When you have to go to hospital, don’t you just WISH for a vicodin popping, abusive genius with a limp for your doctor?! Okay, maybe not, but it certainly makes for good TV viewing!

The show House stars actor Hugh Laurie as Dr Gregory House, the abrasive, insulting, sometimes cruel genius of a medical diagnostician. At this point, we are up to series five with series six about to air – and let me tell you: I’m totally hooked! House is not just another medical show like E.R. and the like, but a brilliant show about one man and the impact he has on the people around him. Greg House is a Doctor like no other – he is completely politically incorrect, sometimes so disconnected from people that he treats them like dirt for their show of humanity, but makes up for it with acerbic wit, obsession to diagnose patients, intelligence which is so focused its awe-inspiring and a rebellious nature which just makes his character fun to follow. He is a maverick in the true sense of the word. 

The character House works at Princeton‑Plainsboro Teaching Hospital as the Head of Diagnostics, and for the first three seasons had three Doctors on his team whom he abused, taught and challenged into being better doctors. They then all quit, being replaced by a new team, with Foreman (From the original team) coming back into the fray while his other former teammates continued to work at the hospital in different roles. House’s boss, the Dean of Medicine Dr Cutty, is the only person who is ever able to reign House in, but often by trickery due to the fact House follows no rules other than his own. Cutty and House have a sexual tension that dances through the plotlines, never quite turning into anything (Yet!) but adding a scintillating depth to their characters tug of war over right and wrong. House’s only friend is another Doctor at the hospital, the head of Oncology, Dr James Wilson who is almost the opposite of House. Wilson is caring, decent and thoughtful. The friendship makes no sense and yet they both need each other, play off of each other, gain strength from their friendship. 

With all of the players now in place, let me tell you a little bit more about the show. Basically, every episode introduces a new medical case in which no one can diagnose what is wrong with the patient. House will only take on the most interesting or bizarre cases, and doesn’t care much for the patients themselves. His main goal is ascertaining what ailment the dying patient has and treating them. Quite often he breaks ethical rules to gain this insight, pushing his team to work alongside him. House is brilliant, and picks up on things that no other Doctor would ever notice. He saves people in the most fantastic ways, and comes across illnesses and complications which just boggle the mind. It makes you really appreciate the amount of things that can go wrong with the human body, I’ll tell you that much!

It’s not easy – Even House gets things wrong. Due to his cases being so difficult, sometimes the diagnoses are wrong. Sometimes this is because of the circumstances surrounding the patient, wether they have lied to him, wont let tests be done or freakish environmental factors. Sometimes it’s because of House’s state of mind, or that of his team. Wilson and Cutty spend a lot of their time trying to keep House in check, for the sake of the patients and the hospitals reputation, but also to look out for House himself. Despite his acidic nature, they care for him, and even though he doesn’t quite accept it himself, he cares right on back. It is a startlingly dark look into the human psyche, into pain and suffering. These characters make you think, make you laugh, make you cry. They each have their own personal demons, their backstories which unfold across the seasons. In each episode you learn another little piece about every one of them, you understand their motives more and you marvel at the brilliance of each medical case and what they bring to it.

This series isn’t about heartwarming moments (Although there are a few), it’s about the darkness in life, in sickness and self hatred, but finding a place within that. Finding a reason to BE. The acting is flawless, the plots absorbing. It is never boring, always insightful and totally addictive. I highly recommend it to anyone with an attention span. You wont “Get It” if you don’t follow it closely. You wont understand its REAL brilliance unless you catch on to the undercurrents. But man, this show is so worth watching. Hugh Laurie is one of the best actors ever, and his character House is a surly, selfish genius that you cant help but love. House is safe in my top five shows EVER.

House

We hide our troubles, pushing them deep down inside ourselves, pretending that we are getting by. Sometimes, we are shielding the fact that we are closer to the edge than anyone suspects but we’d rather keep it a secret until the end, when nothing can remain hidden any longer.

My rope has lost its slack, is shortening, and I feel like the end is closer than I could ever imagine. The inner strength from which I have been drawing is slowly depleting and there is nothing, and no one, to help me replenish it. When I am given an offer, I sense its hesistance, its intentions good but only theoretical. How much longer must I dwindle, I cannot say. I don’t even know whether I will dwindle into the inevitable nothingness, or if something will save me from falling forever. My saviour is not in sight, so I despair.  

