42

42, the Answer to the Ultimate Question of Life, the Universe and Everything. This is truth according to ‘Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy,’ anyway.

Today is my 42^nd birthday, and I have to say I kind of agree with this statement. My youngest sister Kate brought the above snippet to my attention, and it’s been making me smile nonstop today.

My birthday has been spent on my sister’s farm, sitting outside on a rocking porch swing watching huge carpenter bees buzz by my face, listening to the sounds of frogs and other creatures I’ve never seen, and watching creepy turkey vultures circling some poor animal out in one of the fields.  This morning, standing in the shower looking out the window, tears streamed down my face, as I saw a blue jay for the first time…and it was so magnificently beautiful. I am holding out for a screech owl (which, I hear are oddly small and cute), and the experience of thunder and lightning (scheduled to be showing up past the midnight hour tonight).

Earlier in my life, when I went to visit new places, I sometimes used to long for that lifestyle to be my own. It’s easy to romanticize something far different from your own way of being and living. This is one that tends to stick with me however…a quieter life at a quieter pace. Mindfulness is easy here-the succulent taste of a sun warmed strawberry against my tongue, the sensual pleasure of closed eyes and a perfectly warm breeze rippling my dress against my legs, and whipping my hair against my face, the utter ridiculousness of looking at said hair in the mirror after a day in humidity has turned it into a blonde cloud of frizzy poof.

                                                                                

Staring over at irises in the garden swaying in the breeze as their shade of purple interplays with the greens and blues of other plants, my mind drifts to Vincent Van Gogh, and I imagine him a couple centuries ago, trying to capture their magic on his canvases. Then, to early perfumers who have tried to capture the scent of the beautiful flowers. Isn’t that the reason so many of us love scent…it ties us to memories and remembrance.

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Yesterday, I went shopping for some Levi shorts and grabbed the size I thought I wore, and was twice incorrect. I fell down on the floor of the dressing room and started laughing hysterically when I slipped on a pair of size 0, and they fit. It really was literally hysterical, due to a resolved twenty year thinking error that the right dress size was somehow going to make life better.  After many many years hating (and I do mean hating) my body, I was finally exhausted enough to throw down the white flag and surrender. Sadly, it took going through brain cancer to give me a complete body image overhaul. My body suddenly became something I cherished, and wanted to protect and nurture. 

It was likely I was going to suffocate or fly off the handle with rage if I had to hear one more woman say, “I was so bad yesterday, today I have to be good” when talking about eating food or a pleasurable food experience. Inadvertently, I was a member in a club I didn’t want to belong to-the ‘happiness is out there, and eludes us, and we can’t be happy with ourselves until we are at this place, and this size, and someday manage our food self-control…” I made a simple decision not to drink the Kool-Aid of
lies and misery any longer.  

This happened by reading books written by women I believed live well, and those who have demonstrated they know how to love living their lives. I made an effort to adopt the behaviors and practices these women engaged in, into my own life, and tried to live as they live. It involved an end to any form of dieting or restricting certain types of foods. I practiced mindfulness, I fixed my inner monologue and the way I spoke to myself, I challenged my irrational beliefs and expectations, and I planted a metaphorical garden of forgiveness for some things that needed resolution in my life (obviously not a real one…I kill plants). I took on the responsibility of my behavior as totally my choice-my actions formed my habits.

Over the course of two years I learned how to heal my body and mind, and God gave me the grace to move into a new stage of life. Lab results were not ignored- I hopped onto thyroid medication and bio-identical progesterone, and realized I was not powerless to change my health, and couldn’t blame genetics, my thyroid, or anything else in my life. I could become the woman I wanted to be, with determination, putting forth effort every day, and not getting stuck or stagnating when things were difficult. In my mind, it all comes down to wanting one thing more than you want the other. I wanted health more than I wanted the immediate comfort of trying to fill a void with food. The self-control to have a little of something delicious more than mindless excess began to come fairly easily.

I began cultivating things I wanted to learn about. My schedule is usually jam packed, and it’s difficult to find much free time at the moment. So, I work it into my life in small ways...ten minutes of my lunch break is often spent reading a new page about an author, or an animal, or listening to a snippet of an audiobook I like. Each day, I find little ways to create small pockets of joy and learning.

Most of all I think you have to have a really good sense of humor and playfulness to navigate suffering. As I was sitting on a grassy knoll this morning, my best girlfriend Christi called to wish me a happy birthday and to catch up.  Suddenly, a Fed Ex truck came speeding up the dirt road.  In happy exclamation, I said to Christi, “Oh yay, my padded underwear is here!” She took a moment to make sure I was saying what she thought she heard, and we burst into peals of laughter, while I explained…well, we can’t control where our bodies lose weight, and unfortunately, mine was lost from my bottom-to the detriment of my physical comfort. It actually hurts to sit down, because my bottom is really boney now. So, the other week I Googled, ‘how to help boney butt pain,’ and up came the suggestion of padded underwear.” The side-splitting laughter that ensued made a wonderful memory for us. I mean, we’re not talking crazy Kardashian level padding or anything, just enough to be able to sit down comfortably without pain. 

