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Oct. 30th, 2012 11:25 amYeah, so, it's been. A Week.
It's kind of all over the place. I'm kind of all over the place. For someone who depends a lot on routine and certainty to keep her sanity, I've been doing pretty well in the face of everything in my life changing at once.
Truth be told, I'm mostly flailing about, but some of it seems to stick. I feel like an adult for the first time in my life -- maybe an inept adult, but an adult: I am responsible for me.
Greg and I went to coffee last week and talked about taking flying leaps off of cliffs in life, trusting the universe to catch you. His marriage and a long-term partnership dissolved in the space of a week about six months ago, and he lost his job. He is happier now than I've seen him before, which is good to see. He channeled all his energy in those six months into learning how to do shamanic extraction. I know I need to channel mine into applying for jobs and grad school, but running away to join the circus sounds a lot more appealing.
Worked through the exercises in the grief book, which I highly recommend. Had lunch with Byron, who didn't figure out what he wanted to do with his life until he was 60 -- comforting in some respects. Turns out he's on the search committee for the job I applied for at FMW, so he'll be at my interview there tomorrow. I'm not sure I want to work for the Quakers, but it does up my chances of getting an offer.
On Friday, I left early and got on what is apparently The Singing Bus. The bus driver and a passenger sang gospel and traditional Irish songs all the way home. It made me very happy.
I went contradancing again Friday night. It was Halloween at the contradance, so many people came in costume. There was a woman in an exquisite Captain America costume.
And Saturday night, I gathered my courage and went up to Frederick for Leanna's life celebration. I was super-nervous about it... I don't do well in social situations, and I barely knew any of her friends. I'd met her husband a few times, but not enough to know him; he didn't have contact information for me when she died, so I found out by calling the hospice center to see if I could visit her.
I got there late because I knew I wasn't up for anything more. I walked into a large room full of people sitting quietly, listening to a guided meditation that Leanna had recorded on living in the moment. It was incredible. It was like she was taking care of me even now. Eric and Jay, who are the two people I loved the most at the Coop, were there and we held on to one another and cried and laughed and celebrated.
I've never known anybody like Leanna. It feels impossible to describe her. She was happy and welcoming and a blessing in human form. She was 28 when she was diagnosed, and 32 when she died. She came to the first Thanksgiving I ever hosted, and was patient with the turkey that took nine hours to cook. We took an art class together at the Smith Farm Center. When we worked together, we had lunch every day in the sunshine. We spent a wonderful, tipsy New Year's together. When she moved to Frederick, we spent a whole day exploring the town and its quirky little stores. Her favorite was the olive oil and vinegar emporium; my favorite was the store that sold puzzles in one half and knives in the other half, two of my favorite things.
Last year, I went up to Frederick to have lunch with her and found the house locked. I kind of freaked out; she had been living with brain tumors for several years at that point, and she couldn't walk well anymore. I really, really didn't want to be the one to find her dead.
But if she was inside, I needed to find her and maybe get her to the hospital. It was ridiculously easy to break into her house; the spare key was in the first place I looked.
Thank God, the house was empty. But I knew then that she was slipping away. Two days later, Leanna was in the hospital and had lost almost complete mobility. She had to relearn how to walk. We did a puzzle together in her hospital room and listened to music and I was so sad.
The last time we were together, I reminded her of her Reiki self-practice. We had lunch together. I ran my fingers through her pink hair.
I knew her only a few months before she was diagnosed with Stage 4 breast cancer. She was positive all the way through the journey. When it metastasized to her brain, I freaked; my mother was diagnosed with Stage 4 breast cancer that spread to her brain. Leanna lived for three years with these tumors; she was frustrated and tired, but she was never anything but optimistic. She told us all not to be afraid of hospice, that she was going to beat this thing.
I loved her a lot. I will miss her a lot. I am so thankful that she is the kind of person whose friends will organize a life celebration, and I am so thankful that I shouted down my fears and went.
"Take care of yourself," I told her husband after one last hug.