Love is such a strange concept. When it is real, when it is true, it survives even the worst of batterings. Some would say that that is a good thing, but I would say it’s a fate worse than death. To love unconditionally, I have learned how to do this, but to be loved unconditionally is not something I have or ever will attain. How do you pick up the millions of tiny little pieces your heart has shattered into? There is no chance for a whole ever again. The damage is so irrevocably catastrophic, so complete, that there is no hope. The healing which was supposedly meant to come with time is not forthcoming.

Everyday all you can look forward to is the heaviness in your heart, a physical burden in your chest, weighing you down and bringing down your hopes. You pray, you desperately cry out for help to God, but you don’t know whether he hears or even wants to. If God doesn’t help you, then no one can and the end creeps ever closer.

“It hurts to set you free, but you’ll never follow me
 The end of laughter and soft lies
 The end of nights we tried to die
 This is the end.”

[Doors]

” We only got
86 400 seconds in a day to… Turn it all around or throw it all away
We gotta tell ‘em that we love ‘em
While we got the chance to say…
Gotta live like we’re dying”

Here is a question you can ponder on. If you knew, for some reason, that the Lord will demand your life tonight, will you live and do things differently in the next 24 hours?

Would you be a little more giving, a little more forgiving? A little more understanding, a little more patient? A little more nice, a little more prayerful?

Would you go places you’ve never been to? Would you say things you’ve never said? Would you do things you’ve only imagined for the longest time?

Would you spend a little more time with your kids? Would you talk a little more with your parents? Would you hug your spouse a little more tighter?

Would you live differently if you knew you were dying?

The next big question is: why? Why do you need to know you’re dying before you do all these things?

Just an announcement, for all of those who have forgotten or probably still are unaware; ALL OF US ARE DYING. It may come sooner, or it may come later. It may be in 30 years, it may be in 30 minutes. That’s just it. We don’t know when. So why do we live differently now? Why not make each second count NOW.

Life here on earth is too short compared to what is in store for us in eternity. Gotta live the life God called us to NOW. We don’t have a second chance. Make it count TODAY!

making beauty and throwing it away and making more.

windy today and i feel less than brilliant. driving over the hill from work there are the dark parts on the road, when you pass through clumps of wood and the bright spots where you have a view of the ocean but that doesn’t make the road an allegory. i watch the trees, tossing in what certainly looks like sexual arousal. everything looks frail, the sky is grey blue and tells me that it all wont stop unfolding. a bit of air sneaks past a window and into my hair. last night i dreamed again. like a stain on my subconscious sheets that i’ve scrubbed and scrubbed and scrubbed but never got out. what i thought was an end turned out to be a middle what i thought was a brick wall turned out to be a tunnel what i always think i know is just a color in the sky, but i sat in the park the other day and watched natures wastefulness. its been doing that all week, making beauty and throwing it away …and making more.

• i wish i was dying life is empty

I thank Mike practically every day, but today, I wanted to write it down.

Mike and I went through a lot, when we were in High School and then again, when we reunited in 2005.  Mike and I had a long distance relationship from the time we got back together, December of 2005 – after 13 years, to the time I moved out to Las Vegas to be with him in October of 2006.  When he and I got back together, I was still drinking, and so was he.  We talked on the phone for hours and hours each day.  And we drank.  I can not tell you how many times I woke up realizing that I had passed out or blacked out leaving me not remembering the ends of our conversations.  Did he say ” I love you” and i didn’t answer?  Was he talking and then realized that I wasn’t really “there” anymore.  It happened too much.

Mike and I talked at length about our drinking problems; we both knew that we had to stop.  Mike was the first one to tell me that I might have a drinking problem.  “I think you might drink too much”, is what he said.  I was sort of offended, especially this coming from him, who did drink too much, but that doesn’t matter.  And i knew that.  I knew I believed him and that was when I really started to see that my drinking was a problem.  It was being with Mike that woke me up to what I was doing to myself.  It was being with Mike and wanting to spend the rest of my life with Mike that led me to see myself from outside myself and get a different view.  It was being with the man who I had thought about being with since the day we’d met, Sophomore year in High School, that made me want to try harder and really make an effort to get better.  I was embarrassed of my behavior.  I was ashamed of myself, for being nothing.  When I was really only answering to myself, I let myself get away with everything, or pretended to not really notice what I was really doing to myself.  I wanted to be everything to him.  I wanted to be the greatest.  We had such great plans to be together, the spirit was there, but I knew, in the state I was in, I wouldn’t be capable of anything but dreaming.  I didn’t want to disappoint him, and I didn’t want to disappoint me.

