third from left

It could be any one of them.  

The person who makes the world-changing discovery.  The person who inspires others to explore.  The person who alters the course of human history.  It could be any one of them: third from left, second from right, back row, front row.  

Chances are, though, the impact they have on humanity will be small.  It could be every one of them.

The person who acts bravely and tries when he feels afraid.  The person who shows up when she is most needed, even though she feels tired.  The person who directs an angry feeling into something constructive.  It could be every one of them: second from left and third from right, front row and back row.

We should treat the people we meet thoughtfully and with dignity and respect, because it could be every one of them.  They are all valuable.   

file under 'will never be published' (no. 6)

file under 'will never be published' (no. 6): 

The One Who's Left 

Background: Get your tissues ready if you're prone to fits of crying. Not kidding. This one is pretty heavy.

I was diagnosed with Hürthle Cell Carcinoma, a form of thyroid cancer, in 2012. I warned you to get your tissues ready, didn't I? I underwent surgery and radiation that year to treat the cancer, and it appeared to have been addressed sufficiently that no further treatment was needed at that time. I continued to go in for monthly blood work to monitor my thyroid levels for recurrence. In 2014, there appeared to be an issue with my thyroid levels. I had to go in for further testing to determine whether the cancer was spreading, but the tests are a process that take some time. While I waited, I had time to think --always a dangerous thing when confronting your own mortality.

My son was seven years old at the time. What does a mother want to tell her son when there is a chance she won't be able to be there for him? I tried to write it in a form that a child could understand. I wanted him to know that sometimes people leave. It happens, even if we'd rather it didn't. I wanted him to know that I wanted him to have a fulfilling life. I wanted him to know that I love him. This poem was the result.

This story has a happy ending: The cancer is managed. I get to live with a cancer that has an umlaut (this makes me feel like a badass!) and keep its lessons with me. Blood testing and checking in with the doctor happen less frequently now.  I haven't had to use the poem yet, and I don't expect to need it for many years to come. And after all of that, I get to tell my son I love him in person --a gift that I do not take for granted.

It will never be published for the following reasons: 1) it rhymes; 2) it's poetry; and 3) it covers a difficult topic in an unfashionable way.


The One Who's Left

Yes, I will be leaving soon –

And this is how it has to be.

You should know, I’d never leave

If the choice were left to me.

I would sing a song with you –

A simple, little melody.

You should know, I’d never leave

If the choice were left to me.

I would dance a dance with you –

I’d shake my hips and bend my knee.

You should know, I’d never leave

If the choice were left to me.

I would play a game with you

And move the pieces: 1-2-3.

You should know, I’d never leave

If the choice were left to me.

I would read some books with you –

We’d pick them from the library.

You should know, I’d never leave

If the choice were left to me.

I would build a fort with you

And make our home up in a tree.

You should know, I’d never leave

If the choice were left to me.

I would take a walk with you,

Through a park or by the sea.

You should know, I’d never leave

If the choice were left to me.

I would fly a kite with you

And catch the wind’s velocity.

You should know, I’d never leave

If the choice were left to me.

I would see the world with you,

Exploring its geography.

You should know, I’d never leave

If the choice were left to me.

I would view the stars with you

And watch the night’s astronomy.

You should know, I’d never leave

If the choice were left to me.

I would share my dreams with you –

Those things perhaps will come to be.

You should know, I’d never leave

If the choice were left to me.

Now it’s time for me to go.

I leave you with one thing to do:

Live a life that’s full and rich.

That’s the wish I leave with you.

Sing a silly, little song –

Sing a little do-re-mi.

If you do this, I’ll never leave –

Do this and remember me.

Dance a sweet and somber dance,

Or swing around --dance wildly.

If you do this, I’ll never leave –

Do this and remember me.

Play a smart and thoughtful game

And make your moves strategically.

If you do this, I’ll never leave –

Do this and remember me.

Fly a light and airy kite.

Please lift it up and set it free.

If you do this, I’ll never leave –

Do this to remember me.

Read some books that you enjoy –

Adventure or a mystery?

If you do this, I’ll never leave –

Do this to remember me.

Build a fort with wood and nails

And have some fun with carpentry.

If you do this, I’ll never leave –

Do this to remember me.

Take a long and peaceful walk,

Along the hills or by the sea.

If you do this, I’ll never leave –

Do this to remember me.

Go and see the wide, wide world –

Explore its great diversity.

If you do this, I’ll never leave –

Do this to remember me.

Look above at twinkling stars

And find a distant galaxy.

If you do this, I’ll never leave –

Do this to remember me.

Live a life that’s full of dreams –

Those things you dream will come to be.

If you do this, I’ll never leave –

Do this to remember me.

Hear my wish: enjoy yourself

And live your life triumphantly.

