Monday Mimisms ~ The Face

Perhaps I didn't want to see the lines of tubes flowing into my body and the hands that were about to cause ....ouch...you weren't supposed to tell me when the stick would occur, Mr. Anesthesiologist... "Turn your head, look at me, squeeze my hand," said the nurse.  Kindness. 

Flashback to summer. I was tired of shots and tired of ups and downs and tired of finger sticks. Tired. Just tired. So back in August I began to let go...slowly...carefully...mindfully...let go. Before I knew it I was using less and less and less. My confidence grew more and more, until one day I didn't need a shot anymore. And the control I had over my glucose numbers were only controlled by what I chose to consume, or whether or not I exercised or how much sleep I allowed myself or how long I meditated on healing, or how many healthy choices I made in the kitchen.

 I didn't care what I had to do. I was tired of the swelling. I was tired of the struggle. 

I just wanted to be me again.

Day one...day two...day three...a month went by....I don't need it anymore.

I'm done. I threw it in the trash.

Soon after, I woke up one morning, walked past a mirror and stopped shocked in my tracks.  Who IS that? Tears. 

Who IS that girl? Finally. Finally! It's me.

She looks like me. It IS me. The old me. Her face is not swollen. Her eyes are alive. I touched my face. 

It's me.

More tears. 

Fast-forward October: It's hospital day. Time for my five-year screening procedure. Peering over the bed rails to my left were a pair of the kindest eyes I've seen in a good long while.   She was Korean. And lovely. Where have I seen this face before? She looked like a friend of my mother's, someone I met when I was a child in the sixties - her name was Kim. She'd married an American soldier during the Korean war, a friend of the family. He was killed just before the war ended, so she brought her small baby to the United States knowing nothing and no one but her newfound in-laws who took them in. She spoke not a word of English as my mother recalled. Tiny and afraid, clinging to the child she'd named after her soldier, she slept by his casket until she was picked up and carried out of the church. A scene that was talked about over and over in our small town. She would not speak to anyone for a long long time. She just sat and cried for her husband. 

Mama gave her clothes, shoes, makeup and a pair of earrings. My grandmother fed her dumplings and cake. The church supported and cared for her, but Mama said she looked so afraid, so lost in those days. And lonely. So very sad and lonely. Mama always said she had a beautiful face. 

 *Please take a deep breath, Miss Mimi. That's it...* Through eons of time, through spoils of war and peace between, I needed my mama, remembering her bracelet in my bag under the gurney brought me comfort..I would put it back on later. Distracted by four others doing this and that, I noticed she was wearing a UNC-Chapel Hill Carolina blue surgical hat and I thought of my father's love of Carolina basketball. Don't cry now, Mimi! Now is not the time! So when she stood by my bedside to start the oxygen flow - was it she? could it be? - I couldn't help but notice that even before the lava began to flow through my veins that past was meeting present, worlds were colliding and something out-of-this-world was about to happen. 

 I was so drawn to her. 

Do you believe that God sends angels to your side when you need them the most? 

"I need to start your oxygen. Let me remove your mask," she said.

And with a slow deliberate gentleness I won't soon forget, she carefully untangled forgotten gold hoops from strings of blue masks. It was like I knew her. Didn't I know her? Surely I know her.....I risk sounding vain when I tell you this part, oh, but I must tell you this part! It is the best part and when you hear it you will forgive my unabashed telling because it wrapped its way full circle around the journey I've been on and the reasons for my summer struggle suddenly made sense, though admittedly rooted in vanity, they were also immersed in the road back to me - the real me - the one I'd missed for so long. Without missing a beat and as if she only came to tell me this one thing today, like it was her mission, she removed my mask and softly said,  

"You have a beautiful face."

Monitoring stopped. Arm taping stopped. Medicines halted. Two nurses turned around to see. The surgeon smiled at me. Then looked at her with admiration. Because truly, can you imagine a more wonderful human being than to say such a lovely thing to a frightened anxious patient?  
The mirror moment came flooding back. I remembered that I am strong and that I would be just fine. "Thank you," I said. And because only the two of us (I'm convinced) really knew what that statement meant to the whole of me, my eyes filled up and my heart was full because I knew that this day and this team - and especially this woman - were meant to take care of me - the whole me - this day. 
I think it was one of the kindest moments of my life. 

