Lately behind my quiet shy half smile I present to the world that passes me by, I am filled with this terrible overpowering rage. You ask yourself why the anger Joan, what can you mad at. You are alive, you live. However, I’m afraid that I find I bow my head and say to myself very silently, I feel like I have failed my life. And I ask myself, why I am carrying these unwanted burdens in my heart. I wonder when the anger will fade, when my insides no longer will be knotted with rage and when I will move forward down the road of my new life.
I have so much, more than most others. Handsome, intelligent husband, funny, beautiful children, a warm, cozy home, two silly dogs shedding hair all over chairs, couches. I have friends with open arms and soft shoulders for me to rest my head on. Why now, why does this anger sneak into my heart and plague me so much?
I know my demons are just silly wants and old desires I have dreamed about as I have aged. I feel the possibilities of my old life grow smaller each day as I continue down the fork of the road I’ve been forced to take. It’s all fading away whether I like it or not. Selfishly and conceitedly, I so much wanted to grow up to be recognized VP, CFO, or other stupid acronym and allowed to make a difference in a small but worldly firm. I wanted the recognition for my husband, my children, my dad, for myself….My wife, the Boss – and not just of me, so what’s your mom do….she’s a vp….what’s that…..Hmmm, I think that means she has a Very Pushy loud voice. My daughter’s got a promotion the other day, did you read about it….so what’s she do…..something with numbers……oh, she’s a bookkeeper, huh. I found myself on a sinking ship, bailing water out 10 to 12 hours a day, trying to make a difference. Unfortunately the pain spread its ugly fingers throughout my bones and joints. I could no longer keep up with my colleagues and mentors, they finding found me more like baggage than a shiny resource. I was in pain. And as I tried to dance even faster, my body seized control and said you’ve done enough, no more. This “A” girl, whose Napoleonic tendencies had hoped to be a CFO so long ago, was now a nothing.
How are you feeling, you look really good, Joan. I’m fine thank-you. I, nod my head and move along smiling and chit chatting brightly as I go about my new routine. Behind the smile, I don’t even know what my new routine is. I don’t have the strength anymore to actual say what my heart wants to scream out – and really, no one really, really wants to know. But the rage seethes through me, you know that I don’t work anymore……don’t you know my feet hurt, my hands have needles in them. Open your eyes, my left breast is gone. I look weird, I walk stiffly hamper by sore bones, and the one thing I did really good which was work, I can’t do anymore. I know, I know….I look good.
It’s night, dark. The quiet surrounds me. I am in my rocking chair, hot tears of furor streaming down my cheeks. My left hand clinched into a fist, held over the empty space that once was my breast. Please, oh please…..take this dagger from heart. Just let me be…...let me be me.
Sunday, May 17, 2009
Wednesday, April 15, 2009
On the road to somewhere....or maybe not
Recently I went on a road trip. I wrote here and there, but wanted to follow the trip up with my feelings.......so here they are.
Road trip.....what can I say.....great, fabulous, exhausting, sad, headaches, laugh out loud funny, warm, beautiful, loving. It was 1700 miles in six days, two women, four girls and a really big tank. And for once, I was never in charge. In a remarkable way that was the best part. I think I'm giving up the old in-charge, task master Joan Judge more and more each day.....and wonder who this new person is. A few steady things about our holiday, Holiday Inns, swimming and wine in the evenings. Because we swam at the hotel pools every night, the girls thought it was like being at Disneyland. Chelle was an angel, a frazzled mom, and my friend. She's so driven. And yet, I know I couldn't have done the road trip without her. I feel like I have to find her a job in Seattle....she's been laid off from WaMu. She's a powerhouse, a very senior exec, in charge of more people than god. I have issues and seriously don't want another friend to leave me. (A little selfish on my part....definately old Joan behavior there).
As we drove towards my parents in California, I became more and more anxious. The flatness, the greenness, the poorness of the Sacramento Central Valley flashed past my window as we drove 515 miles in one day. The girls in the back of the tank, listening to iPods, watching DVD's, and Emma with her proverbial - "I need to go to the bathroom" at the top of every hour. I was short of breath; anxiety replacing my normal friend of pain. My nerves were frayed by mile upon mile traveled, taking me further from my island home taking me back to the ole homestead of youth, high school, tender years, faded memories of ghosts gone by.....but this was now. I was a 49, gray haired, one boobed woman returning to a place that really didn't exist anymore. I was nervous, but I was different. My mom needed me and I realized last year that I need my father more than anything and wanted to be with him again. Although filled with anxiety, I also was full of anger at my father, why here....why did he have to be here. Why couldn't he be up with me? I had cancer in Seattle, why couldn't he have cancer there.
