A Christmas Gift

It was one of those super clear days that we have in late December on what was surely one of the coldest days of last year. Between Christmas and New Year’s, and I wanted to go for a drive, to at least be in some of the sunlight that was to be had. Sherry agreed, but wanted to know where we were going.  I said it would be a surprise as I always did, and I really had no idea where we would drive.  But I packed the three of us in the car (Stoli, our dog, too) and made sure that I included Sherry’s beautiful warm coat, her gloves, a scarf, a blanket and her Harley Davidson knit cap.

As we got on the freeway about 3pm, it was much later than I wanted it to be, and wasn’t sure where we would go.  But it hit me that we might just be able to catch a great sunset, if we were in the right spot.  And so I drove, south on the Harbor Freeway, through San Pedro and up to the hill overlooking the Pacific Ocean. Suddenly, Catalina Island was smack dab in front of us, as sharply outlined as you might ever see.  The hill, part of Angel’s Gate Park, hosts the Korean Friendship Bell, a gift from Korea to our country, to symbolize friendship between the two nations.

I aimed the van so Sherry could see the spectacular view, and I got out to snap a few photos, braving the biting wind and cold that had brought the scene we were enjoying.  We didn’t stay long, the sun set quickly and the watchman was ready to lock up as the park closes at sunset.

We decided to find somewhere to have a bite to eat, and continued our drive from San Pedro around to Palos Verdes.  We passed by the Wayfarers Chapel, where Sherry’s mother had married her second husband, Joe, many years ago.

We pulled into an upscale strip mall in Rancho Palos Verdes, and saw a Japanese restaurant that looked promising.  I started to lower the electric lift on Sherry’s 1995 Ford Econoline van, and about half way down, the lift stopped.   I flicked the switch up and down again, and then when that didn’t work, moved to the back of the van and to press a button that in a previous situation had seemed to work. 

Now, over the years, due to wear and tear, the normally functioning switch on the lift arm had been broken off, and the switches at the back of the van were off altogether. So when my jiggling and flicking and pressing didn’t work, some panic was emerging into that one part of my brain where I allow it.  But that part of me that can handle anything was still ok.  And so, I got the manual crank and began to lower the lift to the ground.  This was the easy part.

To make sure Sherry was ok (she was outside on the lift in the cold while I was still in the van) I covered her up with her hat, scarf, gloves and blanket.  She wasn’t too fazed at this point, and actually, kept her good humor and patience the entire time.  

While this was all happening, a few folks passed by, and one or two men asked if we were “ok” and I, in my pride, assured them that we were.  There was another fellow who asked, and said he would check on us when he came back. 

My plan was to try and lower Sherry and her chair to the ground, get the lift free and then be able to make it work (somehow).  And so I cranked the lift down, Sherry got off the lift, but the lift wouldn’t move.  Nothing. 

At this point any thought of dinner went out of our heads.  Back Sherry went on to the lift, and this time the HARD part: cranking the lift manually while holding the crank up into a flimsy tube.  The weight of Sherry and her chair, being manually cranked via an ill fitting fixture, was more than I could handle.  It would move a fraction, with tremendous effort. 

Now full scale panic was in both parts of my brain. Because we were FAR from all of our friends in Eagle Rock, and while we had Auto Club, they don’t provide rides for folks in wheelchairs. And Access Paratransit must be ordered a day ahead. 

So now I was wondering, where were all those guys that I turned down for help earlier?  The ones that didn’t really look like they wanted to help, anyway? 

So, I spoke my fear out loud to Sherry, and said I didn’t know what we were going to do.  I couldn’t crank the crank any further.  It was desperate time. 

And at that moment, the man who had said he would come back did just that.  And this time, he had his two athletic looking sons, and his wife with him.  And so we asked for help, and without question, he got into the van, I showed him how the crank was supposed to work, and he got on it.  It wasn’t easy, and his sons took turns, but finally, nearly a half hour later, they got Sherry in the van.  His wife (who was from Minnesota originally) generously offered to get us food and drinks from the Japanese restaurant, but I said no, and she got us coffee anyway. And the woman and Sherry chatted like old friends, as I watched her husband nervously, praying that this fellow would be able to handle something like this.  And the man’s wife knew about MS, she in fact had been to USC for treatment.  And the man, who looked nothing like my father, proceeded to be as thorough as my dad as they used our three cables to secure the now-unsecured doors to the back of the van.  After all, we had to drive all the way to Eagle Rock.

