The world has stopped turning.
My father couldn't figure out where to put a spoon in the dishwasher today.
How can this have happened? A week ago he was diagnosed with brain cancer with a little more than a year to live. Now he can't navigate his kitchen.
I have stepped into the Twilight Zone - a show I always hated precisely because it made me feel crazy and disoriented like I'd entered a Fun House at a small town fair - and I never understood why anyone thought those were fun. They were horrible and disconcerting, with an sharp edge of menace, like clowns. Disorienting like when you look up suddenly and everything familiar seems foreign just for a second or two. But much, much worse, because this is real. Unspeakably real.
Friday, February 20, 2009
Tuesday, February 17, 2009
The Death of Discomfort
I heard a story about local politics on the radio this evening that interested me. I may not be getting the details right, but I think the gist of the story was that a county board member has called for a review of job qualifications for county employees. He did this because one county employee equated homosexuality with pedophilia in explaining why he thought the county shouldn't adopt a non-discrimination policy.
The part that struck me was the comment by the county employee. He referred to sensitivity training by saying (I'm paraphrasing) "People have to sit in these workshops and hear things they don't agree with."
At first I was appalled - actually I still am. How did we arrive at a place where people think they should only have to listen to information that is comfortable or that they agree with? But here's the rub - haven't we (lesbians/liberals/allies/social work-type people) helped create that belief? By insisting that people not say things that offend us? By screaming until things like sensitivity training developed?
So we've said "Don't say things that offend us" and we insist that people go to workshops so so they can learn what they shouldn't say because it will offend us - but the workshops offend those people. Does anyone else see the conundrum here? More importantly, I'd love to hear ideas about how one could possibly resolve the seeming contradiction.
The part that struck me was the comment by the county employee. He referred to sensitivity training by saying (I'm paraphrasing) "People have to sit in these workshops and hear things they don't agree with."
At first I was appalled - actually I still am. How did we arrive at a place where people think they should only have to listen to information that is comfortable or that they agree with? But here's the rub - haven't we (lesbians/liberals/allies/social work-type people) helped create that belief? By insisting that people not say things that offend us? By screaming until things like sensitivity training developed?
So we've said "Don't say things that offend us" and we insist that people go to workshops so so they can learn what they shouldn't say because it will offend us - but the workshops offend those people. Does anyone else see the conundrum here? More importantly, I'd love to hear ideas about how one could possibly resolve the seeming contradiction.
Thursday, February 12, 2009
Grace
This is the breath-giving video, The Sky in Motion, I referred to in my January 10 blog entry. You can also see it in on youtube, or in a bigger format at theskyinmotion.com
túrána hott kurdís by hasta la otra méxico! from Till Credner on Vimeo.
túrána hott kurdís by hasta la otra méxico! from Till Credner on Vimeo.
Breathing Again
My dad is home after the neurosurgery and I've talked to him briefly a couple times.
The radiologist who consulted with Dad before he left the hospital was hopeful that Dad could be around for a couple of years. We won't know more about his health until he goes in - a couple weeks from now - to look at options (what balance of chemo and radiation to do).
My uncle and my brother are there now, then my stepbrother will visit, then my brother again (he's in SF, which is 3 hours from Reno). There are lots of logistics to figure out - Dad can't see much out of his left eye. He apparently is crashing around because he's unsteady, which would be funny except it's not. He will probably never drive again, though alive and not driving is OK by me. They will have to figure out how to get him out of the house so he's not totally dependent on his partner to go everywhere.
Dad said I should not fly out in March("the weather's lousy here in March") as I planned to. I'm waiting for an opinion from my brother about whether it would be helpful if I was there, regardless of the weather. He said he'll know more after he goes back there next week.
He's just as ornery as ever - he had a friend bring Kentucky Fried Chicken to the hospital. I can breathe again.
The radiologist who consulted with Dad before he left the hospital was hopeful that Dad could be around for a couple of years. We won't know more about his health until he goes in - a couple weeks from now - to look at options (what balance of chemo and radiation to do).
My uncle and my brother are there now, then my stepbrother will visit, then my brother again (he's in SF, which is 3 hours from Reno). There are lots of logistics to figure out - Dad can't see much out of his left eye. He apparently is crashing around because he's unsteady, which would be funny except it's not. He will probably never drive again, though alive and not driving is OK by me. They will have to figure out how to get him out of the house so he's not totally dependent on his partner to go everywhere.
Dad said I should not fly out in March("the weather's lousy here in March") as I planned to. I'm waiting for an opinion from my brother about whether it would be helpful if I was there, regardless of the weather. He said he'll know more after he goes back there next week.
He's just as ornery as ever - he had a friend bring Kentucky Fried Chicken to the hospital. I can breathe again.
Friday, February 6, 2009
"That's what carbon-based life forms do."
or Mindfulness By Any Other Name....
On the phone after asking how my post-surgical dog is, my dad told me he was going to ruin my day. He has a brain tumor.
We talked for awhile about symptoms - his vision is not good, which he realized after he had cataracts removed. Later in the conversation he said, "People ask why these things happen. Why? Because that's what carbon-based life forms do. They break down after awhile."
After the second opinion, which brought a poor prognosis, he called again and at one point said, "Look, it's better than Alzheimer's. It's better than watching your kid die."
He's a fatalist but somehow that becomes faith. Grounded, tethered to reason and sanity, and spiritual all at the same time. His cynical atheism, which should in theory lead to despair, somehow creates grace.
Speaking of grace, I realized tonight that I don't feel punished or sorry for myself. It just is. The focus of my spirituality isn't how pain is created. Whatever love there is in the universe can whisper quietly or hold me in its arms.
A song with the cadence of a waltz came on my car radio - and I realized I have been dancing with sorrow. In and out, forward and back in some primordial rhythm - gently. Oddly comforting.
On the phone after asking how my post-surgical dog is, my dad told me he was going to ruin my day. He has a brain tumor.
We talked for awhile about symptoms - his vision is not good, which he realized after he had cataracts removed. Later in the conversation he said, "People ask why these things happen. Why? Because that's what carbon-based life forms do. They break down after awhile."
After the second opinion, which brought a poor prognosis, he called again and at one point said, "Look, it's better than Alzheimer's. It's better than watching your kid die."
He's a fatalist but somehow that becomes faith. Grounded, tethered to reason and sanity, and spiritual all at the same time. His cynical atheism, which should in theory lead to despair, somehow creates grace.
Speaking of grace, I realized tonight that I don't feel punished or sorry for myself. It just is. The focus of my spirituality isn't how pain is created. Whatever love there is in the universe can whisper quietly or hold me in its arms.
A song with the cadence of a waltz came on my car radio - and I realized I have been dancing with sorrow. In and out, forward and back in some primordial rhythm - gently. Oddly comforting.
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