Wahey

 

He reached up towards the darkness
Hoping that he could grab hold
Of the cosmic willow tree.
Its branches giving life to the sky and heavens above.

 

Thoughts that raced through his quick mind
Were somehow slowed by its presence;
Stable, yet always changing.
The tree stood calm in his eyes.

 

As warm breezes blew steady,
He watched for a moving branch.
Flowering buds would show themselves
Caught in static motion.

 

“Beauty,” he said to himself,
“Is much like this wonderful tree;
Always moving in its place,
Tempting thoughts just out of reach…”

 

 

*******************************************************************

 

 

One particularly arrogant, and seemingly steroid injected ex pat that I ran into at the beach the other day , offered me this gem… “In their thirties, men find themselves; while at the same age, women find themselves losing their minds…”

 

At the time, I remember a mixed reaction from the group that he was with. It got a good chuckle from the guys, and a “protect your genitals” type of look from the girls. Either way, it started an interesting follow up debate among the group of beach goers.

 

This initial statement was clearly intended to throw spark towards what would be a gasoline soaked conversation. Reflecting back on my own questionable words, just prior to that fateful bar fight back in Ireland, I appreciate how much influence making a provocative statement can have on an interaction and an ultimate outcome of events.

 

As now I approach my thirties, my most common provocative statements have been self-directed, and primarily in an attempt to stimulate the way to “finding myself.” My faith remains that it will be revealed, but my anxiety and awareness is constantly challenging this hope. I’ve done the right things, and fortunately developed more positive than negative impact around me.  As I become more familiar with my true self in time ahead, I pray for serenity.

 

During his thirties, Matthew James found himself achieving all he ever wanted in life. He had a strong marriage with his beautiful high school sweetheart, Wendy. He had an energetic and talented daughter in Sarah. He practiced a vocation that paid him more than he thought he deserved, and he loved it.

 

As the years passed, the walls of his once magnificent psychic castle started to crumble and fall. I guess the decay began shortly after Wendy died in that horrible car accident. Matthew had been left to pick up the pieces, and put them back together again for the sake of his family .

 

Now here he was at forty one, left with little more than the poignant memories of his long lost wife, and now his recently deceased daughter. He is a desperate castaway barely surviving on one of the universe’s most isolating landscapes, an island.

 

For the past seven months Matthew has lived here at the hospice with purpose.  He has lived with steadfast resolve to focus his attention towards being present for Sarah. He knew she was dying, and needed to do all that he could to make sure that she wasn’t scared or suffering; regardless of what he might have been feeling. This was his way with her. It always had been . I am sure any father would be as protective. In her younger years his job involved ridiculous work hours that didn’t leave much room for ample quality time at home. Maybe he was even making up for opportunities lost in the past.

 

It has been just over three weeks since his beloved daughter Sarah surrendered to her earthy afflictions, and died in his arms. It is strange for me to  consider a death beautiful – but hers somehow was.  As peaceful and controlled as her passing was, the realization of its finality is now almost too harsh for Matthew to bear. As the days wear on, it appears as though he can barely muster the energy needed to breathe. His spirit has been deflated. Now only a rubbery form of what it was before, he finds himself unable to move forward. I feel so bad for him, but I have no idea what to say. It is just so awkward.

 

Matthew and Sarah had been living in another of the small one bedroom cottages on the property. Although it has been weeks since her passing, he still remains in it. He has paid the Simon’s for his extended stay, and is trying to pull himself together before the return flight to California. I think he’s only coming out for meals, and occasionally at night to sit on the bench overlooking the bay. Now that his daughter is gone, his cause is seemingly lost. I worry that his mind may be following close behind.

 

Judy, one of the awesome nurses that works at Altamount has been trying to talk with him daily and offer bereavement support. It has been impossible for him to accept this offer as his despair has begun to slowly but sharply transform into resentment. As patient as Judy is, she is getting pretty frustrated with him. She asked me today if I could try talking with Matthew. I reluctantly accepted the task, and put it off all day as I searched for the least uncomfortable words. It turns out there are none. All words that I can think of are inappropriate and feel awful. I was operating at a loss all day.

 

Embarrassingly, to be honest I’ve found myself avoiding interactions with him all together recently . It is hard even to think about what he must be feeling. In the 6 months that I have been here, there is a depth of cumulative grief that I am amassing. I am aware of it and it is tightly packed right under the surface of my consciousness.

 

Selfishly I feel like if I start to talk to him, all of my own grief is going to come pouring out – and shit, I need my head to be straight this week. I finally got a date lined up with this sweet Raven haired waitress from Tennessee who just moved to the island. The last thing I want to do is give her the impression that I seem as insane as I currently believe that I am.

 

In an effort to make my job a bit less stressful, I grabbed a book from Peter’s office concerning the bereavement process. It has been helpful to read. Although many of the concepts outlined are fairly intuitive, I wish I had access to them years ago.

 

In reading through it, I have learned that while there is no standard for what is healthy and unhealthy in the bereavement process, there are some warning signs of poor adjustment to be mindful of. Coping by avoidance works for some, as it minimizes early distress, but it places the griever at greater risk down the road. I gather that this is how Matthew dealt with his wife’s untimely passing; and now the total loss of his once perfect family seemed exponentially more painful.

 

I also read that the when the grieving person loses the ability to carry on daily activities, therapy is often needed. This early grieving process becomes critical, as it has been found that those who function poorly after a month of their loss often fail to regain normal function for a year or more….We were coming down to the wire with Matthew.

 

You also have to be aware of the potential for the bereaved to develop physical ailments, as there immune system is also negatively affected. I pray that some of the anticipatory grief work that we had been doing with Matthew  starts to come to fruition, as often the best treatment for the debilitating effects of loss is prevention.

 

It wasn’t until about eleven o’clock at night until I saw my chance develop as he emerged from the cottage. He quietly sat slumped in the white plastic patio chair by the front door. He was lighting what looked to be a cigarette.  I took a deep breath and made my way over slowly…

 

My opener was lame at best, but it got me through the first terrifying pangs of my own anxiety. “I can’t sleep either Matthew.., mind if I sit?”

 

He glanced over with glossed eyes and shook his head with affirmation… Everything I wanted to say suddenly oozed out of my brain and dribbled onto my shirt’s collar. We sat in silence while he smoked… It was perfect.

 

I began to think of what the most helpful thing a friend of mine had done after I received word that my father had died. It was just sitting with me, nothing else… This would be my strategy. I thank God it worked then, and I think it did again tonight…

 

We must have looked out over the water and star speckled horizon for at least an hour before a word was exchanged… It seemed like an eternity… But it felt ok. Slowly, as my own anxiety abated, his seemed to follow suit.

 

“You know, Mark, I’ve been asking myself if coming down here has been worth it,” he offered.

 

“What do you mean?” I posed.

 

“It’s not about the money, or the services, because everyone has been great… I have appreciated all of it; but getting as close to her as I did the last several months makes right now so much harder… Sometimes I think I could have benefited from some respite by working if I were at home in California for all this.”

 

I hesitated, “Yeah, but there must have been a reason that you wanted to get here when the shit was hitting the fan…”

 

“There was…..” he said. He left it at that…

 

I did not pursue further. I just followed his lead, and looked up at the sky. Without the orange hue of city lights, the night’s sky was sharper here than I guess just about anywhere; between the moon and the clouds there was fodder for any imagination… I quietly was embraced by the knowledge of my previous conversations with Sarah and her take on the view.