Archives for posts with tag: be present

I had a restless night of interrupted sleep. No bad dreams, just periodically waking up for no obvious reason, before settling into sleep once again. It wasn’t unpleasant, but the night seemed unreasonably long and I got up well ahead of my usual time, dressed, and left for work early. The commute was effortless, because at that hour there was no traffic on the road. Now, I’m sitting at my desk, looking out at the dark pre-dawn cityscape, sipping my coffee. It’s a Tuesday, and my calendar is pretty full, but all that begins quite a bit later, and I have some time to sit with my thoughts.

A cherished handmade gift from a dear friend.

Last night as I was tidying up a quiet room that is mostly decorated with books, I found this small handmade paper journal sort of just set aside, waiting for some moment. It was a gift from my recently deceased dear friend, celebrating my 60th birthday. It was intended to accompany me on a camping trip with my Traveling Partner, and as I recall now, I elected to keep it safe from harm by not taking it out into the wilds where dirt, wind, or rain might wreck it, knowing I’d find some similarly meaningful use for it some other time and place.

It even came with instructions. 😀

I sat for a moment with this cherished gift in my hands, gently unfolding the letter that is still tucked into a pocket inside the cover. I reread the letter, my heart filled with love and fond memories, a soft sad smile on my face. I miss my friend, but how delightful to have this memento of our friendship to remember her by!

Each page decorated by hand, each page unique, bringing to mind the illuminated manuscripts of another age.

I turn the pages, one by one, each one different, each one ready for some thought, or poem, or random handful of words to be written there. I felt so inspired, just to hold it in my hands! I examined each page, reconnecting with so many memories of the friendship we had shared. I delighted in the recollection of her enthusiasm for small handmade gifts, and how extraordinary and special each such gift to me remains to this day. I smiled thinking about her best friend bringing a similar cherished gift to the hospital while I was there visiting, to share that precious memory. What a beautiful human being my dear friend was! She was – is – so well loved by those who knew her. Missed.

“Friendship is a gift that lasts.” – It is indeed.

I turn to a page with a pocket from which a string dangles, and a note attached to the pocket reads “Pull the white string up”, and so I do – and as if speaking to me from “the beyond”, a tag appears that reads “friendship is a gift that lasts”. My eyes fill with tears that don’t fall, and the smile on my face becomes a bit brittle, a little fragile, with this reminder that I was also dear to my dear friend. I feel loved. I feel grateful to have shared this amazing friendship. My smile deepens as I sit with my memories for a moment. I’m okay. Grief is a process, and there is no escaping it; “the way out is through”. Fucking hell, what a first rate friend she truly was.

The last page. A bookmark. A reminder.

I turn page after page of this small handmade journal, and imagine writing in it, at long last. What would I write in such a precious space? What words fit in this slim fragile volume? I imagine for a moment that whatever I wrote here might be something she could read, from wherever her spirit rests. Fanciful, but comforting. The bookmark tucked into the pocket on the last page says only, in large letters, “Roses”. I smile and think about the roses I recently purchased to add to the garden with her – and the memories of our friendship – in mind. I allow myself the fancy of imagining she somehow knew. (Certainly, she knew I love roses.)

What a beautiful little moment! It lingers with me now, and I woke this morning to see the wee journal resting on a cushion, next to my neatly folded clothes, waiting for the new day. Where will this journey take me? What is ahead on this path? I sip my coffee and think happy thoughts of trails to hike, and roses to plant, and long summer days in the garden. I think about the wee journal, and my dear friend, and what words might fill these pages.

My mind wanders to other cherished friendships. I could be a better friend; I make a commitment to reach out to friends I haven’t spoken to recently. I think fondly of my Traveling Partner – our deeply loving relationship is also built on a firm foundation of a cherished friendship. We were friends long before we were ever lovers. I’m grateful for that friendship, it has carried us through some tough times with considerable affection and grace. Whatever else goes on in life, friends are such a huge part of life being worth living in the first place. I sip my coffee and think about how fortunate I am to have the rich friendships I do. The value isn’t in numbers of friends, either, it’s in the quality of enduring friendships, and the love and laughter they bring to this very human experience, that can sometimes feel so lonely otherwise.

I look up as I finish my coffee. The morning sky is hues of blue and shades of gray where clouds crowd the horizon. Daybreak has passed. Sunrise is moments away, although I doubt it will be anything exceptional to see, this morning. Regardless, here it is a new day – and already time to begin again.

