My vacation back to Connecticut was a true blessing in disguise. So many lessons came tumbling towards me; I only had to be open to receiving them. Some were not easy; I had to jump some hurtles to recieve the "gifts." In the end; it was in reality pure joy. I eye-balled the phantoms of the past straight on! I did not shrink in fright; I took action! I was left the victor...still standing!
NOVEMBER 10, 2006
Going back to Connecticut was a journey into the past; a past riddled with so much grief...so much sadness...so much fear...so much madness.
Just the thought of going sent my heart into wild palpatations; I wondered, "Is this how having a heart attack feels?" My heart seemed to be racing and I had difficulty taking a deep breath.
Yet, I had to go back; I always had the excuses why I couldn't go back before.
When, I did go back years ago to visit my sister Bev, we carefully avoided talk of our childhood. I didn't vist any of the old haunts, nor did I acknowledge any inner urging to try to make sense of our bizzare childhood. It truly was an unspoken agreement to not even tiptoe near the abyss. We both had young children and again it was with shared unspoken agreement to appear normal, happy and unscarred from the past. My sister Bev has since died; she walked into the Atlantic Ocean and drowned. Since her funeral some twenty-five years ago I haven't been back. That was the final blow, the final chapter; or, so I thought. I was so wrong.
Last December my sister Sandra called me and told me she had breast cancer and needed to have chemo, a mastectomy, and radiation therapy. I wrote about that telephone conversation in an earlier blog. What I did know, from that conversation was the fact, that I had to go back and see my sister and let her know how much I loved her. We were raised in seperate foster homes, yet, we managed to stay connected through the years via the telephone. We have similiar medical histories. We both have entered the hospital for surgeries the same week, however, in different states. We bolstered each others spirits and exchanged hospital notes. I had double knee surgery done and my sister had both hips done a year apart and then knee surgergy and now this cancer battle. Am I a candidate for breast cancer? The question keeps weaving in and out of my conscious thought, along with the "demons" of childhood rearing there heads and leering at me. Finally, we will come face to face for the reckoning.
My sister is adamant about me not coming out while she is going through chemo; she wants to be feeling better, be stronger, and have more energy to do things. It is agreed I will come the last two weeks of August.
I have seven and a half months to stew about this visit. I nibble, nibble, nibble. I nibble myself up twenty pounds or more. There is a definite uneasiness; it has nothing to do with my sister. It has to do with memories that disturb my sleep, creep into my thoughts during the day sending me into a tailspin, a downward falling, as if I'd fallen into a well, and even though I'm frantically grabbing at the seemingly moss vined sides to stop my fall, I keep falling. Perhaps, the nibbles, nibbles, nibbles are to keep me from the continual fall; perhaps, their to stop me, get me stuck, so I can gingerly climb out. All I know is, there is a panic rising within me.
I nibble. It's a grounding thing, I think.
NOVEMBER 10, 2006
Going back to Connecticut was a journey into the past; a past riddled with so much grief...so much sadness...so much fear...so much madness.
Just the thought of going sent my heart into wild palpatations; I wondered, "Is this how having a heart attack feels?" My heart seemed to be racing and I had difficulty taking a deep breath.
Yet, I had to go back; I always had the excuses why I couldn't go back before.
When, I did go back years ago to visit my sister Bev, we carefully avoided talk of our childhood. I didn't vist any of the old haunts, nor did I acknowledge any inner urging to try to make sense of our bizzare childhood. It truly was an unspoken agreement to not even tiptoe near the abyss. We both had young children and again it was with shared unspoken agreement to appear normal, happy and unscarred from the past. My sister Bev has since died; she walked into the Atlantic Ocean and drowned. Since her funeral some twenty-five years ago I haven't been back. That was the final blow, the final chapter; or, so I thought. I was so wrong.
Last December my sister Sandra called me and told me she had breast cancer and needed to have chemo, a mastectomy, and radiation therapy. I wrote about that telephone conversation in an earlier blog. What I did know, from that conversation was the fact, that I had to go back and see my sister and let her know how much I loved her. We were raised in seperate foster homes, yet, we managed to stay connected through the years via the telephone. We have similiar medical histories. We both have entered the hospital for surgeries the same week, however, in different states. We bolstered each others spirits and exchanged hospital notes. I had double knee surgery done and my sister had both hips done a year apart and then knee surgergy and now this cancer battle. Am I a candidate for breast cancer? The question keeps weaving in and out of my conscious thought, along with the "demons" of childhood rearing there heads and leering at me. Finally, we will come face to face for the reckoning.
My sister is adamant about me not coming out while she is going through chemo; she wants to be feeling better, be stronger, and have more energy to do things. It is agreed I will come the last two weeks of August.
I have seven and a half months to stew about this visit. I nibble, nibble, nibble. I nibble myself up twenty pounds or more. There is a definite uneasiness; it has nothing to do with my sister. It has to do with memories that disturb my sleep, creep into my thoughts during the day sending me into a tailspin, a downward falling, as if I'd fallen into a well, and even though I'm frantically grabbing at the seemingly moss vined sides to stop my fall, I keep falling. Perhaps, the nibbles, nibbles, nibbles are to keep me from the continual fall; perhaps, their to stop me, get me stuck, so I can gingerly climb out. All I know is, there is a panic rising within me.
I nibble. It's a grounding thing, I think.
posted by Learning Lollipops | 8:50 PM
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