Adult

While visiting a local park I found these items laying together at the base of a tree. It reminded me of how all of us need comfort.

It also reminded me of a story that I carry with me. A participant of my group, who was terribly addicted to alcohol and all types of drugs, said that his parents shared beer and alcohol with him when he was an infant. I continue to wonder how much of an influence those early years had on his addiction and on his ability to self-soothe.

Looking at the empty bottle and pacifier I thought of an adult and a baby sitting under the tree self-soothing with their favorite way to comfort. Or maybe both were unhappy and trying to ease their troubles away.

The picture just left me wondering. How about you?

This is another curiosity, an empty wheelchair left on a trail at the Martinez Marina. The abandon chair seemed so out of place. Again, I started to project lots of thoughts. One was someone got dumped in the bay never to be seen again. And then of course just the general question: “What happened?” I suspect only one or two people will know the answer to that.

Here’s another curiosity, all be it a man-made one. To me it begs the question: “Who was the one who told some worker to go out and put those words on what is obviously a door?”

When my husband Richard’s health was failing it was a challenging time for both of us. After several months of nurturing him and being his primary caregiver, I took an extended weekend cruise touring the coast of CA. It was a break I needed, and I was fortunate to have a competent home health care person come in to take my place for a few days.

While cruising one evening, I went down to one of the small bars to have a cocktail before my dinner. As I sat there watching the other passengers walk through the mezzanine area, I noticed this single unoccupied cruise lounge chair facing a wall. Wondering how it got placed that way I was surprised when a man came and just sat in it.

He didn’t move the chair or seem to be interested in turning it around. He just sat there facing the wall. I was so curious and amazed at his disconnection with the world. There was all sorts of cruise hustle and bustle going on around him and yet, facing the wall he blocked it out. He wasn’t sleeping but clearly, he was detached. After about ten minutes he got up and left. I thought it was some of the oddest behavior I had ever seen.

And yet, before I could take another sip of my cocktail, another man took the seat. He seemed to be of the same stature of the man who just left.

He also seemed content to sit, facing the wall and block out all that was going on around him. Within a few minutes he also got up and left. Once again, I was struck by the significance of being detached from the experience being presented and needing to take a pause. To this day I continue to think about our need to preserve. Of being present in crowded situations yet not wanting or needing to be actively engaged. Whether it be intentional or unplanned, how all of us drift in and out of life situations.

Wisdom tells me that the drifting is a necessary part of self preservation.

Late Sept. 2001

To tell or not to tell, that is the question, I think while sitting on a toilet in the women’s room at the San Francisco Airport. It was a week to the day after the 9-11 attack in New York. I am on my way to visit my ailing Mother, who lives in Detroit. Security is high, and we are all asked to be alert for the unusual. Throughout the airport, over and over again, the message “Do not leave your bags unattended.” is announced. However, while entering a restroom, a grandmotherly woman approaches me and asks if I want her to watch my bag. I responded with a firm but pleasant “No” and quickly shut the door. Placing my derriere on the seat, I think all I want to do is get on the plane, nestle down into my assigned seat, and listen to my iPod. But now, I’m not sure what to do.

So, I contemplate the situation. What is wrong with that woman? Doesn’t she know that question is out of the question nowadays? Surely, she must live under a rock. Shaking my head in desperation, I look around the stall. The toilet paper roll is on the left, the Kotex garbage can is on the right, and my purse is hanging on the hook in the middle of the door to encase me. I look down and see my knees hiding my feet, and my suitcase is blocking the way out. There is not much room to maneuver anything. So, I start to think about the grandmotherly woman again.

If I had to describe her, could I? Let’s see. She is an old, white woman with apple cheeks, dressed in a flowery dress, wearing flat walking shoes. Her grayish-white hair is straight into a bun, and she wears wired-rimmed glasses that frame her rounded eyes. She seemed innocent enough. But is she really? Maybe she isn’t so innocent. Perhaps she is a man dressed like a woman who…oh hell, Joyce, let’s not go too far with this or get too paranoid. After all, she did get through security, and now she is down by the gates.

All the more reason to think about what just occurred: Crip, I think, am I in charge of the whole world now? What is my responsibility to others, considering what happened a week ago? Do I need to tell someone what just happened to me? If I don’t tell and the airport blows up, what will that feel like? Or will I even be around to feel it? Oh heck, let me just get out of this stale, wash my hands, and maybe some clarity will come to me.

But, what continues are more thoughts. Damn, why did this happen to me? All I wanted to do was make a pit stop before boarding my flight to Detroit. Now I am in charge of this whole terminal. Ok, ok, let me try and stop this craziness. What I will do is leave the restroom and look around the gates for the woman. If I don’t see her, I will tell one of the agents what happened to me. If I do see her well, I’ll decide what to do then.

I leave the restroom and immediately become vigilant, scanning the crowds to find her. Not seeing her, I decided to wait in line to talk to an agent. Just then, I heard a flight call for a plane boarding for Atlanta. Turning towards the announced gate, I see the grandmotherly woman surrounded by what appears to be her family, and she is walking towards the entrance of that gate. Relieved to see her boarding, I shake my head in relief, feeling at least the terminal is secure. Then, I wonder if the plane heading for Atlanta will land safely. Chuckling to myself, I think, if I read about it in the papers, at least it’s not on my watch anymore!