I don't remember seeing her again. Soon the warm wave of propofol overtook me and I drifted into nothingness. But I do remember the tender way she untangled my hoops and straightened the covers, the way my mother's hands must have helped a fragile war bride get ready for her husband's funeral, the way my mother's hands would have patted my blanket.  

 

The way others see us is not what makes us whole. It is the way we see ourselves.And for one small moment of bedside kindness, a frightened girl named Kim (I'm convinced) helped me remember that my view is all that matters. The strength of a woman is in the way she sees herself - and that is a beautiful thing.

Follow Me

Join us for Blog4Peace Nov 4

Like Our Facebook Page

Peace Store

Monday Mimisms ~ I Need a Maid and Fast!

Everything's OK until I do one of these three things - Hang up clothes on hangers in the closet, wash dishes or type. Apparently I've re-injured a previous situation (feels like shades of a bulging disc) and the rotator cuff tear that keeps on giving.

Several weeks ago I picked up a small case of bottled water in the store and put it in my cart. Ouch. I felt that. Weeks later I'm in so much pain that I'm alternating Tylenol Arthritis and Ibuprofen daily, soaking in the tub and using a heating pad. I'm the type of person who just keeps pushing through even if I'm hurting. When I say "enough" you know it's really way past time to sit down.  If you know me at all, you know I can't tolerate any "real" drug for pain. If I took something like oxycodone or the like, I'd be eternally asleep...perhaps for real!
What's so frustrating is that it's suddenly exacerbated by normal activities. I don't wake up in pain. It doesn't even hurt to walk. It happens when I do the aforementioned things after breakfast (laundry, blogging, dishes, real life). But I knew I might be in trouble when I picked up an egg carton last week (just 12 eggs) and the weight of it caused me to hurt. 

I'll see you on the flipside of tomorrow. Right now I need to quickly post some peace and talk to a few friends online (scratch that) on the PHONE. There's just one problem - it hurts to pick up the phone. Yes, the phone is suddenly "HEAVY"...arggh

Somebody get that dog out of here. Where's my heating pad??!!

Follow Me

Join us for Blog4Peace Nov 4

Like Our Facebook Page

Peace Store

Phone Calls and Fowls ~ Monday Mimisms

I'm thinking of two men this morning. One of them in Heaven and the other far removed from my life. The first held me on the day I was born; the second I could not hold. 

Today is the first day of school for Beans. Fifth grade! How is this possible? And yet he is bright and loving and opinionated and full of himself. Watch out, World. This boy is bold. I wouldn't change a thing about him. He has a teasing sense of humor (in the "gotcha!" kind of way) Reminds me of my dad, whose day was never complete without telling a corny joke. Now I realize that most times he just wanted to make me laugh (I rarely obliged) but it didn't stop him from raucously laughing out loud at himself. I miss that laugh. When he was in the hospital in his final days, he told the nurse that he did NOT want chicken on his lunch tray. (He hated chicken) She asked..."Whyyyyy won't you eat chicken? It's good for you." His eyes got huge and he looked at her like she'd lost her mind. He raised up in the bed and yelled, "Cause it's foul!!"
Wait for it. I heard the laugh. The entire cardiac unit from the end of one hallway to the other heard the laugh. Even in the dreaded hospital hours. 

Daddy in his shop..."tinkering"

Which brings me back to the first day of school.
 I am missing a phone call today. Every day for thirteen years of the twenty-two years I taught middle grades, he would call me on the first day of school. He wanted to see how my classes were and if all went well. And then....wait for it.....the "joke" would come. "You're STILL in middle school, Sis?" Ha ha! "Yes, Daddy, I'm STILL in middle school, but this time I'm the teacher, Daddy (wink wink). And then resigning to the routine I'd always say,  "I'm never going to get out of middle school! Not ever!!" And then we would laugh.   He's been gone for thirteen years and I so wish he would call to see if I'm still in middle school. 
And even though his teasing put me off at times, I know it was his way of connecting with me (his sullen serious child) and all things told this side of eternity..I wouldn't change a thing. 

