd really liked at Michael's. If they were still there, a day before the holiday.

So I walked a couple of doors down to Michael's and found my way back to the now sorely-depleted section where the Christmas decorations had been.

I located the rack where the tubular bells had hung but found, in their place, dozens of what looked like over-sized sleigh bells instead. Once again I went trekking through the store, this time hoping to find a strand of bells that had perhaps been misplaced in the holiday frenzy and was thus serendipitously awaiting my return.

But alas, no such luck.

Drifting a bit aimlessly now, I found myself back in the section where the remaining bells still hung. With desperation setting in again, I looked more closely at the sleigh bells--trying to decide between them and the artificial bling next door.

Suddenly, at the very back of the display, I caught a familiar profile. Pushing the sleigh bells aside, I found three sets of the tubular ones. The way they were hidden, I wondered if maybe a store employee had been trying to save them for a friend or was just hoping to scoop them up after the season. (On the other hand, it could also be that some harried stock person was simply condensing the leftovers in the quickest way possible.)

But now I had another problem. How the heck was I gonna move all the bells that were hanging in front of the ones I wanted? Should I call someone from the checkout line--where they're totally slammed with last-minute shoppers--or should I attempt it myself? Because, if I dropped those suckers, it was gonna be hella noisy in there for a minute.

With the holiday looming, and needing daylight to complete my plan, I started pulling them off the long rod they were hanging on, finally managing to hook all twelve sets of them over my left thumb.

With the three sets of tubular bells finally within reach, I noticed that one of them in the nearest set had a slight ding in it. I immediately thought of the proverbial straw that broke the camel's back--and wondered if the same idea applied to sleigh bells and thumbs. As it turned out, I did manage to remove the damaged set so I could get to the second-to-last one on the rack.

And then, adding a second miracle to the one celebrated by the season, I managed to get the others back on the rack without mishap.

Next, in a nearby section of the store, I found a length of metal chain--which somewhat matched the bells--and a packet of mounting rings to secure them to it.

Then I went home, removed the bells from their red and white cords, and gathered up a few tools to take with me for the on-site part of the project. But before I left, I texted my daughter that I was heading to Eastwood to do a "craft project" for her mom. (She likes me to keep her informed, especially when my whereabouts happen to be in the city.)

Upon arriving, I found that the gate where I normally enter was already closed and locked because darkness would soon be falling. So I continued on to the far gate and then slowly made my way through that quietest of all neighborhoods.

Beside her marker is a white ceramic angel that I'd gotten before the permanent marker was in place. And it was on this angel's out-stretched arms that I'd decided to hang the bells. Which is why I had to finish the project on-site. To, you know, be sure that the chain was cut to the right length and that the bells would hang just right once they were in place.

By the time I finished, the light was beginning to fail and I was getting cold. But when I got back to the car, I discovered that my daughter had texted me, thanking me for letting her know what I was up to and saying that she'd like to hear about the "craft project" when I came for Christmas dinner the next day.

So I got back out of my car, which was backed into a seldom-used service road, and walked back to take a picture of her mom's angel with the tubular bells. Because, you know, a picture is worth a thousand words.

And this time, before I left, I told her that she'd be loved--and remembered--by everyone at the family table tomorrow... 

LPK
Dreamwidth
12.27.2019 

It's been two years
and I have a life but

I haven't forgotten
you...

LPK
Dreamwidth
1.16.2019 

On his last day, John Steinbeck was at home in the uptown apartment he shared with his wife Elaine.

He'd been bed-ridden, off and on, for some weeks and there was a private-duty nurse with them to help with his care.

It was his last day and Elaine had sat with him, through the morning, and read to him.

As I read this, to myself, I knew the feeling. Had a sense, from my own experience, of how those moments were for them.

And then Elaine climbed into the bed to hold and comfort him.

And then I cried and couldn't read any more.

Because my wife had asked me to do that for her, not when she was dying, but near enough to the end that it would've been a comfort to both of us.

I had made excuses not to, something about "it wouldn't be comfortable, there wasn't room enough," whatever.

And so I didn't, and missed this chance for both of us.

Because, in the end, it became a quiet, violent war which we fought together but in silence because she could no longer speak and in the same room but hardly able to touch.

And so she fought, we fought, to the very end.

And then we lost. She lost the fight and we lost her.

And I can't forgive myself for not having comforted her in the way that she had asked...

LPK
Dreamwidth
10.30.2018 

It's happened
again, I've

stopped
in my tracks, 

the tears
falling...

LPK
Dreamwidth
8.13.2018 

I'm thinking that maybe now is the time to resume work on the Cardiology writing project which is based on events just prior to, during, and after Helen's time in the hospital.

I want to do it for her and for our family and, really, for anyone who's been through a similar experience.

Because, over the past few days, I've been looking at some of my old LJ entries, with the "cardiology" tag, and have felt myself both strong enough to do this while still emotionally affected enough to need it.

Maybe, in some ways, it's a substitute for the therapy that I've actually needed but have, for the most part, refused to participate in.

But it's also driven by wanting her to be remembered for who she was and to be recognized for the struggle which she so bravely engaged in--for those in her heart and at her bedside--until the very end...

LPK
Dreamwidth
7.22.2018 

This life is like the inside of that seedy hotel room in a film noir.

The scene where it's night and the lights inside the room are off.

But outside, the busted neon sign that says "Hot_L" is flashing on and off.

You've got the worst room, in the worst hotel, because all the others were taken.

Or because the guy at the desk was pissed off.

It's the room where there's no real light and no real darkness.

And he knew that when he handed you the key...

LPK
Dreamwidth
7.6.2018 

I thought it was better, today, but it's not.

I got a few things done, but it hasn't helped.

My eyes are running and they won't stop.

I said, "Poor girl," meaning her.

And now the tears. won't. stop...

LPK
Dreamwidth
5.15.2018 

Loving you always,
my dear, and

remembering you
on your birthday...

LPK
Dreamwidth
12.12.2017

In the mid
to later years
when I invited her
to share
such things
with me

as books,
movies,
simple conversation,
she could not
or would not,
was unwilling
or unable.

In those days,
silenced
by her silence,
I never thought
to ask her
which it was.

But now,
in the weeks
and months
since she's been gone,
I ask this
of myself
and find I have
no answers...

LPK
Dreamwidth
10.21.2017