We've got sttteeeam heat
This raffleflaffing heat (last night's low was 78 degrees) is getting to me. Today is like the 10 billioneth day with temperatures over 90. OK more like a week or so. But after all this time I think it's finally driven me to the brink of my sanity. I woke up this morning and started blogging. I figured out that my livejournal would now be my friends only blog and this will be my public "Hey everyone read about my life" blog.
I'm totally writing because I have nothing better to do and it's cooler down in the building's basement which is where the computer is. I should be writing an incomplete paper on Schleiermacher, RW Emerson and the pitfall of individual transcendent experience in creating cohesive communal theological expression, but I'm too tired and hot.
The school installed an air conditioner in my building. ...In the communal dining room... Yes, I actually considered how I could sleep comfortable on the dining room table. I still might do that. Or maybe I'll just drag my papasan chair into the room and get a crick in my neck for one more night.
So I was just reading a friends blog at www.dorklepork.livejournal.com and it got me thinking about my mom and the nature of families and illness.
Back in 1999 my mom had a brain hemmorrage. This was a completely lifechanging event for her and for the whole family consequently. My mother is really quite amazing. She's a math teacher, artist, athlete, carpenter, she sews (she created all my costumes growing up and made me the red cape that I am sometimes seen wearing. The one that makes people start singing Into the Woods or "Hey there little red riding hood" at me). She's a doer and a fixer and a true Renaissance woman.
When she had what she calls her "Brain explosion" and the associated surgery she came out of all of it significantly changed. The first 6 months or so she was blind in one eye and could not drive. She had trouble concentrating and finishing simple tasks. She became frustrated daily. This was hard to see because she was the one who would make things better or be able to do anything she put her mind to and all of a sudden all of it was a struggle.
We were not supportive in the right way. My friend talks about the family not "getting" what her mom is going through and this was certainly the case with my family. We kept telling her "but we're just happy you're alive" (because she really did almost die) while she struggled with so many things that used to be ridiculously simple for her. We were telling her to be thankful and she was struggling with being thankful for another day of helplessness and frustration.
As you might suspect, this time in the life of my family came up a lot during my chaplaincy. I saw so many families trying to maintain a false sense of normalcy while their loved one was dying or facing a serious medical condition. It is amazing how everyone in a family system is affected by a disease and everyone takes on different roles in coping with it. Sometimes the sick person becomes the healer. There's often a person who avoids it completely who is seen as cold or distant, but is usually very scared and quite preoccupied with the entire thing. There's the person who uses humor or some other technique to distract from the gravity of the situation (this was me in the case of my family. My mom asked me to make her laugh because, in all honesty, my mom is my best audience.). There's a fixer who is rearranging the furniture (redolent of Titanic deck chairs) in the hospital room, or asking lots of questions of everyone, or bringing goodies and making sure everything is taken care of.
We can't help ourselves and all of these are really human ways of coping with medical crises, or any other crisis for that matter. Really what we can do in these situations is be present with our loved one. To listen as well as we can to their experience and love them. And also to take care of ourselves. To know when we need to not go to the hospital and when we need to veg in front of a tv or go take a walk or see a friend. My role as chaplain had to do with acknowledging the patient and the family with where they were "really at" emotionally. Because we take on these roles, but the trueness of the situation is not that far beneath.
My family's story really impacted my ministry and my life and continues to do so.
We are powerless to change so many things and we have to trust, we have to have faith that whatever happens there will still be love and family and a life that is livable. Sure things will not be the same in a lot of cases, and we often lose things that are desperately important to us. Like my mom lost some of her independence, vigor and wickedly smart intelligence. Like I lost the security that my mom will always be there for me and that she can do anything. But at the same time we are losing things, something else is being gained though it may be impossible to see in the moment, in a couple of years or ever. For my family we gained a renewed love for one another. I'll never forget watching my typically stoic and not at all touchy-feely aunts fall into a pile of joyous tears when the surgeon came out and said the surgery had been successful. I gained things I use everyday in my ministry and in my own life. I have to ask my mother is she feels she's gained anything from it.
