Vulnerability

I sit in a wooden chair beneath our crab apple tree.  The sky is blue, blue as my own eyes.   Breezes carry the scent of new mown grass and crab apple blossoms.  The last of the magnolia blooms unfold like pink tea cups on pale saucers.   The day’s only sounds are the far-off drone of lawnmowers, the squeals of children playing in the neighbours’ yards, and the plump buzz of gold and black bees as they heave over clumps of violets.   On the next street, I hear car doors open and close, open and close at a garage sale with “items too numerous to mention”…items now noticed and mentioned and sold.

All around me, life repeats its endless cycles.  And inside of me too, life cycles.  Life happens and changes…everywhere it is the same.   But, I can’t concentrate.   My mind wanders.   I fret.  I worry.  My brain buzzes like the bees.   I can’t stop it.

I am part of this cycle of life.  I began and I will end.  In between, I live and I am.

At 62, I am closer to my end than to my beginning.  I don’t give much thought to the end, to my mortality, not usually.  Perhaps, I believe it is a long way off and so avoid thinking about it yet.

Of late, I am mindful of my age.  I am aware of degenerating discs, of back pain, of decreased energy, of chest pain and aging.  Yes, aging.  

Why? 

Well, on Thursday, I spent the day, eleven hours of it in the Emergency Department hooked to monitors, and received X-rays, three sets of blood tests and ECG’s.   Then, after being so scared, breathes of relief; there was no heart damage. 

The doctor and I both believe the chest pains are a reaction to the anti-inflammatory pills that I am taking for my back.  The chest pains and nausea and weariness and pressure are likely not heart problems.   But just in case, I am booked for a Stress Test on Tuesday morning, first thing.   Just in case a partially clogged artery is sneaking up on me.  Likely, all is well.  But I am a worrier.  So doubts nibble at the edges of my mind.

I will heave sighs of relief on Tuesday after the test, exhale all my worry.  Then, the doctor and I will have to figure out the other possible causes for this chest pain and pressure and nausea.  Perhaps, it is something as simple as indigestion.   But, for now, “What if’s” plow through my head, creasing my mind with fretfulness, make it hard to be calm or to think.

I struggle to see the positives and the bright spots.  I stare at the dappled shade on my page as I write.  I see the shadows of the crab apple tree dance with the sunlight, the dark and the light together on my page.  Dark and light, these opposites are part of the natural world, part of the cycle of life, part of me.

Shadows and sunlight, pain and joy, worry and relief, vulnerability and reprieve are part of me and part of the cycle of my life.  Life happens and changes, carries me along with it…vulnerable and hopeful, frightened and joyful.

I sit in my wooden chair beneath the crab apple tree and I focus on life.  I focus on birdsong and bees, the sunshine and the peace of this afternoon.  I am glad to be alive, to be.  I am glad to be alive now, alive here, on this sun-blessed afternoon, grateful for this gift that is my life. 

And I hope my life, the life still ahead of me, contains joys and sunny days too numerous to mention.

Photos are mine.

Once Upon a Halloween

Once Upon a Halloween

It’s 2 am and the night air is sticky with humidity.  I can’t sleep.  The skies are full of cloud and thick with moisture.  Suddenly it is raining, a gentle patter on the metal roof of the porch, water sloshing down the storm drains, a soothing sound, a relief from the heat held night.

Just as gently, distant lightning—heat lightning—quiet, like strobe lights flashing on…off…on…off…on…off…

Now it’s raining harder, abrupt, pounding, like waterfalls of marbles, hitting the roof noisily and splashing out everywhere

The rising wind blows the frail cotton curtains at the windows, wind searches through the house, rattling doors and jiggling door knobs, odd sounds creak across the floors

Unexpected fear overwhelms me, I’m a guest here sleeping in his old bedroom, is he here somewhere?  Don’t be so foolish I tell myself.  You’re an adult, you know that’s impossible.  You know these things don’t happen…yet part of me believes that energy residue can remain.

I’m afraid shivering in his bed, his curtains blowing wide…dread overwhelms me and floods my mind.  My mouth is dry with fright.  It is difficult to swallow.  The lightning isn’t just distant heat lightning anymore; it has changed and comes closer.

Lightning flashes again and again.  Shocking thunder—bellowing through the night, cracking, close, so close, then, lightning hits, splitting an ancient tree beside the house.  The wrenching twisting sound of the tree falling fills the night. Lightning strikes come, heavy with thunder illuminating the fallen tree, the yard, the room with eerie green-white glow.  Is someone here in the room?  I think I see, then no…

My heart pounds; my blood races; I am panting, short of breath.  The lightning and thunder are nearly one, they come together so rapidly.  The room is full of the screeching roar of the storm.

The air smells different, sulphur?  Burnt wood?  The rain thrashes the broken tree, tearing off branches, spiralling leaves out across the night yard, loudly pelting the roof, coming so fast that the gutters cannot contain it.  Water spills out over the edges of the porch, over the gutters and runs in rivers around the foundation below.

The room is unnatural with light and windows are reverberating with the crash of thunder.  I feel foolish for being afraid, childish for letting my imagination creep into the unknown.

Still I lie here, unable to close my eyes, peering frantically round the room, searching the corners for something.  What?  The storm subsides; the intervals between strikes are longer.  There are spaces of near silence and the rain subsides between the growls of thunder.  I grow drowsy and my eyes close.

Now, I'm fully awake.  Again, I sense something here, what is it? 

I’m trembling, afraid now to open my eyes, letting my senses search the space, is he here?  I shudder and force myself to open my eyes.  Another flash of lightning…there seems to be a glow, a shape by the door.  Is it?

Stop this, I say to myself.  Get a grip, you’re being ridiculous.

Unfamiliar noises creak through the room, the parquet floor squeaks, old wood work aches and groans.  The ancient plumbing moans.  There is a fragrance wafting near me.  What is it?  The hair on my arms and the back of my neck stands up.

I smell his aftershave.  Is it just memory?  Is he here?

The lightning flashes again and I see…

The picture and story are mine.  If you use or share them, please acknowledge the source.