He felt the same.  We talked about it, all the time.  On May 31, 2006, I quit drinking.  I’ve been sober ever since.   I owe a lot to my brother John and my friend Kelly too.  They quit with-in the same year.  Those are two people who a great many people never thought would quit.  They did, and they are inspirations, and I thank them greatly too.  But,  my wanting to spend the rest of my life with Mike was really the catalyst, John and Kelly gave me the strength.

I moved to Las Vegas in October of 2006.  Mike and I have both struggled with depression, on different levels.  He was concerned that his depression was going to push me further down.  I always said that we would deal with this, that we should not wait any longer to be together, that we were supposed to be together and years down the road, when things are better we would look back on these times and be proud that we got through the toughest times together.  He would agree, but he was scared of what his depression was going to do to me, ’cause I was getting better…Well, it did affect me, but that was ok.  I remember feeling it, and watching it happen.  His reclusive nature mixed with mine was not good.  But, since I had quit drinking, I was worlds better than I ever had been.  I had much more strength to push through.  It was about a year after I had moved to Las Vegas that I really felt bad.  I was sleeping until noon, totally un-motivated, and always waiting for him to do something with me, something, anything and doing nothing for myself.  But there was always a reason to not go somewhere…and it had taken its toll on me, I had let it.  So, I had enough.  I felt like a lump again, and I felt like a terrible girlfriend, well, by then, we were engaged.  I remember writing him a letter, because I didn’t have the energy to say everything I wanted to say to him, to apologize for how bad I had gotten.  I wrote him the letter to say I was sorry and that I would be better and worth being with.  I said I had enough of me and that I was finally going to go to a doctor and see if I should be put on medication.

Mike and I talked a lot about it and he made me feel a lot better about trying medication.  He struggle too, and he really made me feel strong and didn’t judge me but wanted to help me feel and get better.  I remember feeling like everything he was saying he meant for himself too, but he had so much more faith in me than he had in himself.  He had such fight for me.  Left on my own, I never had the strength to make the phone calls to doctors; to find one.  He helped me, he reminded me, he wanted me to fight for myself to get better.  I found a great doctor and went on Lexapro, and had blood-work done to check my thyroid and other “stuff”…i don’t know what anymore,  regular type blood work.  Then my doctor referred me to a gastroenterologist to have me checked for Celiac Disease, which runs in my family and has depression (among many, many other things) as a symptom.  I started going to the gym regularly, and it was during this time that I went to my first Yoga class, with my sister, when I was back home in Palatine, IL for a couple of weeks.  We went to a class (I had always been interested in Yoga, but had total nervous anxiety about entering a studio) and I’ve been practicing ever since and am finishing my Yoga Teacher Training as I write this.

Turned out, I do have Celiac Disease and going to the gym regularly did make me feel worlds better.  And practicing Yoga did help me calm my mind and helped me feel more free and less anxious.  I stopped beating myself up about things I wasn’t doing.  I felt totally energized and inspired.  Somehow, at that time in my life I had gotten sick of myself enough, ashamed of myself enough, disappointed in myself enough.  But, being with Mike absolutely gave me the strength to do it.

Mike is not here anymore.  He killed himself this past July.  I often think that Mike saved me.  I often think Mike’s complete understanding of depression; how it feels, is what made him so capable of helping me.  He was telling me to do what he knew he should be doing for himself, but he didn’t feel he could do.  He always told me I was stronger than him.  I told him he was wrong.  He always told me I was better.  He always made me feel I could do this, that it could and would lift.  It was being with him that gave me the courage to do it, for myself and for us.  I would see Mike and see him in his depression and it was like looking at myself.  I have to say, I would often think I was looking at myself, and I didn’t like the look of it; the look of depression.  He helped me come out.  He helped me grow.

That’s what I remember of Mike.  That’s what I keep with me.  Not the bad times and the hard times.  Those aren’t fair to keep, I think.  He didn’t mean the bad and hard times.  He was sick, and he was screaming out for me to get better.  And for that, I thank him.  He loved me and for that I thank him.    I always thought we were each others other half.   I live now and he is gone.  He helped save me and I carry that part of him with me.  I hope he has a bit of me with him.

Thank you Mike Powroznyk, for loving me enough to tell me and help me see how to get better.  I work daily to stay better for you to be proud of me and for me to be proud of me.   I love you.  I will love you forever.

Kory

Over the past few months I realized that I am dying. I don’t mean this melodramatically. It’s just a fact.

