Soul under construction. Today I stopped everything to worry about my health. News of another friend with cancer always gives us pause. OOPS, buddy, I don’t mean kitty or doggie paws, but the kind of pause where we just stop for awhile. I looked at my blotchy skin and decided it was spreading, maybe even taking over my entire body’s skin sack and then let the spark of worry take hold. My mind let the small wildfire fueled by realities of aging, puff its way through my bloodstream, into my liver, joints, esophagus, stomach and land on top of my feet. I Googled each malady. Joint pain; of course, I’m getting older. Heart burn; chew Tums more than three times a week; go to the doctor. Liver; stop drinking wine every single evening. Stomach where a big stone seems reside; maybe that ulcer is back; ck with doctor. And those feet. The blotchy white spots make the tops of my feet a matching pair. Vitiligo-autoimmune skin disease-this one already diagnosed. Can be associated with diabetes, lupus, Thyroid diseases, especially if condition had late-life onset, after age 50. Check. Especially if female. Check. Especially if matching areas effected from one side of body to the other-shoulder, hands, arms, feet. Check. So, I made a doctor appointment. UGH. What am I going to ask for? A check-up? Prilosec? I feel embarrassed about focusing on myself. I am much better at complaining about Liza’s rash, assessing your dental needs and planning Dad’s surgery. Myself? Oh, dear.
Well, if I am ill or dying anytime soon, I can plan on focused soul development to benefit my survivors. The soul is more than the memories they carry, but the final days memories, too. The sick lady has to behave herself. So we watch ill friends, listen to how they talk act and manage and learn where we fall short. I must not hide from my family, pretend everything’s okay or complain too much either. I plan to still be your daddy’s mom, your grandma and that nice lady that you see daily. I have to stay in front of you, giving you the life lessons that I hadn’t gotten around to. Or not. maybe I just show you how to enjoy and love yourselves because I keep loving and appreciating you. That’s my soul, my loving self you carry right up to my end. And really that end is far far away, but its important to clear the smoke and visit it every so often. Have a look at its undersides. Let’s squint our eyes to see the fuzziness of each other. My soul is in there someplace.
On another subject, but related, is that I still look for signs that you are fine. I can’t help it. I leap for joy seeing you draw a figure, Liza call out “meow” when we get to that page in the book, when you cry when you fall, and ask for comfort, Liza eat cubes of cantaloupe off the counter and say “Joe-Ja” for every dog (Georgia) . These are good things. And today when I stepped in the shower (right after calling for my doctor’s appointment) I was surrounded by rubber ducks. All four of them had been placed in the corners of the tub, orange beaks facing me, positioned intentionally and deliberately. You did that last night. I am pleased you relax and play in my tub. (Everyday, since you got the toy boat, trailer and “hiccup truck”). But more than that, I see your idea, evidence of planful thinking, a little play you may have acted out. In each of corner of the tub, colorful sentries stand guard. Quacking at an inevitable set genes that may carry poor planning skills, inability to focus or express an idea or maybe the artist, the musician. Quack on duckies!.
You know, buddy, I think we are both just fine. But if we aren’t then we will figure it out. a day of doubting gma