My parents are staying at Beale AFB, the last Air Force base my father was stationed at. It's nestled at the toes of the foothills near the Sierras. It's vast land; soft rolling hills covered with bright green grass that waves slowly like large waves in distant deep oceans. You see old oak trees; limbs gnarled with it's many fingers, branches trying to stretch upwards toward the sky only to be curled and weighed by age, leaves lightly scraping the ground instead. I remember the base from the old days, busy with bright young and sharp servicemen, fast planes of many colors and shapes......and here it was.....old, quiet, beautiful, peaceful, sad. A side comment, here's a beautiful piece of land our country owns and does nothing with.....where is the government employing many of our families, where are the bright young servicemen, where are the jobs that fueled the economies of small town Americana. Perhaps, its better that our government does nothing with the land.....if by chance they did sell it, the beauty might be spoilt to concrete and paper-thin houses of progress.
I get lucky, Chelle, the driver, me, the roadmap reader, decide to by pass my old homestead of Yuba City. Relief runs through my veins. I don't have to worry about running into anyone I know, I don't know who I am yet - I'm still working on this new Joan - and she's still an infant, just not quite up to talking of past, present and future. We skirt east, driving past Marysville on the other side of the river. We've decided to stay in the wonderfully tacky town of Lincoln.....the fastest growing town in California, or so the sign says. As we drive down the final two lane highway after a long day in the tank, I say you'll know Lincoln by the huge grain silos – as it was what I remember about the town from my youth. The silos are just as I remembered, but the place is covered with cardboard cutout beige homes with their duplicated green turf lawns. Wow, where had all these people come from...... where was the river, where was the open land dotted oak trees that I knew from before. I guess this is progress.
I don't know how Chelle managed the children during the days while I visited with my dad during the afternoons, but our nights were full of bad food, laughter, and splashing in the pools. One of the best nights was when I painted the girls fingernails. Chelle took the toes. Blues, pinks slapped on moving hands. I'm not sure how, but I ended up with Martian green adorning my fingernails....hmmm maybe too much wine sloshed down in paper cups between friends.
My dad was worse than I thought. Emma tugs on my sleeve. She says his face is gone, it's vanished to be replaced by the white gauntness of illness – “He has no more smiles, Mama....I know sweetie, they'll be back one day”. He's lost over 50 pounds in 4 weeks. He's thin, more or less still my dad...perhaps similar to the tall, slim soldier I knew long ago when I was Emma's age. Hannah and Emma were fascinated by ny father's new belly button, otherwise known as the shunt for his feeding tube. It's six inches higher than his old belly button; it's his new nourishment center. White liquid flows into it like mother's milk used to flow through his other button. Like cancer Joan from last year, he can't keep anything down. His throat is burnt raw; bleeding from the daily radiation treatments. He's throwing up, over and over again. I watched him, seeing me from last year. It's painful, for me a reminder of the past and possible future, for him it's the now. He'd rub his head just as I had done after I'd lost my hair. We'd sit side by side in big leather chairs, quiet, the hours moving slowly by, both of us staring at the green oceans outside. Whatcha thinking about Dad, I'd softly say. He'd rub his head, stare off into the distant and after a while when I thought perhaps he didn't hear me - would say.....I just don't understand why the doctors can't tell me if I'm going to live or die. This is me, it's last year, it's now. The doctors will never tell you, you just have to live for today, but I say nothing and quietly sit in the big leather chair next to my dad.
My mom is my dad's cheerleader. When he gets well, when we get out of here, when we get to Florence, when we get to your house - it's her mantra. You are going to get better; you've got to eat - would you like some pear juice, maybe soft peaches. It will be 50 years in June, she loves this grumpy old man. The whole time I watched him, I felt worse for my mom. Mom, open your eyes.....he's bad. He's going to get well; he's got the best doctors. You'd love his cancer facility, the nurses are so caring. It’s his life now. It's where he's happy. Mom, you have no help. You're alone. Its okay, I've been through this before - I remember. Towards the end of the visit, I had signed onto the mantra. Dad, you've got to work on getting better. I'm going to Italy, wouldn't you like to meet me there......Spain is just around the corner, you know how much you love Spain. And as my mom dropped me off at the hotel at the end of my visit, she leaned over and hugged me and says words of love into my shoulder.....She whispers words just for me, her daughter. She’s cared for me as she now cares for my father. I know what he knows; I have felt what he now feels. Later, I cry for what seems like forever. Chelle and I proceed to get stinking drunk and tell each other secrets to comfort each other.
Our next fabulous adventure was a mad dash of 350 miles west to San Francisco. We met up with Doug - my girls just love him. They also loved seeing Dylan's other messy, small little home. Doug is my ex, btw. We went over to the mission district for lunch up at Dolores Park. The park has an incredible broad view of the city. Burritos and Tacos, yum, my favorite from L'Tacqueria were scarfed down by road trip girls on the go. We followed up the lunch with pedal boat rides on Stow Lake in Golden Gate Park. It was warm, the kids giggle at turtles, Canadian geese mating, and boats crashing into each other. It was 80 degrees....and my toes were warm as I stretched out in the back of the boat while my children tried to steer it. Doug pedaled us forward and backwards. Cameras were precariously passed from one boat to another, photos flashed....cheese.....go away geese.....look at that building....it's an old Chinese Pagoda - it's so pretty mama. My former home, shared with friends.