I’m sitting here with a cup of tea and a terrible headache. The headache is no surprise; it’s the Monday after Daylight Savings Time began this year, and that rather abrupt change to the timing on all my medication reliably results in a headache, and some crankiness. I guess I’m fortunate that it isn’t worse.

I found myself needing a break. A “proper break”, though, really stepping back from “this” and giving myself room to reconnect with myself here/now. I brought a fat juicy “Sumo” tangerine to work with my lunch today, and it seemed like a good time to enjoy that…

…I tore off the “top knot” of the tangerine and the smell of it filled my senses. I thought immediately of some of the odd-seeming mindfulness exercises sometimes taught to students or CBT patients just learning mindfulness practices. You probably know the ones… “eat a raisin”… “eat an orange”… These departures from the mindless consumption we often tend towards are intended to “wake us up” to the real depth of some very commonplace ordinary experiences and create an opportunity to experience them more fully, in a more present and engaged way. They can still seem pretty silly, or awkward, or fake, especially the first time, or in the company of strangers.

…Embracing authenticity is sometimes a matter of letting go of our own self-consciousness or embarrassment, or concern about what someone else’s idea of “normal” looks like…

I sit here with this big fragrant tangerine quite happily. I love the scent of it. The heft of the large asymmetrical fruit feels very satisfying in my hand. The bumpy rough skin tempts me further, and I begin to peel it, smelling the freshness of still more citrus-y tangerine-y scent filling the air around my desk. The skin makes a sort of quiet ripping sound as it pulls away from the juicy flesh of the fruit it has been protecting. The bitter white pith pulls away easily, without a sound. The inside of the peel feels vaguely damp and very soft. Minutes have gone by in the time it has taken to peel this one fruit, and even though I haven’t even tasted it yet, my mood has already lifted quite a lot.

…Does it matter if something seems silly, if it works for you?…

I slowly separate one slice, one “segment” I guess it is, of the tangerine from the rest, breaking the fruit into halves as I do. Like a kid, I carefully peel off the thin skin that separates the slice from the others, and which holds the section intact as an individual piece. I admire the deep orange color of the fruit, and wonder how many of the tiny orange tear-drop shaped inner bits there really are in each section, before I bite into it and taste the sweet tang of the tangerine, at last. Somehow, tangerines manage to taste like Christmas and summertime both at the same time. Simultaneously exotic and ordinary, fancy and everyday, for a moment I think perhaps these are my favorite fruit – before I laugh to myself, aware that I probably feel that way the first moment I bite into almost any fully ripe fruit. One by one, I bite into the slices of tangerine, tasting each one anew, going slowly enough to really appreciate the taste and texture, and really enjoy the experience. Here’s the thing about this as a mindfulness practice; it’s not about going so slow that the slowness becomes the experience, it’s simply about going slowly enough to have an experience in the first place. This is a huge tangerine – certainly big enough to be at least two whole servings of fruit – so shouldn’t there be some time consumed along with the fruit? If I’m sucking this tangerine down almost whole in mere seconds, have I even had an opportunity to actually enjoy it beyond the first sweet brief bite?

I sit smiling, eating my tangerine, taking my break. Minutes go by. Enough time for two streetcars to pass by on the street below. Long enough for a soft rain to begin, spattering the windows and changing the quality of the light. I feel present and real, instead of a bit distracted and harried. I feel relaxed, and also energized (doesn’t hurt that this tangerine is juicy and sweet and nutritious). Sure, I’ve still got a headache, and it’s still the day after the start of DST, but I feel pretty good, and here. Present. I break the last slice of this tangerine in half and eat it in two delightful bites.

I’m ready to begin again.

By the time I reached the trailhead this morning, there was a steady rain falling. When I left the house it was a barely noticeable fine mist, and I expected it to diminish, or at least pause, giving me a lovely opportunity to walk this favorite trail alone, early on a Saturday morning. I sip the coffee I bought on the way, and listen to the patter of raindrops on the windshield and sunroof of the car. I’m not annoyed or impatient; there’s still a chance the rain may stop before I give up and head home.

Waiting for a break in the rain.

The morning is a pretty mild one. If the rain stops I’ll get into the garden and do something… maybe weed the flower beds, or do a bit of careful pruning. My Traveling Partner invited me to join him in the shop at some point today, too. The weekend is shaping up to be a pleasant one full of good times and things to do. I smile thinking about the rain falling on the garden beds and the lawn. I feel safe and contented, and relaxed and comfortable with myself and my experience. I sit enjoying the moment for a while.