We told them they were our Christmas gift, and they were pleased, but modest.  They did, you could tell by their faces, what anyone would do.  And for several days after, we would share about the wonderful Christmas gift that we received that night.

 

5:30 a.m.

This started as a prayer request to a few of you, to those for whom prayer is as natural as eating and sleeping.  Charlie woke me up to let him out at 4:45 a.m.  Usually he sleeps until 6:30 a.m., an annoyance as I really have no reason to get up until 9 a.m.  (The thought hit me yesterday that it’s good that I have animals, for without them, who knows when I would get up.)

As I tried to get back to sleep, I began this prayer request in my head.  I would ask for prayer for the loneliness I feel.  Now each of you have been there for me through these past few months, each of you in your unique ways: checking in, creating music, traveling, shared meals, visiting new places, or catching up on old times.  I am SO grateful for this, and feel SO fortunate.  I am truly blessed.

But this morning, I was in a space where I could not see any movement forward (I know this sounds overly dramatic—blame the fact that I just finished this really good suspense novel by Lisa Unger). 

Part of this may be because I have spent 95 percent of the last week and a half either in bed or lying on the couch.  I had been hit with a bladder infection, and put off going to my doctor until Friday, when she said I had a pretty interesting infection. She started me on Cipro, but that night, I had the worst chills I have ever had.  Now ironically, I knew about  b ad infections.  Sherry a few years back had unusual kidney stones and was very sick from the affects of these infections. She, fortunately, never had the excruciating pain that kidney stones can cause.

Added to illness, my DSL has not worked the last two days so I have been unable to be distracted with Wikipedia and Facebook. Endless games of Spyder Solitaire, hours of movies on Encore and reading the LA Times on my Treo just weren’t doing the trick.

And when I did have energy to get up, I’d be faced with several piles of “important” items that I moved into the house and basement after my garage cleanup.

Now the garage was a huge accomplishment.  I’ve told several of you how good I felt and surprised I was that for an entire week I had energy to systematically go through one end of the garage to the other, clearing out box after box, and packing the car with donations to Good Will.  Now these weren’t just boxes of “junk”:  seemingly every note I took in class from seminary, and half of my classes in college;  letters from old girlfriends, boyfriends; souvenirs from trips to Europe, and Costa Rica, and Peru.  I did save a small amount of mementos. But I easily got rid of three large recycle bins of stuff.  Well I shouldn’t say easy.  It was really hard to let go of this stuff. But it was also sort of cathartic, especially as some of it felt too personal to throw away, so I actually burned it.  Where you say? Well Miss Save the Environment burned half of it in the good old Weber barbecue.  Because although Sherry and I had included a fireplace when we visualized our dream home, we did not SPECIFY.   So our faux fireplace has a solid mantle and a tile floor but it is just that: FAUX.

At some point, when I get that Herculean energy again, I will attack the remaining boxes of photos and slides, not to mention albums, boxes of Sherry’s mostly unmarked video and cassette tapes, and my collection of Patricia Caldwell and John Grissom books.

I have not even specified my prayer request, but I already feel better.  Because, in writing so far, much as when I journaled on the Caring Bridge, I thought of each of you reading this, and through that, connected with this entire circle virtually, virally, spiritually, psychically.  As I wrote, I smiled, for each therapist, each one who encouraged me on some kind of journey, suggested I “journal”.  Well, the term “gag me with a spoon” would usually pop to the front of my brain.  I have started a few paper journals at points in my life, and that’s ANOTHER entire box that I DIDN’T throw out or burn yet.  But I will.

What I realized when writing the Caring Bridge updates is that writing helped me, but it helped because I was writing TO someone.  And perhaps it also helped some of you.  And what I’ve decided this morning, and perhaps God has begun to answer my prayer, is that I want to continue the journaling I started.  I want to find a way that I can post this, and if you want to see what’s going on, you can go online and read it.  I have done some of that with Face book, but this is different.  I decided what will help is if I can keep writing about what I’m feeling and going through these days.  How it is to live by myself, to try new things, to look for a “job” when I feel so different, share how I grieve for Sherry and my old life—in spite of all the difficulties that that life entailed.

Thank you to those of you who pray with me, and think good thoughts for me, and for us.  For my grief, for your shared loss, that I may find energy to keep “getting things done”, to both remember and move forward.  Amen.