My goal over the next year will be to find some exercises I enjoy like Pilates and hiking to get stronger. Physical health is directed so much by our mental and spiritual health.  I had to learn this lesson pretty far into life- but I know that there is a potential I could live through several more life stages. If I live until 84, I have four decades of adventures and experiences ahead of me- I want to get there in the healthiest best shape I can.

I am quite glad for the lessons of cancer. That probably makes some people bristle- especially those who are dealing with it in some form in their lives-themselves or a loved one etc.  For me, it completely turned my life around. It took me to the deepest recesses of my soul, it turned my life inside out, and it solidified for me that love and connection are the most important things I need for the rest of my life. I was able to learn lessons that some people are not able to learn until they are elderly or on their own deathbeds.

I tell the teenagers I work with, “I wish I could go back and say xyz to my teenage self,” or “I wish you could hear this lesson that is important for you to know.”  When I have spoken with my friends who wish they could go back and say “xyz” to their 40 something selves…I have listened. I have taken the wisdom that many decades more of life has taught them, and I have adjusted my sails accordingly.

This birthday does feel like the perfect age to me. Staring down at the long scar marking my right thigh, my hand runs across it with calm satisfaction. I am more beautiful this year as a woman than I have ever been-strong, resilient, faithful, wise, silly, kind, smart, loving, playful… and, this beauty...has nothing to do with my pant size-that’s the hilarity of it all. This beauty comes in finally being at peace.


Celine's Dion's song 'I'm Alive' is my theme song for the year ahead. 

  

For Becky

I stared at the blinking cursor on my screen and had a moment...imagining all the people around the world simultaneously staring at their computer screens and blinking cursors...all the different languages and countries, homes and offices, and the pause before each writer began to type.

My hesitation, due to the fact that what I write won't do justice to the woman I am writing about. It's difficult to write about truly extraordinary people. Accomplished people are easy...rattling off a list of things they have done which are impressive and easily esteemed. But, to write about a truly extraordinary person is almost impossible- because capturing essence and lightness of being...forced into paragraphs, fails to convey the magnificence of who the person is. In this case, a woman of rare all encompassing beauty. A wife. A mother. A teacher. A friend. A mentor. A fighter. An inspirer. An encourager. An artist. A soul so imbued with kindness and love, as to leave indelible marks on all who crossed her path.

So, this is for you Rebecca Jackson Schwartz. My dear friend...as I sit at my computer with tears streaming down my cheeks, as my heart sends all the love it can in prayer, across the miles, to be with you in the twilight. I know you would smile at me, at Katy, at all of us...and tell us to seek what is most important in this life- to live well, to live in love, service to all, goodness, and kindness toward others.


For Becky: Beautiful sparkly brown eyes shine with love, and a smile that makes everything feel softer and eased.

For Becky: A fellow foodie, and an extraordinary chef and baker. She can make the most simple dishes look elegant and beautiful, and combines perfect flavors for discriminating palettes!

For Becky: Who taught me from the first week of my own cancer diagnosis, what my attitude needed to be to fight for my life. She reminded me that God had us in His grand design and plan. She taught me how to love others in suffering, how to surrender, how to be courageous, and how to have real hope. She taught me I could control my responses, when I couldn't control anything else. She taught me to try to do everything I could to live, but not to be afraid if I was being called home to God. Most importantly: she taught me not to lose my laughter, and demanded I laugh through the pain to survive it.

For Becky: Because her heart pitter patters as much as mine does for our Colin. For the days when I didn't have the energy to pick up my own phone or read a text. But I could smile through a medicated haze, hearing, "Look, Becky sent you a photo."  It's my turn to return the favor dear girl. 

For Becky: Who has loved Katy since high school. Who has been with Katy in the depths of pain as she struggled to cope with her best friends having cancer at the same time. Becky, who will love Katy through the rest of this life and all of the next. Becky, who will be in the stream of sunshine warming Katy's face, the moments of glad grace, and in all the stories about you, that Katy will save for your sweet son. Katy will carry your heart in her own.

For Becky: Who has lived this quote perfectly. Who fought cancer year after year after year, pain after excruciating pain, surgeries, treatments, chemo after chemo, in love and in gratitude. Who listened to me cry as I wished for a brief moment that I hadn't survived, because the physical pain was so overwhelming. Becky who calmed me as I said over and over, "How have you done it, Becky? How have you pushed through this? How do you keep the light in your soul?" Becky, who forced me to memorize this and live it with her.