And, not a very pleasant one. A lot of people die. A whole lot of people. In fact, we all do.

It’s just that lately because of being so freaking sick for so freaking long, at last it dawned on me – I’m fucking dying. Don’t know when. But, it’s definitely coming. Sooner than later.

I’m kinda pissed about it. In fact, that’s probably why this particular blog has a lot of profanity in it. I tend to be unladylike when I’m pissed off. Dying of shitting myself to death is a real stupid deal. If I were to have an engraved marker on a burial plot, the inscription “Patti Redd died by having the shits” sounds pretty screwed up. Thankfully, I’m not going to have an engraved marker. Richard will get me burned and toss my ashes at Ledwell, Arizona.

This messed up illness trip that started in March . . . a mere 9 months ago . . . has been a crappy deal (pardon me for sounding silly). Richard has been sick right along with me, and has surely coped a lot better than I have. He’s a trooper. Richard reminds me of the “ever ready bunny;” just keeps on keeping on. He’s a macho guy, that one.

Me. I’m a wimp. Over the last week at work I have barely made it up, out of bed, dressed, and into the office. Most days I have enough energy to look at a few emails, peck out a couple of crappy responses, and then collapse on the couch in our private room. I did manage to teach a fall protection class for about five hours on Monday. That was about the most productive that I have been.

Yesterday, as we were sitting in the Dallas airport waiting for a connecting flight to Cabo San Lucas, I looked around at the faces of other travelers. Most looked pretty okay. A lot of porkers, but at least they look healthier than I do. Bathed in the unflattering fluorescent bright lights of the airport restroom, I looked in the mirror to see a skeleton of what I used to be. The veins on my nose and neck stick out like a 90 year old. My arms look like sticks.

Here we are in the land of plenty, race of fatsos, streets jammed with Jack in the Boxes and other unhealthy, fattening food joints, and immediate availability of food everywhere – I’m literally starving to death. Go freaking figure.

I have a friend  – Katy. She always seemed so thin and tiny. Now, not so much. ..now I think Katy looks like the picture of health – she’ll probably snort with laughter if she reads this drivel!

If I seem filled with self-pity, I apologize. I’m really not. I’m just amazed. And, blown away at the irony of it all. Today is Thanksgiving. So, here’s what I’m thankful for:

 I am loved and I love

 Mexico, Fiji, Marshall Islands, Canada, Tahiti, Bali, United States, and a couple of unremembered countries have been explored by yours-truly

 At this moment I’m listening to Madeleine Peyroux on Richard’s I-Tune speaker – sitting on the oversize patio at The Bungalows in Cabo San Lucas, Mexico

 Did I mention that I’m drinking a cold beer?!

 I’m warm (since losing over 40 pounds, it seems that I’m constantly freezing!)

 There are some wonderful people out there in the world whom I have had the opportunity to meet and enjoy

So, Happy Freaking Thanksgiving to those who follow this weird little “Rat’s Nest” blog. I hope that your day of thankfulness is righteous and enjoyable.

Eat. Eat lots and enjoy!

This is the hardest post ever.  It’s over. Dad passed away on the 15th November and I feel numb. Numb, can’t focus, teary, vague… I don’t know, everything is too hard at the moment.  This is how it went:

In my last post I went home because my sister had to leave for a while.  I stayed until she came back and Dad was pretty much the same so I came home again. I found it stressful trying to juggle home and wanting to be with Dad and supporting Mum. But really, I wasn’t doing anything but waiting around for him to die and I had a family who needed me here too so I came home.

That was on a Saturday I think. Then on Tuesday Mum said everyone needed to come home because Dad was worse. So we all make our travel arrangements and begin to make our way home. I had (stupidly) taken on a huge job that I thought I could knock over in 24hrs but it took much longer and I ended up burning the candle at both ends and didn’t make it up to see Dad until Thursday. There were all kinds of problems with me getting there, my brother wanted me to go with him but I didn’t want him to wait for me so told him to go, I couldn’t get a train because it was full, nearly missed my bus because of incompetent taxi driver… ug, stress city I’m telling you!  I was so scared that I wouldn’t make it but my sisters told me they were telling him to hang on because I was coming soon.

I’d like to just take a moment here and say how absolutely fabulous T was during this time. He never blinked an eye when I was going to and fro between here and my parents, he just accepted whatever I wanted to do and got on with things without a murmur of complaint or questioning my sometimes unreasonable thinking (really, I couldn’t think properly at all so I consider the man a saint for putting up with me). It wasn’t until everything was over that he said it was hard having me away  – complete with cuddles and kisses. He is the most fabulous husband EVER!

