Thursday, September 20, 2007

Carolina on my mind

So, I'm out here in the sunny (read: hot) moist Smoky Mountains of western North Carolina with the fam. We've all been chipping in taking care of Mike and giving my uncle a break from all the care that needed at this time. Honestly, I think Mike's doing real awesome. He's definitely frustrated at times, and sad some other times, and uncomfortable still other other times. But the other day, my uncle and my mom took him out to WalMart, just to get out of the house. He really wanted to, and I don't blame him. It's got to feel good to reconnect with reality after being holed up in a hospital for a month.

Today, two nurses came by to clean him up and check him out. The service they work for donated four visits from them, which is sweet. And my uncle's getting the ball rolling for Medicaid to kick in. Hopefully it will be soon. Mike needs nursing care and my uncle needs some sleep, as well as getting back to work. That's been the harderst, I think. My uncle supports himself as a real estate agent, and he hasn't been out selling houses over the past month. So one of my many prayers involves a compassionate, supportive, qualified nurse who would like to volunteer some time with these guys.

I opened up the box that contained all my new medical equipment. The tools of my trade, the instruments I will use for the rest of my life in service to humanity. Mike was sitting with me, and I was describing them to him. He pointed at me, nodded, and pointed around his face. "You want me to fix your face for you?" He nodded yes. "Well, I will love it to pieces, that's for sure."

Mike is funny, man. He's really had us cracking up. His sense of humor is still intact. And, surprisingly, so is his voice. I can understand about half of what he says, which I hadn't expected at all. He's so sweet, too. When I walk him around the house, I'll put his hands on my shoulders, and he'll give me a little shoulder massage as we toodle around. He ruffled my hair and was surprised to find it so short. He wrote on the wipey board, "It's hot."

I can see him smile at me. I can see when he's crying, too, even though there aren't any tears.

I am getting used to his new face, his work in progress. I am forgetting the old face, because it is a face of the past. There will never be another face like it, and I won't see it again except for pictures. In this new face, there will only be one eye, and the nose and rest of the jaw will come later. But the sweetness is still there and the laughter, and I'm grateful for that.

I realized today that I brought with me my best medicine. It wasn't the homeopathy kit or the tinctures or my patchwork foundation of pharmaceuticals. It was me: my body, my hands, my cooking, my patience, my love. I took the time to give Mike a foot massage, and I realized that I would be getting to know my cousin even more intimately now than ever before. The layers of ego and guarding and false safety are silently stripping away, and now more than ever I am meeting my family with my fullest available force and honesty. It's still a bit lonely, but it is definitely me who is here.

I watched as he drifted into a peaceful nap, his one eye darting beneath his purple lid. I am grateful for him: his experience is teaching us all deep lessons about ourselves. For example, Christy Lee and I decided that Charlie should be a nurse or a physician's assistant or something. He's got a lot of confidence with the equipment and a friendly bedside manner. The other night, a woman brought all of us a huge homecooked meal, so everyone was at the table, eating, except for Charlie and I. We were back in the bedroom with Mike. We didn't want to leave him back there alone, especially while we all got to eat. Eating is something Mike won't be doing for a while. Anyway, Mike was insistant that we go out there and eat, and we were just as insistant back. Mike wrote, "The food's making fun of me." I told him we would stay with him, besides the Simpsons were on. Finally, Mike demanded we take him out to the dining room, so we could all be together as a family. We brought him out and got him comfy on the couch. After Charlie and I loaded our plates, Christy Lee's son, Bradley, wanted to say a prayer. He had really only wanted to say it for himself, but we all dropped and held hands. Even Mike was folding his hands from the couch. It was a unique and personally touching moment for me, to have my family gathered in prayer.

And me? I'm learning that I can't save anyone. I can only help me be the best me I can be, and allow others to reap the benefits of me being a whole person. And with the help of letting go of needing to know, without needing to know what kind of impact I'm making, I can coast through this life unattached and happy.

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