Then the long grinding haul home, two tired women and four not so giggly girls drive up the I-5. We stay in a tacky hotel on the outskirts of Sausalito and Mill Valley.....another Holiday Inn....same free breakfast day after day. Favorite parts of the adventure......my friends, my girls, Ashland, Oregon....I definitely would love to go back and walk around the quaint shops – two women and four giggly girls who want everything in sight do not make for fun window shopping. Plus I'd like to see the plays. The town was having a film festival - it looked noir-ishly interesting and I was longing for Dylan to be there. (I still have "hope" that some day soon Dylan will come to his senses and go to film school). Another favorite part of our adventure, a rest stop we made in California - olive trees everywhere - beautiful girls running on the green lawns. Oh yes, and passing through "Weed".....a smaller, than small town, located somewhere on I-5.
And so concluded my road trip......no we weren't Thelma and Louise, nor Chevy Chase on one of his vacations......okay, just maybe, just a very small portion of Lucy and Ethel......but mainly we were two women and four giggle girls in a very big tank.
Road trip.....what can I say.....great, fabulous, exhausting, sad, headaches, laugh out loud funny, warm, beautiful, loving. It was 1700 miles in six days, two women, four girls and a really big tank. And for once, I was never in charge. In a remarkable way that was the best part. I think I'm giving up the old in-charge, task master Joan Judge more and more each day.....and wonder who this new person is. A few steady things about our holiday, Holiday Inns, swimming and wine in the evenings. Because we swam at the hotel pools every night, the girls thought it was like being at Disneyland. Chelle was an angel, a frazzled mom, and my friend. She's so driven. And yet, I know I couldn't have done the road trip without her. I feel like I have to find her a job in Seattle....she's been laid off from WaMu. She's a powerhouse, a very senior exec, in charge of more people than god. I have issues and seriously don't want another friend to leave me. (A little selfish on my part....definately old Joan behavior there).
As we drove towards my parents in California, I became more and more anxious. The flatness, the greenness, the poorness of the Sacramento Central Valley flashed past my window as we drove 515 miles in one day. The girls in the back of the tank, listening to iPods, watching DVD's, and Emma with her proverbial - "I need to go to the bathroom" at the top of every hour. I was short of breath; anxiety replacing my normal friend of pain. My nerves were frayed by mile upon mile traveled, taking me further from my island home taking me back to the ole homestead of youth, high school, tender years, faded memories of ghosts gone by.....but this was now. I was a 49, gray haired, one boobed woman returning to a place that really didn't exist anymore. I was nervous, but I was different. My mom needed me and I realized last year that I need my father more than anything and wanted to be with him again. Although filled with anxiety, I also was full of anger at my father, why here....why did he have to be here. Why couldn't he be up with me? I had cancer in Seattle, why couldn't he have cancer there.
My parents are staying at Beale AFB, the last Air Force base my father was stationed at. It's nestled at the toes of the foothills near the Sierras. It's vast land; soft rolling hills covered with bright green grass that waves slowly like large waves in distant deep oceans. You see old oak trees; limbs gnarled with it's many fingers, branches trying to stretch upwards toward the sky only to be curled and weighed by age, leaves lightly scraping the ground instead. I remember the base from the old days, busy with bright young and sharp servicemen, fast planes of many colors and shapes......and here it was.....old, quiet, beautiful, peaceful, sad. A side comment, here's a beautiful piece of land our country owns and does nothing with.....where is the government employing many of our families, where are the bright young servicemen, where are the jobs that fueled the economies of small town Americana. Perhaps, its better that our government does nothing with the land.....if by chance they did sell it, the beauty might be spoilt to concrete and paper-thin houses of progress.
I get lucky, Chelle, the driver, me, the roadmap reader, decide to by pass my old homestead of Yuba City. Relief runs through my veins. I don't have to worry about running into anyone I know, I don't know who I am yet - I'm still working on this new Joan - and she's still an infant, just not quite up to talking of past, present and future. We skirt east, driving past Marysville on the other side of the river. We've decided to stay in the wonderfully tacky town of Lincoln.....the fastest growing town in California, or so the sign says. As we drive down the final two lane highway after a long day in the tank, I say you'll know Lincoln by the huge grain silos – as it was what I remember about the town from my youth. The silos are just as I remembered, but the place is covered with cardboard cutout beige homes with their duplicated green turf lawns. Wow, where had all these people come from...... where was the river, where was the open land dotted oak trees that I knew from before. I guess this is progress.
