Today I wrestled and won a round with the mind-messing monkey that clings to me, snickering about all the things I should do, know I should do, intend to do, but never quite get around to doing.
You know the one — we all have them. Usually nags with “someone’s voice of reason”, at a time we’re feeling vulnerable. I hate this voice because it sings off-key, with nasty words that are too true.
In just over a week, I’m going semi-bionic, as I literally leap for that moment when my new left knee replaces the constant pain I’ve been in for a long time. Rehab will hurt like hell, I know, but, at the other side . . .
. . . assuming I make it to the other side. What if I don’t? What if something goes wacky? Expert worriers like me have long lists in our heads, and perhaps on paper. I trust my doctor, rehab team, hubby, hospital, and my own desire to experience some of the good life I’ve eliminated as pain and meds have limited me.
Enough of this! Today, I finally attacked and updated our wills. Nothing fancy, but they now reflect our intentions when it’s “time”. I raged at my mother for several years prior to her last illness and subsequent death, fifteen months later.
“Please!” I begged her. “I don’t care who you leave anything to, but DO SOMETHING. Don’t leave me with a mess to handle when you’re gone.”
“I’m taking care of it,” she kept reassuring me. “I’ll get it done when I’m ready. Dammit, Michele, stop bugging me!”
So she died at 2:00 a.m., on a Sunday morning, in a nursing facility, nothing updated, never told me her wishes, or anything of consequence. The result, as I probated an almost-twenty year old will, fractured the family almost beyond repair.
Fast forward a dozen or so years. Our lives are radically different than even three years ago, when I last updated our wills. Major changes to make so we don’t repeat our dysfunctional history. By the end of Monday, the new wills “should be” witnessed and complete. Then I can breathe, sleep, stop stuffing my face with ice cream (my drug of choice when stressed), and prepare for surgery with a clear and healthy mind.
In honor of my big step, I’m sharing one of my poems from LIFFELINES. May all of this help you make a good choice to finish something very important for your peace of mind.
…How excited you were
to start college at fifty-three,
wanted me to be part of it,
but how nervous I made you.
…Your camel ride,
and how you danced the Hora
without your cane
the last night in Israel.
…Your glitter days of decorating,
the treasures you collected
— herd of elephants,
music boxes, clowns,
velvet red roses, especially.
Raw, returning reminder
of sorrow’s bloom.
…You were loyal to your friends,
ecstatic with their triumphs,
anguished in their agony,
fiercely protective of those in need.
…You felt whole when you gave
beyond your limits
of time and energy and hope
then crashed. Again.
And I remember…
…All the times we dealt
in guilt and blame,
held onto hurts and slights,
refused to let them heal.
…Your choices tore us apart,
those left behind.
Impossible to make peace
with your unfinished business.
…You told me, even at the end,
we were supposed to keep arguing.
When you stopped fighting,
I’d know you’d given up.
…We swapped mother-daughter roles
several lifetimes earlier.
I couldn’t parent you any better
than you tried to do with me.
…You had the last word
when you died.
Why do I
keep arguing with you still?
Michele M. Graf
Wishing you a speedy, thorough recovery. Know you are missed this year terribly. *hug*
Thanks, Kitty. Appreciate the healing vibes and kind comments. Enjoy the Conference, and fill me in on the highlights when I’m lucid again please :-))
OOoo, new knees … bravo! … love the pic … perspective’s a funny thing, eh?
Hey, Widder! Yeah, it ain’t everyday you get to sit on your hero’s lap and discuss Life, the Universe, and Everything 🙂
Enjoy the conference. Is your parrot registered?
Unfortunately I didn’t get to play at the Con this year … dratted ill-health … but who knows, next year?
It will be worth the pain and anxiety because of all you shall receive in return. Keep looking forward.
I bet many people can identify with your poem, Michele. Death drives many people to argue with family members, as raw emotions take over. It happened to me and my sister when my mother died. I am sorry to say that was not my finest hour.