Anyway I made it and was thankful to find Dad still lucid and knew I was there with him. I was shocked to see how much he had deteriorated in just those few days and I don’t think I’ll ever erase the visions of him being skeletal thin, wearing incontinence pants, sucking on wet sponges because he couldn’t swallow and just being so awfully, awfully sick. I really had to look into his eyes to see the Dad that I loved looking back at me.

You know what the most horrible thing was? It was that Dad knew he was dying and just wanted to go. He would go to sleep and wake in frustration that he was still here. At various times he was begging us to take him home or was begging us to talk to the doctor about giving him more morphine so he would just go to sleep and die. I will never ever forget that. I can’t believe that anyone who has ever watched a loved one die of cancer would not be an advocate for euthanasia. Seriously, if there was a switch to turn off, I would have done it. The suffering he was enduring was unbearable and no human being should have to go through that hell.

Finally he seemed to reach a plateau of peace and the frustration disappeared. All the family had gathered,  his siblings had visited, his beloved children were with him, his treasured wife never too far away.  We let him know that we loved him, he could leave us if he wanted to, we would see him in the afterlife. We (my siblings and I) were taking shifts from dawn til dusk, to sit by his bedside then Mum would come in and stay the night with him. We were trying to let her get some rest during the day and be with him during the quiet of the night. I don’t know why but we all thought he would pass during the night and that Mum should be the one to be with him.

Mum woke me at 1.05am on Sunday 15th November to tell me Dad had gone. She was going around waking us all up one by one with a shaky voice and tears in her eyes. We all arose, hugged, cried and sat staring into space wondering what to do next. Mum sent us back to bed and we got a little more sleep… kind of.

So that was it. We passed the following days in a whirl of making funeral arrangements, talking with the celebrant, and then the actual funeral. That was a very difficult day. This has already been a long post and I don’t think I have the strength to go into it right now but it was a nice service and one I think Dad would have liked.

I’m trying to get back to ‘normal’ life. It’s so hard. I feel like I’m wading through mud, I’m exhausted all the time, I can’t focus well on anything (so I’m not working), I struggle to do day to day things, I cry a lot… I suppose this is all a part of the grieving process. I don’t like it. I hate feeling out of control.

The horrendous thing is that if it’s this bad for me then it must be 100 times worse for Mum. Did I mention that Dad died 1 day away from his 77th birthday and just 5 days away from their 55th wedding anniversary? FIFTY-FIVE YEARS together! That is such a long long time to be with someone. It breaks my heart to think how difficult it will be for Mum to adjust to life without her life partner, her best friend, her soul mate. They really were an amazing couple, awesome role models and a couple that was truly meant to be together forever.

Rest in peace my Daddy, I love you so much and I miss you every second of every day.

The day before thanksgiving and everyone is going crazy getting ready.  Things have been good.  Yesterday was a very crazy funny day for me.  Instead of being angry at everything that went wrong I dealt with using laughter.  I ordered pies from a charity and drove an hour one way to pick them up and they ran out.  So I laughed.  I gave them my address and they said they would deliver them to me.  So I changed my plans around for them.  I drove home another hour.  I then waited they said 7pm by 8:15 they called I gave them a wrong street so then I gave them the correct street and I just laughed that they ended up getting to me an hour and 15 minutes later than they said no big deal my plans were changeable.  Then they got lost again on their own accord.  So they said got frustrated with me and said that they were just going to leave my pies at the intersection that they were at!!  I said WHAT (laughing) you’re going to leave my $150 worth of pies at the intersection?!  Not can you come meet me but I am going to leave your pies at the intersection – mind you they did not tell me what intersection they were as they were lost and did not know where they were at.

I just laughed, laughed at it all.  I did eventually find them and claim my pies.  No pies were harmed or abandoned.  I was not going to allow a pie abandonment.  I needed those pies.  I have two families counting on those pies.  In all 38 years of my existence I have never been threatened with having my pies left at an intersection before – it was quite comical.  In fact I laughed so hard I cried.  My girlfriend was with me, thank god, because had I been alone I might have been a little freaked out when posed with the pie abandonment.  But it all worked out in the end and the both of us had the best laugh of the year.  We decided that the night would go down in history and that this thanksgiving would be one we talked about for years to come.