I think about my dear friend, so recently deceased. No tears this morning, just warmth and fond gratitude that I had the chance to enjoy so much of her devoted deep friendship for so many years. I am fortunate indeed. I miss her greatly. So many Saturday mornings my first email would be from her, a reply to, or question about, whatever I had written about that morning. I feel a moment of heartfelt pain every time I remember that she won’t be emailing me anymore. No texts. No calls. No unexpected little somethings in the mail. No comments on pictures of photos I shared with her. Sometimes it’s hard to know quite how to move on from that.

The rain continues to fall. I sit awhile longer, just listening and thinking my thoughts. The time isn’t wasted; I enjoy these quiet solitary moments. Soon enough, it’ll be time to begin again.

I’m sipping my coffee and thinking about the 20 year conversation documented in my archived emails that is the friendship I shared with my recently departed dear friend. It’s finally over, and that feels… strange. Over that 20 years, (which wasn’t the entirety of our friendship, just the portion documented in email exchanges) I sent 982 emails, and she sent 712, and then there were all the replies, and many of these include additional bits of back-and-forth within their threads. We spoke of art, love, life, work, and we shared music videos, cat pictures, and snapshots from assorted vacations and trips here and there. As my dear friend aged, some technological advancements became more challenging to adopt, and sometimes her health, or mine, was an impediment to replying (or replying at length) – sometimes it was just too hard to be on the computer, or to type on our cell phone. We never failed to stay connected, to keep in touch, and to start the conversation anew in a few days, or weeks.

We often shared moments of humor, some of them quite poignant “fun/not funny” sorts of moments. Sometimes we shared our challenges, seeking each others comfort, wisdom, or perspective. Sometimes we vented, seeking nothing but understanding, a chance to be heard. Life wasn’t always easy for either one of us.

We first met back in 1995, briefly. I was introduced to her by her son, rather casually, shortly after I began hooking up with him, in the midst of my divorce from my violent first husband. I was 100% pure chaos and damage, trying to rebuild something of myself out of the emotional wreckage that remained after I left my ex-husband. I wasn’t actually in a good place for a relationship, and a 32-year-old woman dallying with a much younger man when she so obviously needed to work on her own shit wasn’t a good look – and my (not yet) dear friend called me out on it, with frankness and clarity, and without being hurtful. She wasn’t wrong. She set explicit boundaries that she wasn’t in a place to make room for me as “family” on the basis of a couple of fun weekends. My motives were not clear (not even to me, and that was part of the problem).

My relationship with her son lingered, deepened, and became something lasting. My friendship with my dear friend did, too. Life throws us some curve balls, though, and later on my romantic relationship with her first-born failed, rather abruptly and painfully. My friendship with my dear friend showed considerably more staying power (obviously, or I wouldn’t be writing these words, now). We grew to rely upon each other, to stay in touch through all our changes and ups and downs and challenges and triumphs. It’s been a blast – hilarious and joyful and fond and intellectual and fun and… g’damn it I miss her already. Shit. She was that friend who got the first look at any new art (after my Traveling Partner), the first to read my poetry manuscript (still unpublished), and often the only one to be my confidante when I struggled with my emotional wellness or mental health, or a romantic relationship, outside of therapy. Losing her feels… so lonely.

…This morning I sip my coffee and I miss my dear friend. I had sat down at my desk first thing with an amusing thought stuck in my head, after my commute to the office. I opened my email and started to share it with her… then remembered. A few stray tears spilled over, and I feel them wet on my cheeks, even now. I didn’t bother to wipe them away. Fucking hell. So human. Death leaves us behind, standing on the precipice of a new beginning…

I don’t know what comes next, or what may someday “fill this space” in my heart where my dear friend’s laughter lived. I just know I’ve got to begin again…

…Some moments later, I sit back astonished to realize my dear friend and I had known each other for 29 years. Wow. More than 48% of my entire life was experienced in the context of this long association and continued dialogue. It’s no wonder I’m missing her, eh? This bit of perspective provides me an unexpected measure of comfort; it only makes sense that this hurts so much – we shared so much. I finish my coffee, and look out into the gray morning sky, thinking my thoughts…