"She'd never forgive me if I didn't," he said.
It's kind of all over the place. I'm kind of all over the place. For someone who depends a lot on routine and certainty to keep her sanity, I've been doing pretty well in the face of everything in my life changing at once.
Truth be told, I'm mostly flailing about, but some of it seems to stick. I feel like an adult for the first time in my life -- maybe an inept adult, but an adult: I am responsible for me.
Greg and I went to coffee last week and talked about taking flying leaps off of cliffs in life, trusting the universe to catch you. His marriage and a long-term partnership dissolved in the space of a week about six months ago, and he lost his job. He is happier now than I've seen him before, which is good to see. He channeled all his energy in those six months into learning how to do shamanic extraction. I know I need to channel mine into applying for jobs and grad school, but running away to join the circus sounds a lot more appealing.
Worked through the exercises in the grief book, which I highly recommend. Had lunch with Byron, who didn't figure out what he wanted to do with his life until he was 60 -- comforting in some respects. Turns out he's on the search committee for the job I applied for at FMW, so he'll be at my interview there tomorrow. I'm not sure I want to work for the Quakers, but it does up my chances of getting an offer.
On Friday, I left early and got on what is apparently The Singing Bus. The bus driver and a passenger sang gospel and traditional Irish songs all the way home. It made me very happy.
I went contradancing again Friday night. It was Halloween at the contradance, so many people came in costume. There was a woman in an exquisite Captain America costume.
And Saturday night, I gathered my courage and went up to Frederick for Leanna's life celebration. I was super-nervous about it... I don't do well in social situations, and I barely knew any of her friends. I'd met her husband a few times, but not enough to know him; he didn't have contact information for me when she died, so I found out by calling the hospice center to see if I could visit her.
I got there late because I knew I wasn't up for anything more. I walked into a large room full of people sitting quietly, listening to a guided meditation that Leanna had recorded on living in the moment. It was incredible. It was like she was taking care of me even now. Eric and Jay, who are the two people I loved the most at the Coop, were there and we held on to one another and cried and laughed and celebrated.
I've never known anybody like Leanna. It feels impossible to describe her. She was happy and welcoming and a blessing in human form. She was 28 when she was diagnosed, and 32 when she died. She came to the first Thanksgiving I ever hosted, and was patient with the turkey that took nine hours to cook. We took an art class together at the Smith Farm Center. When we worked together, we had lunch every day in the sunshine. We spent a wonderful, tipsy New Year's together. When she moved to Frederick, we spent a whole day exploring the town and its quirky little stores. Her favorite was the olive oil and vinegar emporium; my favorite was the store that sold puzzles in one half and knives in the other half, two of my favorite things.
Last year, I went up to Frederick to have lunch with her and found the house locked. I kind of freaked out; she had been living with brain tumors for several years at that point, and she couldn't walk well anymore. I really, really didn't want to be the one to find her dead.
But if she was inside, I needed to find her and maybe get her to the hospital. It was ridiculously easy to break into her house; the spare key was in the first place I looked.
Thank God, the house was empty. But I knew then that she was slipping away. Two days later, Leanna was in the hospital and had lost almost complete mobility. She had to relearn how to walk. We did a puzzle together in her hospital room and listened to music and I was so sad.
The last time we were together, I reminded her of her Reiki self-practice. We had lunch together. I ran my fingers through her pink hair.
I knew her only a few months before she was diagnosed with Stage 4 breast cancer. She was positive all the way through the journey. When it metastasized to her brain, I freaked; my mother was diagnosed with Stage 4 breast cancer that spread to her brain. Leanna lived for three years with these tumors; she was frustrated and tired, but she was never anything but optimistic. She told us all not to be afraid of hospice, that she was going to beat this thing.
I loved her a lot. I will miss her a lot. I am so thankful that she is the kind of person whose friends will organize a life celebration, and I am so thankful that I shouted down my fears and went.
"Take care of yourself," I told her husband after one last hug.
"She'd never forgive me if I didn't," he said.