I’m a big believer in second chances, probably because I have received so many of them throughout my life.
My biggest second chances occurred after my son Daniel died at 19 in an accident in January of 1993. A couple years later, Derek and Shannon, whose biological father left when they were not yet in school, chose me their dad; and then my friend Tim gave us his two sons, Jonathan and David, to grandparent. I can’t imagine greater gifts than the gift of children and grandchildren. Derek, a veterinarian and veteran, and Shannon, who is working on an MBA, and whose previous degree is in criminal and social justice, are in their early thirties now, both younger than Daniel would have been, and David is a college sophomore, Jonathan a high school junior. They are, with my wife Ann, the greatest joys of my life.
Friend Tim recently remarried and we got two more grandchildren, Alexa and Grayson. The universe - in the form of God’s Grace - keeps on giving.
And the universe occasionally takes away. We have several friends who are quite ill, and with the help of very good doctors and the Grace of God, they too have second chances. Somehow I believe that God’s Grace is more important in their lives than the doctors who are taking care of them so capably. The people I write about below are certainly not the only ones in pain who need Grace, but I don’t want to overwhelm. If you are one of my friends whom I do not list, please don’t be offended.
Linda, a primary teacher, has ovarian and uterine cancer, but after surgery is in the middle of chemo. Her hair has fallen out, but her spirit and her life remain vibrant and optimistic.
Our friend and putative cousin Margaret had a cancerous tumor removed from her breast, and will start chemotherapy next month. She already shaves her head and is one of the most beautiful women I have ever met. Her beauty is physical, of course, but she glows with an inner beauty that is impossible to describe. A Gwendolyn Brooks poem that could have been written about Margaret is at the end of this blog entry*.
Another cousin, Kathy, has multiple sclerosis and is mobile only because she has wonderful care and machines that get her places. At this point she can feed herself. MS is a dreadful, chronic, progressive disease in which the body betrays the mind. She too, is in good spirits and grateful to be alive.
Another friend, Bob, is in the throes of addiction. He goes up and down, and when he’s in the middle, he is the brilliant, charming, personable, witty, funny, wonderful guy we always loved. High, he isn’t that way. And when he’s in a low, he sleeps for . . . days. I despair that he will ever be well, but I continue to harbor hope. He says, “My continued existence is a little running gag that God and I have had going for the last thirty years or so... “ Grace keeps him alive too, and I believe that if he conquers his demons, he will be a huge blessing to the world.
As I said, I have been given second chances throughout my life. Please add your prayers that God will continue to bless these dear friends with His Grace.
Amen.
As always, I invite your comments - and prayers - below. Just click comments.
*To Those Of My Sisters Who Kept Their Naturals
Never to look a hot comb in the teeth.
Sisters!
I love you.
Because you love you.
Because you are erect.
Because you are also bent.
In season, stern, kind.
Crisp, soft -in season.
And you withhold.
And you extend.
And you Step out.
And you go back.
And you extend again.
Your eyes, loud-soft, with crying and
with smiles,
are older than a million years.
And they are young.
You reach, in season.
You subside, in season.
And ALL
below the richrough righttime of your hair.
You have not bought Blondine.
You have not hailed the hot-comb recently.
You never worshipped Marilyn Monroe.
You say: Farrah's hair is hers.
You have not wanted to be white.
Nor have you testified to adoration of that
state with the advertisement of imitation
(never successful because the hot-comb is laughing too.)
But oh, the rough dark Other music!
the Real,
the Right.
The natural Respect of Self and Seal!
Sisters!
Your hair is Celebration in the world!
GWENDOLYN BROOKS (1917-2000)
(1980)
Showing posts with label Multiple Sclerosis. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Multiple Sclerosis. Show all posts
Sunday, October 19, 2008
Wednesday, June 13, 2007
Marrying the Unknown
I invite you to click comments at the end of this piece, and contribute your thoughts.
When I was in high school I crewed one summer on a Lightning class sailboat in Lake Decatur for a neighbor, one of the angriest men I ever met.
We practiced evenings during the week and raced on Saturdays. We waited at one end of the lake, watched the smoke from the gun and then hear the shot that started the race. I loved skimming across the water of the lake. When the wind caught the sails, Hawley sat at the rudder, held the mainsail line, and managed the centerboard which kept the boat from sliding sideways across the lake. He must have had three hands.
I scurried to do his bidding. I was thin then, and young and agile. With the centerboard deep in the water and the wind pushing against the sails, the boat sometimes lay almost perpendicular to the water. And I sat on the high side, my feet wedged so I wouldn’t fall out, and leaned back as far as I could to keep the boat from going completely over. At other times I managed the jib. It was glorious.
Hawley was the first person who ever swore at me, and he berated me on a consistent, regular basis. I became “too busy” the next summer to crew for him.
And that is probably a tragedy because I didn’t understand the source of his anger. I’m not sure I do now, but I have a better idea. I was the immediate target, but Hawley, I suspect, felt life conspired against him to make him miserable. His only joy was that sailboat, flying across the water, taking him out of his life for a little while.
Hawley and his wife had no children. He was ex-military, and I remember he kept a bottle in the garage where he worked on his boat during the winter.