So now I am at the family compound.  I finished place cards for the family dinner tomorrow.  It will be rather small only 13 of us and our 5 dogs and 1 baby.  Then after here we go to my girlfriend’s house for dinner at 6pm.  It will be a nice wonderful family filled day.

Now I am off to the theater room to watch family movies.  My parents had all their home movies transferred from tapes to dvds.

Happy Thanksgiving Everyone………..

Photo by Alexis Rhone Fancher

he used to
sing ‘Mona Lisa’
to me
in the halls

he was an art teacher
a gentle, creative force
he liked sitting with us
playing

Cat Stevens records
with his

students

he was struck by
lightening

while flying

a kite

he died
young

but

still sent

his message

of freedom

through.

“Or is this the way to hide a broken heart?
Many dreams have been brought
To your doorstep
They just lie there
And they die there
Are you warm are you real
Mona Lisa?
Or just a cold and lonely
Lovely
Work of art?

Mona Lisa
Mona Lisa”

Songwriters
Jay Livingston
Ray Evans

© 1950

L. K. Thayer

All Rights Reserved

© 2009

It dawned on me the other day that at my same age of life my mother, unbeknownst to her, had about one year to live. Thankfully after spending much of her life as an agnostic she had come to accept Jesus as her savior. In typical fashion, she approached this transformation just like she did every other area of her life. She became obsessed. She studied. She researched. She absorbed as much knowledge as possible. And after all the time and effort she put in, it still baffles me how she missed the joy of all she discovered.

She could spend hours poring over books, listening to tapes, and radio programs, remembering every nuance and detail. She could quote scripture from memory without error or hesitation.  She could point out mine and other’s failings using God’s words to back her up. She could feel the devil’s hot breath moving ever closer to our earthly world. But what she couldn’t seem to grasp was how much God loved her. How safe she was in His care. How joyful He was the day she came to be His child.

Would she have looked at all she learned from a different perspective if she had known how close her personal clock was to winding down?  Would she have worried less about His rules and celebrated His promise more? I’m looking forward to asking her someday. But till then I intend to try to live the lessons she didn’t learn. He loves me. He keeps me safe. No matter what happens around me I need not fear. The joy only He can provide is the constant song of my life.

“The LORD is my strength and my shield; my heart trusts in him, and I am helped. My heart leaps for joy and I will give thanks to him in song”. Psalm 28:7

and i have no business doing this…no business at all…but its just that from time to time i feel like i’m dying a little bit and then those words…all those lovely words reminding me of what i meant to say… or that i meant to say something….

I’m late in posting today: first four hours of orientation to become a spiritual care volunteer at a new hospital, then meditation at a psycho-geriatric care home, then calls back and forth with the executor for someone I’d agreed to accompany to the end. Her death came fast. Only two weeks ago I drove her for a medical appointment. Our conversations around dying had been cursory and her instructions regarding her memorial service in their infancy.

Now she’s gone. Her lawyer and I have set a tentative date for a gathering in her momory and I’ll have to connect with her friends and nursing colleagues to work out the details. I barely knew her and feel privileged to have been asked by her to arrange the gathering.

She was born and raised on a Prairie farm, down to earth, direct and caring, a gardener, worked as a nurse, good friend to many. I adapted this death poem in her name:

My six and sixty years are through.
I was not born, I am not dead.
Clouds floating the Prairie skies
The moon curves through its million-mile course.

source: The original poem is by Yakuo Tokuken (d. 1320). In: Hoffmann, Y. (1986) (ed.). Japanese death poems written by Zen monks and haiku poets on the verge of death. Boston/Tokyo: Tuttle, p. 127.

You are taking down my earthly tent with much tenderness and love. You have prepared a house not made with hands, eternal in the heavens. May you never leave me nor forsake me, ’till I be with you, where you are, and be like Christ and enjoy him for ever and ever! Yet a very, very little while – hold on, faith and patience – and I shall see Jesus in his glory, which is the heaven of heavens.

William Romaine

Many of you have followed my blog entries and the short journey through my friends final three months. Dagmar, a friend for over 20 years, former room mate and witness of my daughter’s birth “took flight” last month after a courageous battle with cancer.

