Reading

It’s almost 14 years since I was knocked out. Fourteen years since I lost my career, my job, my house, my home and my mind. Another thing my injury took from me was reading. I loved to read from a very young age. Through books I’ve lived hundreds of lives in hundreds of places. Just one more page. I’ll stop at the end of this chapter. The book closes in 15 more minutes. It’s three in the morning. I have to get up in three hours. Okay, I’m going to sleep now…as soon as I finish this paragraph. Following my injury I’d forget the story as I read it. Once the book was closed I couldn’t remember what the story was about or even the title. I was heartbroken. Reading was limited to short magazine articles. Losing reading hurt. Last month a friend handed me a book on the life of Leonard Cohen. I let it sit on the self. What was the sense in reading something I’d forget before I reached the end? At last I couldn’t resist. Wanting to learn about Cohen’s life over powered me and I picked up the book. I quickly realized reading was back. I remembered what I’d read. I became lost in the pages. Just one more page. I’ll stop at the end of this chapter. The book closes in 15 more minutes. It’s three in the morning. I have to get up in three hours. Okay, I’m going to sleep now…as soon as I finish this paragraph. Now I am reading a book about the life of Jim Henson. I stopped reading long enough to post this. Back to the book.

Down By the River

Down By the River My dogs and I walk along the river every day. The river is a wonderful place to walk. Trees line the walkway. The grass is a thick rich green. Wild plants grow along the bank including a blackberry bush I can’t reach. The people I run into, all ages and walks of life, smile and say hello. One day I had a lovely conversation with a bitty little girl who told me about her dog and two cats. The river is a place to walk when you are tense or upset. The fast moving water is soothing. The river is a place to walk when happy. Its waters sparkle with laughter. Each day, in the same place, we pass an elderly white man sitting straight backed in a wheelchair. His face is weathered. His long hair must have been confused when it was time for it to turn grey. Instead it turned a sun yellow. We say hello every day as he rolls cigarettes. Beside him are drinks and snacks and a small brown paper bag that I believed held his lunch. Sometimes people sit and visit with him. One is a younger man with a guitar who I’ve decided is his son or grandson. One day he isn’t there. I keep walking. The next day he still isn’t there. I become concerned and pray for his safety and health. The third day when he isn’t there I worry. I also realize if anything happens to him I will never know. There wouldn’t be a note left for me by the fountain or a person waiting to tell me. He would just disappear. The fourth day he is sitting in his spot rolling a cigarette. I say hello as the dogs and I walk by.

Today

At the river a father was teaching his son to fish. As they walked in the river the father instructed his son on how to cast and where. This is was life is about - a father teaching his son to fish on a sunny Sunday morning.

Depression

There must be some way to control this depression that eats my life away. Do not send me pamphlets and articles telling me to smile and think happy thoughts. Those are not for me and those who are like me. My reality cannot be changed with a simple sentence. I take pills, talk to therapists, and read anything I can get our hands on that may offer a few minutes relief. I try to smile and pretend until finally I cannot rise out of bed. It will pass I tell myself. It will pass as it always has. But what if this time is different? What if this time it does not pass and I am left in this dark hell forever? Tomorrow will be better I tell myself as I gather the covers around my shoulders while there is still daylight outside. Tomorrow will be better I tell myself because the thought of it being worst is too, too much to bear.

On January 17,2015, I will move into a studio apartment with a patio to sit on during summer. My spoiled rotten babies will be able to go out easily. It is very quiet without the constant noise of cars and trucks rushing past. The apartment faces the little airport for private planes. I can watch them take off and land. Looking past them is Lake Washington. I feel so peaceful when I think about the location. Wow, from a split level house to a 10 x 22 foot motor home to a 10 x 33 foot 5th wheel to a studio apartment. Less house work and upkeep. As I pack I am pleasantly surprised I no longer have so much stuff. Most of it is craft supplies. I do plan to find a couple dolls though I won’t be able to go crazy because of the small space. That should be a good thing. Having the patio I will be able to keep my six rose bushes. Time for lunch.

I plan to not complain so much. True I have health challenges that prevent me from living life as I once did. I am in constant pain and dizziness has moved in to stay. I will soon look like a little old man with no hair on the top of my head. But I will stop complaining about it. (I may slip a few times.) Yesterday I learned one of my former students who may have reached 30, has stage 3 breast cancer. She is married with three very young children. Despite being bald, she and her husband took profession photos. Her smile was as bright as always. Surgery is next week. I pray for her and her family.

I had a wonderful surprise on Christmas. My former EWU student, mentee, and friend called. Listening to how well her post college life is going was inspiring. Actually, in one year she will have her doctorate. I couldn’t believe her son is 7 already and in the second grade. We talked about blogs. She made me understand my blog is for myself, to write about my experiences, dreams, hopes, and thoughts. When I was writing mine I worried about what readers would say about the content and how it was presented. Thank you for freeing me. Anyone is allowed to read the blog. Bare in mind this is mine for me. Enjoy