fragile

While fully in the trenches of healing crises, there isn’t a whole lot of psychic space for terror to lodge. The tasks of diagnosing and triage take center stage.

But now, now that Jameson is home and convalescing the awareness of vulnerability is immense.

Who knows where he picked up the virus that is taking his body hostage? Who knows what sort of calumny lingers for us each? Who knows?

A gifted healer friend offered to come over last night to offer healing for Jameson. He agreed that it would be good. Unable to be there, I asked her afterward how she experienced Jameson.

She said this: “He is a boy/man going through his first health crisis. (He is) learning to take it seriously and appreciating the support of family, faith and friends.”

What a prayer, those words.

We are, each one of us, experiencing the incredible vulnerability of living in bodies that sometimes falter. We sometimes take that seriously. If we are wise, we live gratitude for the support of family, faith and friends.

This gift of life is so very fragile.

God grant us wisdom, grace, and reverence for the living of these days.

well

It’s my birthday.

I live in love.

My son is in the hospital.

His sisters, his step-Coop, his dad, his mom, his step-sibs and his partner have hearts so full of love for him and we are not alone in that.

He’s surrounded by skilled diagnosticians, is Jameson.

He is patient and dear and sick and this being witness as his body seeks its wisdom is hard heart work.

And, he lives in love.

And all manner of things shall be well.

vigil keeping

“Life is what happens to you while you are busy making other plans”. John Lennon

In the thread-the-needle that is daily life scheduling, this summer was planned oh so carefully.

And then life happened.

Having just come out of the Boundary Waters with a group of youth I received a text: Son Jameson was in the emergency room with unspecified misery.

The drive home was endless. He was discharged. He was brought back the next day with more howling pain and admitted to the hospital and is yet at home recovering.

This on top of the death of my nephew has stuttered my life-cramming ways.

I was supposed to attend a conference in southern Wisconsin. I had looked forward to it all summer.

I didn’t go. I stayed home and kept vigil and thanked God for the opportunity to be present to my son and to the needs of my heart.

Really. Conferences and calendar cramming will all pass away.

People do too.

Having witnessed the searing pain of son loss, I got to son tend.

Life happens.

the view from here

It has been three plus days of being home bound.

My couch knows me well, as does my bed.

I was on retreat with 30 amazing women and we shared many things – pestilence being one of them.

It’s been amazing to hear of those from the retreat who have been felled and the varying diagnoses given.  As for me, I finally got myself to a doctor this afternoon when my teeth started to ache but good.  Bacterial sinus infection.  Drugs.  Work tomorrow if no fever.  I checked;  I won’t be contagious if there is no fever.

Here is what I have experienced:

I like my brain.  I like it best when it works.

My husband is a dear minster to my sad self.  He has been kind and helpful and patient and this is huge gift.  I think we will grow old together tenderly well.

Catching up on email is a good thing.  Words with Friends is no fun when most of the world works.  My dog likes my company.  Back to back episodes of “Sex in the City” is a great antidote to misery.

Books require my brain.  See above.

The world goes along just fine without me.  I have cancelled meetings with gracious people who are audibly relieved that I will keep my pestilence to myself.

From where I sit, grace is real.  Spring is rioting outside and tomorrow I may find my brain and be back at it.  But in the meantime, I think I’ll celebrate the view from here.