How to end this post? Well, I could just say "The End"
I could also mention that in unrelated news I've been writing a lot. Lots of poetry and it seems to be coming out really well. I love when poetry comes out well. It feels like a long glass of cold water. There's a physical ease that accompanies successful creativity. I may post some.
You have been warned.
I'm totally writing because I have nothing better to do and it's cooler down in the building's basement which is where the computer is. I should be writing an incomplete paper on Schleiermacher, RW Emerson and the pitfall of individual transcendent experience in creating cohesive communal theological expression, but I'm too tired and hot.
The school installed an air conditioner in my building. ...In the communal dining room... Yes, I actually considered how I could sleep comfortable on the dining room table. I still might do that. Or maybe I'll just drag my papasan chair into the room and get a crick in my neck for one more night.
So I was just reading a friends blog at www.dorklepork.livejournal.com and it got me thinking about my mom and the nature of families and illness.
Back in 1999 my mom had a brain hemmorrage. This was a completely lifechanging event for her and for the whole family consequently. My mother is really quite amazing. She's a math teacher, artist, athlete, carpenter, she sews (she created all my costumes growing up and made me the red cape that I am sometimes seen wearing. The one that makes people start singing Into the Woods or "Hey there little red riding hood" at me). She's a doer and a fixer and a true Renaissance woman.
When she had what she calls her "Brain explosion" and the associated surgery she came out of all of it significantly changed. The first 6 months or so she was blind in one eye and could not drive. She had trouble concentrating and finishing simple tasks. She became frustrated daily. This was hard to see because she was the one who would make things better or be able to do anything she put her mind to and all of a sudden all of it was a struggle.
We were not supportive in the right way. My friend talks about the family not "getting" what her mom is going through and this was certainly the case with my family. We kept telling her "but we're just happy you're alive" (because she really did almost die) while she struggled with so many things that used to be ridiculously simple for her. We were telling her to be thankful and she was struggling with being thankful for another day of helplessness and frustration.
As you might suspect, this time in the life of my family came up a lot during my chaplaincy. I saw so many families trying to maintain a false sense of normalcy while their loved one was dying or facing a serious medical condition. It is amazing how everyone in a family system is affected by a disease and everyone takes on different roles in coping with it. Sometimes the sick person becomes the healer. There's often a person who avoids it completely who is seen as cold or distant, but is usually very scared and quite preoccupied with the entire thing. There's the person who uses humor or some other technique to distract from the gravity of the situation (this was me in the case of my family. My mom asked me to make her laugh because, in all honesty, my mom is my best audience.). There's a fixer who is rearranging the furniture (redolent of Titanic deck chairs) in the hospital room, or asking lots of questions of everyone, or bringing goodies and making sure everything is taken care of.
We can't help ourselves and all of these are really human ways of coping with medical crises, or any other crisis for that matter. Really what we can do in these situations is be present with our loved one. To listen as well as we can to their experience and love them. And also to take care of ourselves. To know when we need to not go to the hospital and when we need to veg in front of a tv or go take a walk or see a friend. My role as chaplain had to do with acknowledging the patient and the family with where they were "really at" emotionally. Because we take on these roles, but the trueness of the situation is not that far beneath.
My family's story really impacted my ministry and my life and continues to do so.
We are powerless to change so many things and we have to trust, we have to have faith that whatever happens there will still be love and family and a life that is livable. Sure things will not be the same in a lot of cases, and we often lose things that are desperately important to us. Like my mom lost some of her independence, vigor and wickedly smart intelligence. Like I lost the security that my mom will always be there for me and that she can do anything. But at the same time we are losing things, something else is being gained though it may be impossible to see in the moment, in a couple of years or ever. For my family we gained a renewed love for one another. I'll never forget watching my typically stoic and not at all touchy-feely aunts fall into a pile of joyous tears when the surgeon came out and said the surgery had been successful. I gained things I use everyday in my ministry and in my own life. I have to ask my mother is she feels she's gained anything from it.
How to end this post? Well, I could just say "The End"
I could also mention that in unrelated news I've been writing a lot. Lots of poetry and it seems to be coming out really well. I love when poetry comes out well. It feels like a long glass of cold water. There's a physical ease that accompanies successful creativity. I may post some.
You have been warned.
posted by Hildegardian at 5:07 AM
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