Follow Me

Join us for Blog4Peace Nov 4

Like Our Facebook Page

Peace Store

Monday Mimisms ~ Mama's Lipstick

It was the purses

and maybe because I never got to see her things....

or know the name of the last lipstick she used

or pick up the hairbrush from the oval tray in her bedroom

and brush my hair with the combs of life left from mama

perhaps it was the lingering smell of giggly laughs

we tossed about

on summer days of shopping

 'round the thrift markets

the way she would bid

the way she would fight

for what she wanted

and laugh

when she got

what

she

wanted

The roses were lovely

in the market today

on the face of the painting

she would have loved

so I fought

and I bought

it

thinking it was for me

when it really was for her

"I know that box," she would have said.
"Pick it up, my girl, and we will take it home to our treasure pile." 

Oh, how she would have loved the Lillian Vernon pink. And the lining. And the way it fell from her slender shoulders, prancing around in the store of trinkets like a Queen sitting high on the Nile with no one to judge and no one to care. I picked it up three times and felt the silk way down on the inside before I put it in my basket. There was something about the way my hands knew the cloth. Inside the deep well of the purse I felt my mother's hands..only realizing later that's why I kept picking it up and putting it down...so much like our complicated way with each other 

so I bought it

 thinking all along it was mine; when all along, I knew it was hers. Always hers.

She loved purses

and priss

and me

"Isn't that print just the finest? she'd say. "I know just where I'll put it and it matches the roses in my garden. The ones on the bush you gave me for Mother's Day that's grown so tall and full of you, my girl. I think of you and pray for you when I see them bloom," she'd say.

So I bought it

for me

And I gave it

to her 

And no one would believe - not even I - that she had shopped with me today

Until some time later

 in the evening

when I needed her in a moment of pain

 for no reason I can logically explain

 she knew

and she came

into my room

carrying

this perfumed

purse

 and all the exquisite days with her

came flooding back with her presence

 and it no longer mattered what lipsticks

she left behind

and suddenly I remembered

a kiss

placed on my lips 

by my mother

on the day I was born

It was the shade she wore

and 

I

will

 always

always

wear 

it

    

Follow Me

Join us for Blog4Peace Nov 4

Like Our Facebook Page

Peace Store

Monday Mimisms ~ Moves Like Jagger

Mist forming on a lonely highway. The smell of fresh rain. On my way to pick up grandson #2 (aka Beans) I stopped for a quick drive-thru iced tea at one of my favorite places. The ice is crushed. The tea is perfect. I had plenty of time and I knew my boy would want french fries and ketchup on the side. Back on the highway, I leisurely drove into clouds and rain, sipping my tea. Along about the third curve towards town, torrents of heavy rain began to pitter patter beat on the windshield. Concentrate, Mimi, concentrate...It's just a little rain. Put down the tea....the tea. And then it happened. It was the ice, you see. Crushed. Perfect. Just like she wanted. My hands cupped the glass and I saw her hands...Mama

When we would go shopping on Saturdays, she loved to stop and get crushed ice with sweet tea. It made her happy.    "I miss my mama," cried my heart and then out loud in a storm-soaked vehicle, driving into rain, through rain, becoming rain Oh God, I miss my mama.  I was a complete unexpected mess. The  floodgates opened and would.not.stop, keeping time with the windshield wipers and mixing in the clouds. We were as different as pumpkins and peonies, but today I just wanted to have tea with her and talk about dress shops and flower beds. The sobs came out of nowhere, unlike the stoic resolve I manage to maintain on a usual day....and I could not make them stop. I haven't written much about her since she passed in 2019. Her death was sudden. The aftermath vile and wholly undignified. She didn't deserve the end she was dealt and it was more grief than I could process. 