I don't know how Chelle managed the children during the days while I visited with my dad during the afternoons, but our nights were full of bad food, laughter, and splashing in the pools. One of the best nights was when I painted the girls fingernails. Chelle took the toes. Blues, pinks slapped on moving hands. I'm not sure how, but I ended up with Martian green adorning my fingernails....hmmm maybe too much wine sloshed down in paper cups between friends.
My dad was worse than I thought. Emma tugs on my sleeve. She says his face is gone, it's vanished to be replaced by the white gauntness of illness – “He has no more smiles, Mama....I know sweetie, they'll be back one day”. He's lost over 50 pounds in 4 weeks. He's thin, more or less still my dad...perhaps similar to the tall, slim soldier I knew long ago when I was Emma's age. Hannah and Emma were fascinated by ny father's new belly button, otherwise known as the shunt for his feeding tube. It's six inches higher than his old belly button; it's his new nourishment center. White liquid flows into it like mother's milk used to flow through his other button. Like cancer Joan from last year, he can't keep anything down. His throat is burnt raw; bleeding from the daily radiation treatments. He's throwing up, over and over again. I watched him, seeing me from last year. It's painful, for me a reminder of the past and possible future, for him it's the now. He'd rub his head just as I had done after I'd lost my hair. We'd sit side by side in big leather chairs, quiet, the hours moving slowly by, both of us staring at the green oceans outside. Whatcha thinking about Dad, I'd softly say. He'd rub his head, stare off into the distant and after a while when I thought perhaps he didn't hear me - would say.....I just don't understand why the doctors can't tell me if I'm going to live or die. This is me, it's last year, it's now. The doctors will never tell you, you just have to live for today, but I say nothing and quietly sit in the big leather chair next to my dad.
My mom is my dad's cheerleader. When he gets well, when we get out of here, when we get to Florence, when we get to your house - it's her mantra. You are going to get better; you've got to eat - would you like some pear juice, maybe soft peaches. It will be 50 years in June, she loves this grumpy old man. The whole time I watched him, I felt worse for my mom. Mom, open your eyes.....he's bad. He's going to get well; he's got the best doctors. You'd love his cancer facility, the nurses are so caring. It’s his life now. It's where he's happy. Mom, you have no help. You're alone. Its okay, I've been through this before - I remember. Towards the end of the visit, I had signed onto the mantra. Dad, you've got to work on getting better. I'm going to Italy, wouldn't you like to meet me there......Spain is just around the corner, you know how much you love Spain. And as my mom dropped me off at the hotel at the end of my visit, she leaned over and hugged me and says words of love into my shoulder.....She whispers words just for me, her daughter. She’s cared for me as she now cares for my father. I know what he knows; I have felt what he now feels. Later, I cry for what seems like forever. Chelle and I proceed to get stinking drunk and tell each other secrets to comfort each other.
Our next fabulous adventure was a mad dash of 350 miles west to San Francisco. We met up with Doug - my girls just love him. They also loved seeing Dylan's other messy, small little home. Doug is my ex, btw. We went over to the mission district for lunch up at Dolores Park. The park has an incredible broad view of the city. Burritos and Tacos, yum, my favorite from L'Tacqueria were scarfed down by road trip girls on the go. We followed up the lunch with pedal boat rides on Stow Lake in Golden Gate Park. It was warm, the kids giggle at turtles, Canadian geese mating, and boats crashing into each other. It was 80 degrees....and my toes were warm as I stretched out in the back of the boat while my children tried to steer it. Doug pedaled us forward and backwards. Cameras were precariously passed from one boat to another, photos flashed....cheese.....go away geese.....look at that building....it's an old Chinese Pagoda - it's so pretty mama. My former home, shared with friends.
Then the long grinding haul home, two tired women and four not so giggly girls drive up the I-5. We stay in a tacky hotel on the outskirts of Sausalito and Mill Valley.....another Holiday Inn....same free breakfast day after day. Favorite parts of the adventure......my friends, my girls, Ashland, Oregon....I definitely would love to go back and walk around the quaint shops – two women and four giggly girls who want everything in sight do not make for fun window shopping. Plus I'd like to see the plays. The town was having a film festival - it looked noir-ishly interesting and I was longing for Dylan to be there. (I still have "hope" that some day soon Dylan will come to his senses and go to film school). Another favorite part of our adventure, a rest stop we made in California - olive trees everywhere - beautiful girls running on the green lawns. Oh yes, and passing through "Weed".....a smaller, than small town, located somewhere on I-5.
And so concluded my road trip......no we weren't Thelma and Louise, nor Chevy Chase on one of his vacations......okay, just maybe, just a very small portion of Lucy and Ethel......but mainly we were two women and four giggle girls in a very big tank.
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