Tongue in Cheek

Humble Feast

                                                                                   

Every night around seven my family gathers around the table at the hospital's cafeteria. A place where we have been sharing dinner together for the last 5O days. Some-days my four brothers, my sister in law's and nieces and nephews join my mother and I. Sometimes it is a mixture of the same group but a smaller number. Sometimes it is just two or three of us.

As the days march on we realize the range of our emotions are as multiple as the food in the cafeteria; where a variety of hot and cold is served. We go through the cafeteria line, talk about the selection, take a salad or soup or maybe the entree, there is something for everyone even for me the vegetarian. We sit without fanfare, eat, drink, talk and nurture our needs by being together. It is the finest comfort food. It is the sweetest dessert. It is a blessing to be together--How long has it been since we have been altogether like this and for this amount of time we ask? But before anyone can answer the question the memories stir up, the stories inter-lap and the laughter and tears pour steadily like red wine into our waiting glasses.

                                                      

Last night the stories circled around the last time we were with my father before he entered the hospital. It wasn't like we asked each other, "Hey tell me about the last time you were with dad before this happened?" Instead the stories flowed spontaneously moving from one to another... I envied that their "moments" were nearer at hand (my last moment was last summer, a good-bye before I returned to France.) Regardless of my envy hearing their "moments" made me feel like I was by his side too.

As you know this hasn't been an easy time for my family. But it doesn't mean that it isn't dotted with love and affection, sweetness and devotion. Like a flicker of light in a dark tunnel- I find myself treasuring the simple meals we share together each night. Where we nourish ourselves with each other's company. There is a miracle in each moment, even when it is the darkest hour... and gladly I soak these moments up letting them soothe my wound.

"To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven:

A time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and... a time to embrace..."

Ecclesiastes 3. 1-5

Communion

                   

When the star passed by my open window,

the light poured in opening my eyes,

illuminating the darkness.

Everything became crystal clear,

and remains a soothing grace.

Where do you receive communion with love and holiness?

Where does your soul cry amen?

Blog Family

                  

When I was younger I thought about how lucky I was to be born into a family that was large and loving. My Mother reminded me that our happiness would measure sorrow. She told me that a large loving family has a price tag, when you love someone you will carry their sorrow too.

When I started a blog I had no idea that I would meet others and feel a genuine kindness and affection from it. I have been amazed time and time again how much I receive from your words and outpouring of friendship. How fortunate I have been to know you, to receive your guidance and support. Your friendship has been a strong arm to lean upon.

The community gathered here is beyond measure... so many helpful thoughts, comments, prayers, advice, a steadfast sisterhood (with a few brothers!) It is a place were I am certain to find courage and grace. Thank you for being an active part of this blog as well as being like family to me.

Reading through the comments I see that I am not alone. Many of you like my large loving family, have experienced the same journey that I am on. You have walked this path before. Sharing your experience, your wisdom has been a light leading me, making the steps easier to take. Knowing that you have passed this way before brings compassion, lends a trust that I too can walk this journey and survive.

Thank you for being part of my world.

A Closed Window

                                                                  

A few days ago, a nurse blocked my family from going into my father's hospital room. Telling us he thought best for my father and us to have some rest.

Unfortunately, my father nor my family saw it that way. As we were not allowed back into his room he was alone and did not understand why his family had just disappeared from his bedside after having us by his side for 44 days. Since he didn't understand he rang the nurse's station every other minute, and since he doesn't have a voice they couldn't understand him. The nurse gave him medication, one shot after another to calm him or keep him quiet. Putting him in a stupor of sleep and confusion.

Finally after what seemed an eternity of waiting... we were allowed into his room... Though at this point he barely recognized us. When we looked into his eyes they seemed lost. We were devastated.

These last few days my father has slowly come back to us...but he is not the same.

Who is to say if this would have happened if we had remained by his side? But this I can say is true, I would have rather stayed by his side than have this feeling of not knowing.

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The Farmer's Daughter's Guys.

                   

"Mom, you won't believe what we have been eating since you aren't here cooking!" The tone in Sacha's voice sounded far too thrilled for me to be concerned. Nevertheless I responded with a doubtful voice, "I cannot imagine it to be anything spectacular given that you two knuckleheads don't cook. What are you eating these days?"

"Dad and I are on a white diet you might say."

With that I knew in a heartbeat that French cooking has been reduced to: Pasta, eggs, milk, baguettes, cheese, plain yogurt, garlic, rice, crepes, oatmeal....

Oh and don't forget peeled apples.

photo: 18th century French engraving.

Passion Sunday

                   

Vintage Puzzle

                           

Four sides to each cube represent four different puzzles in one. Each depicting a season in a moment of daily life.

Considering its age (1900s) and how many times in has been dumped out to be re-played, the images of each are in good shape, and amazingly there aren't any missing pieces.

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...At times like these every little thing reminds me, or connects me to the eternal question that has been asked for generation after generation, the endless search for... "what is life all about?"

Tell me do you know what's it all about Alfie?

Waiting

                   

Yesterday I stepped out of my father's room to visit a cousin who had come by the hospital to say hello. After visiting with her I turned around to go back into my father's room only to be told by the nurse that he thought my father needed rest and no visitors were allowed until the end of the day.

He could have stabbed me in the heart it would have felt the same.

My Mother and I decided to drive back home, something we haven't done in weeks. The drive along the river, with the orchards in bloom, glistening in the falling rain, and seeing the familiar roads brought us a guilty peacefulness. Was this a silver lining?

Gently down the Stream

               

As we stand by my father's bedside and wait, I have realized a few things.

1. We have little control over how life will unfold.

We can plan or create, directing our desires and dreams into a hopeful reality. But in the end it is life's current that take us down the stream. It brings new meaning to the children's song "...row row row your boat gently down the stream...)

2. Love is graceful, enduring, and tough.

                  

This evening when I came to the hospital to spend time at my father's bedside my father seemed out of sorts, a bit sad, downright blue understandably so...

(You see my father has been unable to move without help, not able to get out of bed at all. His body has gone through many changes...he hasn't been able to talk, yet remains alert (a hellish crime of life to be trapped alive!) We communicate with him through a menagerie of codes, sign language, lip reading and watching the slight subtlies of his weak body.

3. My cousin's husband Chris said to me the other day..."Death is not the worse thing that can happen in life." Though my father doesn't believe this (with all his faith and belief in after-life) he strives towards living and getting well against the odds.) But suffering, like violence, seems worse than death to me.

                  

When I came into my father's room to take the night shift, he asked for my Mother, which he does a million times throughout the night. Typically he mouths the word "Mom?" I explain each time to him that Mom is at Marty's (my brother's.) sleeping. That she needs to rest. But tonight he asked for her with a silent voice that was not like all the other nights. He seemed to need her, want her, not just asking about her. I called my Mother and she came back! 24 hours non stop she stayed...

4. Love comes at a price and can make you bleed.

My Mother asleep in a chair by my father's bedside. My father sleeps easier.

As I stand here in a daze I witness their love profoundly and cry.

Drinking in Life

                   

Why is it that when something bad is happening everything around looks so incredibly beautiful? Why does life appear fuller and deeper? It is as if the "bad thing" slaps the taste buds into appreciating the smallest distinctions. Ah life's subtle variations are easy to swallow, and made whole by hints of complex flavors.

Photo: A glass of red wine in France last autumn.