Beans climbed in the car, eager to spend a week with me, with a what-is-wrong-with-you-Mimi look and why is your mascara running question. No answer. I was spent. Then something amazing and brilliant and fascinating happened.Because he's been permanently banned from cellphones (long sad story for another day oh.the.drama) he did the only thing a phone deprived pre-teen could do.He reached for the radio. "How does this work?" he asked.
Do you know how quickly tears can turn to laughter? I nearly spun into a ditch trying to teach him how to use the dials. And this boy, who always somehow knows just what I need when I need it, turned the volume up to sonic boom, rolled the windows down just for kicks and set the controls on automatic scan. Who taught him to increase the bass? THUMP THUMP through neighborhoods we cruised. I'm sure it could be heard at the International Space Station.    Every ten seconds or so, the music would change from rap to classical to gospel to inappropriate wordy rap (giggles) to talk radio to strings and usually back to very loud rap music. We put on very large rockstar sunglasses and changed our mood and facial expressions to match whatever played. It was hysterical...well...to us...and every neighborhood we passed through as well, including the squirrels and cows and birds trying to catch a glimpse into the runaway rogue mess of a gyrating car we were in.  Until...

Maroon 5 began to sing "Moves Like Jagger"... Stop! Stop it right there! Beans began to bounce. The car bounced. I bounced. My shoulders twitched from side-to-side. My toes tapped on the floorboard and his feet moved on the dashboard. I conducted with one hand (who conducts Mick Jagger?) and drove with the other.  We sang at the top of our lungs as he masterfully executed the washing machine dance in the passenger seat while I crazily snapped my fingers to the beat and banged my head around like a teenager on the sidelines at a Beatles concert. (Yes, I was still driving, my Bloggy People) The clouds were dancing. Mama was dancing. Tea was spilling. Love was flowing.

I forgot all about mascara on my face and why I was crying in the first place. We car danced all the way up the driveway until we stopped for one more look out the rolled-down windows to see how many woodsy creatures we could scare with the Rolling Stones.  I never had a dance partner so brilliant.


The sun came out and we were home. 

 "You just ruined my ears for eternity!" I told him. More laughter. More volume.

Then a loud crushing pain in my heart.

"Nothing is for eternity, my girl," Mama whispered.

 "Everything changes."

And so it does.

Images: Mimi Lenox and Wikimedia Creative Commons
Follow Me

Join us for Blog4Peace Nov 4

Like Our Facebook Page

Peace Store

Monday Mimisms ~ Let's Talk About Depression

Once upon a long time ago, I had a part-time job working for a salesman who lived in my neighborhood. I needed extra cash and he needed a secretary to keep him and his endless sales paperwork organized and accurate. It was a perfect arrangement.
My boss was a funny guy, albeit with a cynical side, who had an unfortunate penchant for near constant migraines. Much of the time he was in terrible pain, barely able to function. On the road to sales calls, we spent lots of time talking about our lives and families, while I recorded data and created invoices. This brief blip on the road of my life would ordinarily seem unremarkable, except for one telling conversation I've never forgotten to this day.
One day I noticed he was particularly anxious. Nervous. Jittery. Unwell. I asked him what troubled him so. He divulged very little and simply replied, "Mimi, just remember this -
stress'll kill ya."

A few years later, he committed suicide.

Beyond being sad and grieved for his lovely family, I found it oddly prophetic. When I am overwhelmed and anxious, I sometimes hear his pain-filled voice say....."stress'll kill ya." He was warning me to try to learn to control the stress in my own life.  I wish he could have found his way out of that space. What I've noticed lately is this: There are a lot of people walking around with what I call Life PTSD.  They're not clinically depressed, not on medication, and not in therapy. But their situations and circumstances seem to constantly spiral from hope to despair and back again, the likes of which a tilt-a-whirl ride has never seen. In today's world,This Is Your Brain on Drugs has morphed into This Is Your Brain on Life. 
Cumulative situational depression is a very real struggle. It is rampant in the society we live in today. It steals your joy. It fogs your brain. It hurts your relationships. It tears you down physically in ways that doctors are only beginning to truly understand. There is no way around - only through.
And we need to talk about it.

Join us for Blog4Peace Nov 4

Like Our Facebook Page

Peace Store