Below I posted the video of the memorial service from this past weekend at Zuma Beach in Malibu, California. Dagmar was outrageous, funny, determined, opinionated and spiritual. My apologies about the sound, due to the waves crashing it is difficult to hear what is said throughout that part of the video. Gina sang once again the song that she had sung to Dagmar shortly before she transitioned. Many of you have thanked me for putting these videos together (I am just doing my part) and enjoyed the sensitivity Gina’s song brought to the visuals. Gina and Dagmar had an instant connection. It is perfect that Gina was the one who got to see her off with a final song goodbye just as Dagmar welcomed Gina into this world with her choice of music, Mozart.  Life goes full circle.

Inexplicably, I was very happy that day. I thought I’ll cry my eyes out and be very emotional but instead I felt almost joyous. I loved and appreciated the presence of her many friends whom I had lost touch with over the years. The stories were hilarious and we agreed that there will never be another one like her. She will be sorely missed. Funny that when a story was told that she might not have wanted to hear conveniently a motorcycle would come by and that part of the story drowned out. We laughed, even now she likes to be in control.

Glimpses of my final hour with her are still embedded in my memory. I knew she could hear me but she was unable to move or acknowledge my presence. When I said my goodbyes it was as if she tried to respond to me. I knew this was the last time I would see her.

When I woke up the following morning I felt that she had ditched her physical body. I could sense her spirit soaring and screaming (in her signature style) whoa, this is so cool, I can’t (@$&*) believe this! This sensation of her swooshing by lasted for about 48 hours and then I heard her whisper that she had to attend to some work that needed to to be done. Since then I feel her come around here and there, just as I am feeling her right now.

On the day of her memorial service I started to see activity with my book “Women Who Want It All and get it, too.” My agent and I are looking for a good home at the right publisher and the recent activity is a sign to me that there is perhaps divine guidance through the hands of my friend. It was the last piece she read.

Gone is only who is forgotten and I am quite sure that we won’t forget her. If you would have seen her in the clown outfit, the orange pumpkin coat, the Egyptian hand painted outfit or her pearl wig you wouldn’t either.

Feel free to post your comments and share your memories on the blog. We have heard from people from Manila, Spain, France and Germany.

Today I got up, went downstairs, grabbed my clean dress-clothes out of the dryer, and proceeded to get ready for a funeral. It was a funeral for a lady whom I met twice, Florence Strom. She was 97(!) when she passed on. Apparently (as I learned during the service) she was an amazing woman. Hearing about her life gave some meaning to me before reading some selections at her service.

I was asked to read Psalms 23 (at the funeral home), and the Baha’i obligatory prayer for the deceased (at the graveyard). If you don’t know (as I didn’t), psalms 23 is the “walk through the valley of the shadow of death” one. All I could think of last night was:

Which was hilarious, but also made me feel like I was being extremely inappropriate. On the bright side, I’ve decided to include a clause in my will that states that my siblings have to perform a rendition of gansta’s paradise after reading this psalm….and that Nadia has to be the main rapper (as she knows the lyrics by heart, and kills it live).

Also, I discovered that even though the Baha’i obligatory prayer for the departed is the only congregational prayer, there is still no repetition by the crowd! I was under the impression that congregational meant one person reads something, and the congregation responds, but apparently not. So I read this prayer, out in the bitter cold, and it’s LONG, but it was nice. I actually felt like it was really fitting for the occasion. (Funerals kinda force you to consider mortality, especially in relation to yourself. What do you think happens after you die? And if you believe in an afterlife, what do you think it’s like?)

Then we had a traditional Norwegian smorgasboard (mostly fish and potatoes), I socialized with some peoples (and received suggestions that I explore a career in radio), and then went and played chess.

The afternoon was focused on the visit of Ted’s nephew, Darren, who came with his wife and two kids from Kelowna. I got home, changed from ultra-dressy to jeans and a T, and cleaned-up and organized till them peoples arrived. They have a daughter named Emily as well, so there are 2(!) Emily Glabushes running around the Okanagan.

Here’s what the second one looks like:

Who's that? It's Emily Glabush le deux. Also note the de-carpeted floors underneath her feet. So nice.

The night was joyous, and once again, family is jes wicked.

Calmness…

Tranquility…

Peace…

Holding the gun to my head…

What will you do?

‘Tis the time; make your mind up.

Im praying, Im hoping, Im all in faith.

Outward appearances do, will, can, and want to lie. Able on the outside, but I cant otherwise.

Will I see the sunrise again? Its too late to see what exactly you will do to me, too early to see.

Before we get too far, tell me will you throw away the gun, bring down your walls.

I can sense your guarded, your blocked, will you shoot?

What if I said I needed you? What if I cry? What if I smile?

But I wont do any of that; Its up to you now.