I’m sitting quietly in my hotel room. It’s well-past any sort of reasonable time (for me) to have a cup of coffee. So… I make a cup of tea. I sip it slowly, hoping it doesn’t cause a restless night, enjoying the warmth of it in my hands, anyway. I breathe, exhale, relax, and wonder how things are over at the hospital? It’s past visiting hours. I stayed with my dear friend for much of the day, after arriving shortly after visiting hours began. It was a good day for both of us, relative to where we each are in our life and circumstances. I took a break at one point to make room for the painful intimacy of important conversations about where and when and things of that sort. I’m not “decision-making family”, so excusing myself seemed the most appropriate way to proceed. Aside from that, we spent the day together, my dear friend and I, while family and her bestie came and went, and even as my dear friend napped, finally getting some restful sleep (she’d been complaining about the sleep deprivation practices that are not uncommon in hospitals and suffering from a lack of healthy deep sleep for some days). Eventually, family and my dear friend’s bestie returned from errands and things that could not be put off for later, and visiting hours began to wind down. I made my goodbye’s all around, and headed back to the hotel.

…I think about something my Traveling Partner said to me in a message earlier today, in response to my bitching about the bare bland beige hospital decor, “Hospitals treat diseases, not people.” I considered the small things I saw not being done (that surely could have created a more healing environment…) the lack of windows with views in patient rooms, the lack of art on the walls, the lack of anything at all to do while… waiting. People in hospitals do a lot of fucking waiting around. People – patients – in hospitals are often incredibly bored. That’s so unhealthy for human wellness, particularly when there is no way to alleviate it. Nothing to do. I remember it from being in the hospital, myself; the endless maddening boredom. Then there’s something hospitals could do without… the fucking endless beeping of various monitors and machinery. G’damn, it was bad. Ceaseless. Inescapable. Nerve-wracking. Through cat-nap after cat-nap, and wrecking every opportunity for deep sleep, I saw my dear friend’s brow furrow with irritation when yet another round of beeping commenced, often in some room several doors down the corridor. Oh sure, those alarms are intended to get attention, but the nurses are human, too, and eventually they tune out the beeping, especially the commonplace beeps that indicate something, but not something urgent. They can tune them out, over time, but how many patients can? The patients haven’t been forced to listen to it long enough to learn to ignore it. If it’s going to get ignored anyway, why the fuck is it being permitted to continue to destroy the rest that vulnerable ill or injured people need so very much?? I admit it – I just don’t get it. It’s fucking dumb, and it’s also rude. While I’m on about this shit, for fucks’ sake don’t let people’s minds just atrophy while they’re struggling with their health! Make a point to engage their minds, and give them a way to entertain themselves! Be patient enough to wait around for the answer to a question you’ve asked, yes even if that patient has trouble speaking or expressing themselves! Wouldn’t you want that? Oh, and also? Fucking let people sleep. I can’t stress enough how fucking annoying it is to finally fall asleep in spite of pain or discomfort to be wakened by a cheery loud voice seeking to take vital signs or worse – to ask if you’re sleeping. Hospitals are not helping with that shit. Good grief.

I’m cross on my dear friend’s behalf. I sip my tea, and think awhile. I breathe, exhale, relax, and then let that go. It’s evening now, and soon enough I’ll be getting packed to the trip home. My dear friend is in the care of family and friends who love her greatly. She is so very loved.

I sit quietly, listening to my tinnitus. My Traveling Partner and I exchange “stickers” back and forth in messages: kisses, hugs, hearts, fun little animated characters showing affection . It delights me, and I feel loved. I’m eager to be home, and back in his arms. Unexpectedly, I noticed how much pain I’m in. The weather turned rainy this morning, and my arthritis flared up. I’ve stay caught up on my Rx’s this entire detour from the routine, which is not always the case when my routine is broken. Health-wise, I’m feeling pretty good, generally, so the pain caught me a bit by surprise (though it isn’t truly surprising). I sit with that awareness for a moment thinking back over the day; did I take my pain meds? Those are not “on a schedule”, and keeping track is very important. I look in my pillbox. Huh. I find myself surprised to see that I hadn’t found it necessary to manage my pain earlier today, at all. I fix that, hoping I got to it early enough to avoid fucking with my sleep. It’s been a long day, filled with “emotional labor”. I’m tired, and it seems likely I’ll sleep just fine, particularly if I don’t let myself get spun up over “what if I don’t sleep?”. lol

I take a deep breath and let it out as a sigh. Actually? I’m already tired, it’s just too early to go to bed. I send more kisses to my Traveling Partner and pick up the book I’m reading… seems like a pleasant evening to read awhile, before calling it night. Tomorrow will be soon enough to begin again. 😀