You should know, I’ve never left
As long as you remember me.

pinky, or a lesson from dad

I love my Dad –what this has to do with the pinky of the title will become apparent shortly.  It has nothing whatsoever to do with the fact that his humor runs along the lines of, “Pull my finger …” (that is only an embarrassing coincidence).  My Dad, in addition to everything else that is loveable about him, taught me a profound life lesson using only his pinky.  Yes, he's that cool. I’d like to share that lesson with you today on Father’s Day.

Background is typically required in cases like this.  You, the reader, don’t know my Dad like I do.  You don’t know me, either, for that matter.  Why should you take life advice from people –or pinkies –you don’t know?  It makes no sense. So here are some of my Dad’s bona fides.  The pinky has nothing further to recommend it as a teacher, other than that it was once attached to my Dad:

·      My “Dad” is technically my stepfather.  It is to his credit that he would kick my ass if he heard me refer to him using the term stepfather.  When he married my mother, he assumed the role of Dad to me and to my younger sister.  He has never once treated us in a way that made us feel less than his own flesh and blood in the 38 years we have known him;

·      My Dad keeps his word –when he says he will do something, he consistently does it.  This is bad if you’re in trouble for something like, say, breaking curfew or making “a poor driving decision” (don’t ask).  It can be very, very good, however, if you need any kind of help at any time;

·      My Dad taught his children civic responsibility by example, serving as a volunteer fireman throughout our childhood, later serving as fire chief for the same department.  All three of his children went into public service as a result, with my brother (technically, my stepbrother –but don’t tell my Dad I said that!) currently serving in the fire service himself.

Convinced yet?  I hope so.  I’ve strategically left out the information about teaching us all to curse like the sailor he once was.  He really is a role model.

So that pinky of the title: my Dad sustained a serious injury that resulted in nerve damage that extended from his left elbow into his left hand.  Over time, his left hand curled into a claw, with his pinky being the most significantly impacted part of his claw-hand.  The pinky began as a source of pain, a constant burning reminder of what his hand once was; then, it faded into numbness.  You would think that this desensitization would be a relief, a happy ending for an unhappy collection of bones and muscles and flesh.  Not so.

My Dad was using the stove one day (a rare occurrence, but known to happen from time to time).  At this point, he was wearing his pinky taped to his ring finger since it was, for all intents, a dead digit –when he left it hanging, it had an unfortunate habit of getting caught in things like doors.  He didn’t notice that he had set that pinky on a hot burner on that day.  He didn’t feel it.  He couldn’t feel it.  He could smell it after a while, however; by then, the damage was done.  After some complications associated with the burn, his pinky had to be amputated.  He was left with nine fingers and pain again.

Where is the lesson in this amputated pinky?  Don’t cook if you can help it?  No.  My Dad –always teaching by example, usually without trying –taught me that pain is necessary, that being without feeling leads to worse consequences than pain.  Pain is a physiological response to damage, as it was with his finger.  Pain can also be protective.  My Dad could move his pinky out of the way of further injury when he felt pain.  Once the feeling had left and all was numb, that’s when the real damage occurred.

Life turns on the front burner sometimes.  Sometimes, you’ll be a pinky set on that burner unintentionally.  If you are dead inside, you will feel nothing.  You will fester and worse injury will occur, mostly to yourself but often with some collateral damage.  If you are alive, however, you will feel the pain when it comes –it is only natural that you do.  If you are alive, you can move towards safety and, later, better health.  If you are alive, you can seek ways to manage the pain.  My Dad manages his pain through a combination of means: pharmaceuticals (I know better than to judge my Dad –he’d kick my ass, and rightfully so); rest; warmth –both literal and that offered by sympathetic listeners; flexing what’s left of his hand so as to keep it as alive as it can be; distracting himself with things he enjoys; and acknowledging when he can ignore his hand and when he needs to seek additional help for increased pain.

My Dad has found humor in his situation.  As I have learned from him, there is no better way to laugh at pain and misfortune than to …well, laugh at pain and misfortune.  He has four grandchildren.  When each grandchild went through the stage of learning to count on their fingers, my Dad would invite them to count to 10 on his fingers.  Each one would get a quizzical look on his or her face when arriving at the number 6.  Each worked past the strange shape of his left claw-hand and continued on to 7, 8, 9, ... .  After 9, each grandchild’s quizzical expression would inevitably change to outright confusion.  My Dad laughed each and every time.  Laughter can also be highly effective medicine.

My Dad still has a lot of pain, and the nature of his injury is progressive; his claw-hand continues to contract more and more inward as he gets older.  Pain never goes away completely –if you’re lucky, you’re only left with scars that pulse awkwardly.  My Dad is tough, though, and he has figured out what he needs to make his pain bearable.  He’s an excellent role model, and he’ll be okay.  Pinky swear.

everyday heroes: perseverance

Perseverance.