For Becky: Who could keep a sense of humor in the worst of times. Who fought for justice for others with passionate resolve. Becky, who could bring kindness to anyone, who listened patiently, and who has been doing this every day I've known her. Becky, who many describe as, "the kindest and most loving person they've ever met."

For Becky: For the five minutes in which our entire conversation was a departure from our norm, singing a song to ourselves on the phone, with lyrics solely consisting of, "Fuck Cancer, Fuck Cancer, Fuuuuuccck Cancer!" (In a round)

For Becky: Who has an indomitable spirit, who has not given up, who has taken hit after hit, maintaining gratitude for her life and joy for the gift of living. Who reminded all of us, "You don't have to have physical health to be happy, you have to have love. If you have love, you will have a great deal of gratitude, joy, and peace."

For Becky: Who is the personification of this four-leaved clover 

For Becky: I will sing and pray the psalms of your beloved Tehillim for you, when you are too weak to lift your voice. I love you sweet friend, and love remains eternal. 

Psalm 102

O LORD, hear my prayer;

let my cry come before You.

Do not hide Your face from me

in my time of trouble;

turn Your ear to me;

when I cry, answer me speedily.

For my days have vanished like smoke

and my bones are charred like a hearth.

My body is stricken and withered like grass;

too wasted to eat my food.

Psalm 130

A song of Ascent

Out of the depths I call to You, O Lord.

My Lord, hearken to my voice; let Your ears be attentive to the voice of my pleas.

G‑d, if You were to preserve iniquities, my Lord, Who could survive?

But forgiveness is with You, that You may be feared.

I hope in the Lord; my soul hopes, and I long for His word.

My soul yearns for the Lord more than [night] watchmen [waiting] for the morning, wait for the morning.

Israel, put your hope in the Lord, for with the Lord there is kindness; with Him there is abounding deliverance.

And He will redeem Israel from all its iniquities.

 

Snapshot

     It's Framily Dinner night and several families are gathered for a communal meal and fellowship. I am sitting in the corner on a couch making a list of things I need to do the following day for work.  My friend walks in toward the latter part of the evening, with his beautiful wife, and precious little daughter. It takes me a moment to notice he is walking free of the crutches that have been his traveling companions for many moons.  He sits down next to me and gives an update on the current condition, prognosis, and pain level of his knee. It is the first time I have seen it without the usual swollen marked red angry inflammation. My friend was hit by a drunk driver, almost two years ago, while on duty as a police officer. He is still recovering and healing from the injury he sustained.

We begin to discuss very very very important things, such as the

multiple colors of kryptonite and the various powers and attributes they each possess.  In my best (I wish I was only feigning being this nerdy) 'Can you believe it?' voice, I chide, "some people don't even know there are other colors besides green and red. Sad, really."   We move on to debate Batman vs. Superman, a movie which I refuse to see on principle. I don't want to watch the good guys fight each other. It feels like superhero betrayal. My friend is trying to convince me otherwise about the film, but I am not budging. The subsequent areas of pressing analysis include critiques of Doomsday, Bizarro, Lex, and Zod. Then...I throw in my perpetual tangential issue of angst-the incredibly anticlimactic death of Captain Kirk (original series).  I am speaking in a fairly quiet tone, so that others in the room won't hear me talking about this. You know...so I can control the narrative of the level and type of nerdom I am willing to publicly acquiesce to. ;) 

His wife plops down across from me and I quickly switch gears as she and I begin gabbing and fangirling about two of our favorite shows currently on the air. Our hostess spent time working as an actress on one of the shows, and she joins us for a momentary recounting of fond memories and cast stories. I smile to learn my favorite I'm-not-a-doctor-but-I-play-one-on-TV is exceedingly kind and sweet in real life. I knew it! 

My heart warms as their precious little daughter brings over a Russian nesting doll, and lets out peels of delighted laughter as she discovers there are more and more dolls inside the largest doll.

(The next part of this post includes a graphic depiction of events, please discern before continuing)

Last week, I was laughing to myself as I read an article highlighting my personality type on the Myers Briggs (INFJ) as the least likely to successfully work in law enforcement. I am prone to agree. My time working for our local police department was a bit of a square peg/round hole fit...but it was also an invaluable experience that shaped me in the way I now look at and analyze many situations. There remains a depth of loyalty and altruistic care for the coworkers I spent 12 hours a day with...that is unwavering, even years after my time with them has passed. 

'We became friends at work,' seems like such a nonchalant statement. It's true, but it's barely descriptive of what that initial experience entailed. As I watched my friend quip brotherly barbs with another officer in the living room, my mind flashed back to the night I met him. A night that is seared in my memory, and one that has continued to have an impact on my life since then.