Here I am again, looking over another impossible moment. Unfortunately, hospitals, particularly the ER and ICUs, are familiar places to me. I find myself here whenever there is reason to give up hope, and today is one such day.

Mary Matthews was in a terrible accident. She had just gotten off the commuter train after working all day. She was walking to the bus stop when a car ran the red light and hit her.

Mary’s family lives several miles away and can’t be with her, but her fiancé, Tom, is standing by her bedside. Through his tears and distress, I’m listening to him recollect what happened. She was thrown onto the windshield of the car, her body crushed, and then she landed on the ground. The blow fractured her skull and broke her pelvis. Right now, she is in a coma and is clinging to life.

The doctor tries her best to give Tom a cautiously realistic report of Mary’s condition. She says Mary needs surgery right away. Tom hears the doctor’s words but can’t digest them. Softly, he calls to his darling Mary and expresses his love for her.

I had just finished my work with a critical-care patient in the ICU when I sensed Tom needed my service in the ER. My name is “the Glimmer,” and I am a superhero. I am small in structure, usually nondescript, and at times invisible. My power comes from transformations of tragedy and despair into optimism and hope. I am more visible when tears dry up and when there is brightness and positive energy in the air. I am the smallest percentage of goodness appearing at the darkest moments. I am that particle of life that remains encouraged and confident during and after all tragedies.

But enough about me. Let’s go back to Mary and Tom’s tragic situation. He seems to be almost inconsolable and extremely distraught, not unlike most folks I need to assist. Ah, here comes someone in a flowery shirt, picking at his nose and carrying a bottle of Gatorade. Tom seems to recognize him. Besides his goofy appearance, he looks scared and shocked. I think he is a good candidate for me to infuse. Here I go.

Tom turns to him: “Thanks for coming, Bro. I need all the help I can get right now.”

After taking a gulp of the Gatorade and wiping his mouth on his sleeve, he says, “Sorry I couldn’t get here sooner. What do ya’ need, and how’s Mary?”

“They’re taking her up to surgery in a few minutes. The doctor says that if she gets through the surgery, it will be several hours before we will really know anything about her condition or her recovery. Oh, Eddie…I just don’t know what to think. This is so hard, and I don’t know what to do. I love her so much. I can’t think about not having her…”

“Hey, Hey, Hey, let’s not go there just yet. Let’s just take this one step at a time. Mary’s strong. She’s got lots of things going for her, like good health, eating right, and exercising. She’s young. Whatever comes her way, she’ll get through it.”

I see Tom still tearfully looking for more reassurance from Eddie. He’s still not entirely buying into my powers.

Eddie continues to compassionately encourage: “She’s a fighter, man. She’s got tenacity. Why…remember her up at old Uncle Kelly’s turnip farm. Remember Tom? Remember when we raced to see who could pull up the most turnips? She was hella’ fast.” Taking a swig of his Gatorade, he adds, “Remember? She even had the dog helping her…”

Both Tom and Eddie begin to laugh a little, and TA-DAH! “the Glimmer” is transferred and shared. I know, just then, the feeling of despair is dissipating, and the anticipation of hope is taking its place. I begin to brighten, shimmer, and finally shine.

At that time, the surgery transport team came to take Mary. Holding back tears, Tom bends down and whispers something to her.

“How about we get out of here for a little while?” Eddie says, putting his hand on Tom’s shoulder. “We could walk down to the La Petite Cake Bakery down the street… And for me, a bathroom break wouldn’t be a bad idea either.”

As always, The See’s Candy arrived just in time for her birthday. Her friend of over forty years never seemed to forget how much she loved the “nuts and chews”. Sitting at her kitchen table, she opened the brown cardboard shipping package and found the one-pound box wrapped in white paper. Reaching for the table knife she slit the paper and unwrapped her treasure. The familiar box was embossed with the traditional picture of Mrs. See’s on the lower right-hand corner, the nostalgic farm house on the upper left, and the black and gold lettering that announced: “See’s Famous Old Time Candies” in the middle. Opening the box, she took the pamphlets and top bubble wrap out and stared at all the lovely chocolates. Each distinctive piece was sitting in its own wrinkly cup and the rich deep delicious chocolate aroma filled the air.

Her mouth started to water and all she could think of was which to sample first? If her friend were here, there would be no question about which she would choose. There was an unwritten rule between them that the dark chocolates with honeycomb were the first ones to share. Then, as they talked about their families and caught up on life events, they both would pick and choose, rummaging initially through all the dark morsels and then on to the milk chocolates. With a cup of tea or two some pleasurable memories would pour out while the chocolates were nonchalantly passed back and forth.

All too soon the darks would be gone. A remark would be made that maybe its time to put the box away. They would look impishly at each other and then in unison they would say: “Not!” One of them would take a milk chocolate caramel for herself while passing the box back towards her friend. The gab session would continue with loving gestures and lots of laughter, and one by one the milk chocolate nuts and chews would disappear.

Oh, how she missed those days and how she missed her friend. She thought about their lives and how much their friendship meant to both of them. From their adolescent years they shared all their life transitions together. Bad boyfriends, good boyfriends, careers, marriages, birthing babies, divorce, the joys of receiving grandchildren, and the grieving of family and friends’ deaths.

Biting into one if the milk chocolates she thought, maybe it’s time for a new tradition. She dialed her friend’s phone number. Smiling, she heard the familiar, “Hello! I got the box you sent too!” and so they began to reminisce once more.