Fictional characters can sometimes be excellent role models.

When I was a child, I was given a copy of Shel Silverstein's Where The Sidewalk Ends.  It is a wonderful collection of poems, if you haven't read it.  Please don't be put off by the phrase 'collection of poems' --many of them are laugh out loud funny.  If you have read it, then you already know and love it.  Shel Silverstein is difficult not to love.

The fictional character I look to for inspiration for perseverance is Melinda Mae, the protagonist of one of the poems in Where The Sidewalk Ends.  I was about to insert a photo of Silverstein's illustration that accompanies the poem and then realized, "Oh! It's probably copyright protected!"  Shel Silverstein is difficult not to love; it's probably just as difficult to get permission to use his images.  Imagine if you will a small girl sitting at a table, preparing to eat a very large whale, tail first.  There.  Copyright issues averted.  That small girl is Melinda Mae.

Anyway, Melinda Mae is given the task of eating a whale.  I'm certain Mr. Silverstein was thinking of that whale as a metaphor for a problem.  I'm pretty certain the whale is not meant to be a literal whale; if it is meant to be a literal whale, I really will need to rethink everything I currently believe to be true about Shel Silverstein.  Let's proceed under the assumption that it is a metaphor and that the heroine has one large challenge to address.

Melinda Mae starts in to eat that whale, beginning with the tail --more than likely because it rhymes, but possibly because it is a reasonable part to begin with.  She believed she could and she said she would eat the entire whale.  Our Melinda Mae is very headstrong.  This is necessary to persevere.  People look askance at stubbornness, but if you need to get something done, there's is no greater characteristic one can have.  

Melinda Mae may be small, but she is strong-willed and she tucks in methodically.  She shows us that, if you're going to try to eat a whale, you need to be persistent and not try to do it all at once.  Perseverance needs to be sustainable --small bites and steady chewing.  Sometimes progress is so tiny we cannot see it, but we continue because the whale isn't going to eat itself.

"Everyone" tells Melinda Mae she is too small to try to eat that whale.  There are plenty of "everyone"s in our lives --actual people, self-doubt, circumstance.  Melinda Mae paid no mind to those who questioned her abilities.  The rest of us may not be so confident, but in the words of that brilliant aphorist, Anonymous, "Fake it 'til you make it, baby."  As you proceed pretending you are as self-possessed as Melinda Mae, you will begin to see your progress on that whale, slowly but surely.  As you begin to see the progress, the feeling of accomplishment becomes real confidence.  You are fed not just by the metaphorical whale, but by the act of eating it.  You said you could, you said you would --and you did.

I'm pretty sure, even if you haven't read the poem, you know how it turned out for Melinda Mae.  It took her eighty-nine years.  She did it.  She never gave up.  Perseverance paid off for Melinda Mae --not so sure it worked out for the whale, but that's another story ... 
         

     

the pigeon at home

Ordinarily in life, I would not compare myself to a pigeon.  Many 

people call them “flying rats”, and I’m hardly a flying rat –thank you very much.  I don’t have wings or feathers or lay eggs.  I coo only on rare occasions.  I would never regurgitate to feed my young; I’d rather use a grocery store.  In one sense, however, I am very much like a pigeon.

The Oxford English Dictionary online provides the following definition of ‘home’:

 "Home [verb]: (Of a pigeon bred for long-distance racing)fly back to or arrive at its loft after being released at a distant point."

Life has a tendency to release us at distant points, just as homing 

pigeons experience.  Just like pigeons, it is our instinct to seek 

out the place we feel most comfortable.  We home.  We may travel 

great distances –sometimes literally, sometimes metaphorically –but 

we always search for that place where we are surrounded by what we 

know and love.  Pigeons can be sentimental –homing is nothing if not 

sentimental –but ruthlessly efficient in the pursuit of home. 

In real life, the roost I inhabit has little plastic blocks littering the floor like landmines.  Sometimes laundry does not get put away immediately.  Sometimes dishes do not get put away immediately.  Sometimes books do not get put away immediately –or ever.  What can I say?  Pigeons are not known for their cleanliness.  When I do get home, sometimes I am tired from where life has taken  me that day.  We pigeons are not perfect, despite our nearly perfect homing instinct.  We just want to settle in and let the tough parts of the journey fall away.  When the time is right, I will clean and straighten and repair, and everything will be closer to ideal again.  For now, I am safe and I am home.

While writing this, I have developed a newfound appreciation for my home.  And for pigeons.  Pigeons understand.  Home is everything.  Home is the direction you head no matter where you are dropped.  Home is the location where you know your travel is done.  In the end, it’s not bad to be like a pigeon –not bad at all.