When I was fairly new to the police department, I was assigned as a rider to my friend for a (aptly named) 'ride along.' This constituted spending a night shift in a patrol car with him as he responded to emergency calls around our city. The idea being...it is an opportunity to see what the officers encounter while they are out patrolling the streets. We were going to be covering one of the highest crime areas of town.

Even though I understood the seriousness of what the ride along would entail the week prior, I don't think it really clicked for me fully until I was strapped into a bullet proof vest, walking downstairs for shift change. A kind of gravitas descended over my demeanor, followed by a nervous stomach, as I walked into that crowded room.

Sitting in the patrol car, he gave me a safety briefing, described a general overview of the night shift, ran me through the various firearms should we find ourselves in a life or death situation, and explained how to radio from the car if he became gravely injured. That was definitely a sobering moment.

Shortly into the shift, there was a report of a possible dead body in the trunk of a car. I still remember my mental self talk as we sped toward the address, "Okay, you'll be staying in the car for this, but you'll probably still see it. This will not be your first time seeing a dead body. You've seen several before. You've got this. Don't make his job harder by freaking out. Be cool."

Thankfully, it turned out to be an unusually large bag of gardening soil! We responded to a few other unsavory calls for service, and a couple that didn't need police assistance because they were civil matters. It's funny...most people don't realize how much of the work police officers do involves using well honed social work skills. Among the many hats they wear-social worker is right up there; they spend a significant amount of time providing brief counsel and resources to citizens.

Then, we went to the call. We ran code (lights and sirens) until we were in close proximity to a dimly lit large apartment complex. Exiting the vehicle, he beckoned me quietly to get behind him. I realized he had drawn his firearm. It felt like a surreal moment of déjà vu, plucked directly from scenes played out in movies and television shows. We walked up a couple sets of stairs, as he cleared each area, and we met his partner on a landing.

(Medics stage for their own safety before attending to injuries on scene. The police officers assess that a scene is safe, and then EMS can come in to treat the wounded)

We could hear the screaming/sobbing of a woman's voice as we approached the apartment door. The sight that greeted us was by far one of the saddest things I have seen close up. As we entered, there was a behemoth of a man standing in a bedroom doorway, wearing a pair of underwear. There was a short, thin, fully clothed man arguing with him. And, on the couch, was a young woman, clad in skimpy lingerie, sobbing, and covered in blood. My mind felt like it was underwater as it was trying to piece together what I was seeing...a pimp, a john, and a trafficked woman. I watched my friend and his partner move toward the men to arrest them, and my eyes turned back toward the woman. I glanced down at the box cutter lying on the table and realized she had vertically slit her arm from her wrist all the way up to her elbow. Time seemed to move exceedingly slowly, though in reality it probably wasn't more than a few minutes passing by. I remember my friend briefly nodding at me, as I was pulling black disposable gloves out of my pocket and walking toward her. I held her arm up, trying to put pressure onto it to stop the bleeding, and made a little pseudo tourniquet out of one of the other gloves, until the paramedics could assist her.  Her eyes pierced into mine with desperate pain and terror, as she rocked back and forth sobbing the words, "I want my mom! I want my mom! I want my mom!"

As I looked at the suspects in the corner, I felt imprinted with a new truth, "this will always be my memory and reference point on the subject of pimps and johns." At that moment I felt hatred for the two men, bearing no desire for justice, rather...some semblance of vengeance.

My friend and his partner, charged and arrested the two men. I felt a little awed that they could both respond in a perfectly calm and professional manner. The paramedics pulled away in the ambulance, treating the woman for her injuries en route to the hospital. I don't remember the other calls for the rest of that ride along. 

Being present at that call changed the trajectory of my next years of academic study-to focus specifically on vicarious trauma and complex PTSD. It changed the way I responded to an officer at the end of his or her shift, when I needed paperwork, but recognized they might be walking into the station from a truly terrible event, needing a few minutes to breath... There were subsequent ride alongs with other officers, the witnessing of different abject horrors, but none of them stuck to my soul like this one did. I've wondered on and off throughout the years if the young woman ever found a way out of her terrible situation, or if she ever found any peace in her life. She remains in the litany prayer of my heart.

A small hand reaches up to tickle my face with a rainbow fiber optic toy and my mind snaps back to the present moment. Mischievous brown eyes stare up at me, accompanied by a miniature grin, and bubbly giggles that fill the room with joy. The little girl in front of me has discovered her power of making rainbows appear on faces. Her enthusiasm is contagious, and all of us smile and giggle in unison at her antics.  She turns to look at her dad. "Be a pony! Be a pony!" His wife and I exchange a grin. My friend's face is relaxed and happy as he plays with his daughter. The only thing he needs to be vigilant about tonight is dodging rainbows to the eyes.