Will you shoot, or will you give me the gun?

WIll you shoot, or will you give me the gun

Will you shoot, or will you give me the gu

Will you shoot, or will you give me the g

WIll you shoot, or will you give me th

Will you shoot, or will you give me t

Will you shoot, or will you give me

Will you shoot, or will you give m

Will you shoot, or will you give

Will you shoot, or will you giv

Will you shoot, or will you gi

Will you shoot, or will you g

Will you shoot, or will you

Will you shoot, or will yo

WIll you shoot, or will y

Will you shoot, or will

WIll you shoot, or wil

Will you shoot, or wi

Will you shoot, or w

Will you shoot, or

Will you shoot, o

Will you shoot,

Will you shoot

Will you shoo

Will you sho

Will you sh

Will you s

Will you

Will yo

Will y

Will

Wil

Wi

W

The windows are all open now, I surround myself with the things that I love... 
a bowl of grapes, white cotton nighty, unfinished books.
  The wind blows swollen melodies of lust and tenderness right across the room 
and into my brain... A conversation starts. It makes it that much harder 
to ignore the fact that I am alone.
 Suddenly the music feels too intimate. The implications and the heartbreak of every note 
magnifying the reality of where I am...where I want to be.
I long for a closeness that is fed by vulnerability....by weakness. 
Mine is a folded paper origami heart made 
from the Kleenex full of tears...  long since dried.
I remember how I fell from the sky and found gravity in my backbone.... 
how I stayed in that place where the light barely reached my finger tips 
until silent prayer became loud... until it felt like home.
 It crept up on me. In the folds and shadows of my skirts and my open books. 
In paintings and on snow covered sidewalks. In the drain of my bathtub...in the painful screech 
of my kettle that played a song of gratitude and shame and hope, over and over.
It’s hot now, the rain seems to have gone missing and the air smells like the color green,
 its sticky and full of chirping and incidents. Silverware outside, doors left open,
 hearts falling deeply and landing softly...I miss the little things most...
 and if I could write this is what I might say....
 

I am wiped out.  So many little household chores to do today.  Trying to get shit done so I can relax during my 4 day holiday.  Plus my little puppy and cat are quit a demanding two-some .

Ok so Today I started therapy up again.  I decided I needed a little assistance with my last mourning process.  I also decided that I needed some help with jump starting my new life routine up here in Tio.

I have put into place a good portion of it but I am having trouble getting some of it in place.  The main reason for seeking out the therapy was assistance for the mourning and it was not my idea at first.  I have to admit at first I was a little hesitant, thinking I didn’t need any help, that I could do it myself.  Then someone close to me suggested that maybe I could use a little help.

You know a while back I would have tossed such a suggestion aside but now with some much going right in my life I decided to say fuck it and decided to go and grab someone to help it me out with it.  It is so much easier this way.  And why go at it alone?

Then when I got there and go to talking I realized that I also needed some help jump nailing down the balance of my routine.  I have put together a good portion of my routine but there is still a good portion that is missing.

So I will work on mourning my loss, getting my power back, and putting my routine together.

Now the great thing about this is that all the while I still lead a successful and productive life and instead of letting it destroy itself I listened to someone who loved me and I sought out help.

Yay me, I fucking rock!!!

It’s a profoundly sad commentary on the “debate” about healthcare in the U.S. Congress that the pivotal issue of “end-of-life” medical care can no longer be discussed without invoking ridiculously offensive terminology such as “Death Panels” (thanks Sarah Palin!).

In this regard, last night’s edition of 60 Minutes featured a very incisive and sometimes disturbing piece on the subject, explaining why, as palliative care physician Dr. Ira Byock contends, many Americans are “dying badly” in the present system.

Could it be that profit, greed and fear of litigation, combined with a fundamentally irrational inability to confront mortality in a realistic way are behind so many people dying without dignity or comfort?

Note: Unfortunately, CBS hasn’t posted the complete episode on YouTube yet, but it can be watched here and the full transcript of the piece is available here.

p.s. Just to add a wry little footnote to this, what I found most provocative was Byock’s assertion about the delusional nature of a great many people when coming to grips with death, especially given that the overwhelming number of Americans claim to believe in “God” and existence in the Great Hereafter awaiting them following the magical teleportation of their spirit to the ethereal realm of Heaven or whatever… As such, their grimly determined reluctance of shake off this sinfully mortal coil would seem to indicate an alarming lack of the “faith” they’re so adamantly convinced of otherwise. Curious that.