His wife, whose name I can’t remember, had multiple sclerosis. What I do remember about her is her brittle movements, her unsteadiness, her eventual cane, her gradual decline. And the explosive screaming that came from their house more and more often until they moved. She went to a nursing home or died, I’m not sure which, and he sold the house.
MS manifests itself usually between the late twenties and forty in most people, and Hawley and his wife were long married before she became ill. The drugs available now weren’t available 50 years ago.
A friend’s wife has MS and he handles the disease much differently. Karen takes very good care of herself, and has found help in meditation and diet as well as medication. But she is now pretty much incapacitated and wheel-chair bound.
Stan has the means to hire care for her, and he treats her with kindness. But he also gets away and has time for himself. He travels to visit old friends abroad and occasionally travels east to visit us in the Chicago burbs. While he was here several years ago, he asked our permission to have a girlfriend. He’s still the sunny side of fifty, after all.
We couldn’t give Stan that permission. But we couldn’t deny it, either. It’s not up to us. No doubt he’s found comfort in another woman’s arms, and I can’t hold it against him. Karen’s mind still works, but her body has conspired to imprison her.
Would either Hawley or Stan have married their wives if they had known about the disease? I can’t answer for either of them. And I don’t know that I would have married Ann if I had known she had a chronic debilitating disease. She doesn’t, thank God. Stan and Hawley stayed with their wives in sickness and their health. That’s the honorable, manly, courageous way to act.
But the toll it has taken on their lives cannot be dismissed.
Now, a dear friend has had an “episode” that may signal MS. It is a difficult disease to diagnose, and there are many symptoms that mimic other conditions. (Even Dr. House would have difficulty. Of course, he always almost kills his patients before he saves them. I’m not sure I’d want him to be my diagnostician.) Diagnosis of MS involves two episodes at least a month apart, MRI’s, eleventy other tests, and waiting. And at this point our friend hasn’t had a second episode.
We hope desperately that our friend’s first episode was something else. Like stress. Or exhaustion, or – we don’t know what else. And in the meanwhile there is little we can do.
Except pray for her. Please join us.
When I was in high school I crewed one summer on a Lightning class sailboat in Lake Decatur for a neighbor, one of the angriest men I ever met.
We practiced evenings during the week and raced on Saturdays. We waited at one end of the lake, watched the smoke from the gun and then hear the shot that started the race. I loved skimming across the water of the lake. When the wind caught the sails, Hawley sat at the rudder, held the mainsail line, and managed the centerboard which kept the boat from sliding sideways across the lake. He must have had three hands.
I scurried to do his bidding. I was thin then, and young and agile. With the centerboard deep in the water and the wind pushing against the sails, the boat sometimes lay almost perpendicular to the water. And I sat on the high side, my feet wedged so I wouldn’t fall out, and leaned back as far as I could to keep the boat from going completely over. At other times I managed the jib. It was glorious.
Hawley was the first person who ever swore at me, and he berated me on a consistent, regular basis. I became “too busy” the next summer to crew for him.
And that is probably a tragedy because I didn’t understand the source of his anger. I’m not sure I do now, but I have a better idea. I was the immediate target, but Hawley, I suspect, felt life conspired against him to make him miserable. His only joy was that sailboat, flying across the water, taking him out of his life for a little while.
Hawley and his wife had no children. He was ex-military, and I remember he kept a bottle in the garage where he worked on his boat during the winter.
His wife, whose name I can’t remember, had multiple sclerosis. What I do remember about her is her brittle movements, her unsteadiness, her eventual cane, her gradual decline. And the explosive screaming that came from their house more and more often until they moved. She went to a nursing home or died, I’m not sure which, and he sold the house.
MS manifests itself usually between the late twenties and forty in most people, and Hawley and his wife were long married before she became ill. The drugs available now weren’t available 50 years ago.
A friend’s wife has MS and he handles the disease much differently. Karen takes very good care of herself, and has found help in meditation and diet as well as medication. But she is now pretty much incapacitated and wheel-chair bound.
Stan has the means to hire care for her, and he treats her with kindness. But he also gets away and has time for himself. He travels to visit old friends abroad and occasionally travels east to visit us in the Chicago burbs. While he was here several years ago, he asked our permission to have a girlfriend. He’s still the sunny side of fifty, after all.
We couldn’t give Stan that permission. But we couldn’t deny it, either. It’s not up to us. No doubt he’s found comfort in another woman’s arms, and I can’t hold it against him. Karen’s mind still works, but her body has conspired to imprison her.
Would either Hawley or Stan have married their wives if they had known about the disease? I can’t answer for either of them. And I don’t know that I would have married Ann if I had known she had a chronic debilitating disease. She doesn’t, thank God. Stan and Hawley stayed with their wives in sickness and their health. That’s the honorable, manly, courageous way to act.
But the toll it has taken on their lives cannot be dismissed.
Now, a dear friend has had an “episode” that may signal MS. It is a difficult disease to diagnose, and there are many symptoms that mimic other conditions. (Even Dr. House would have difficulty. Of course, he always almost kills his patients before he saves them. I’m not sure I’d want him to be my diagnostician.) Diagnosis of MS involves two episodes at least a month apart, MRI’s, eleventy other tests, and waiting. And at this point our friend hasn’t had a second episode.
We hope desperately that our friend’s first episode was something else. Like stress. Or exhaustion, or – we don’t know what else. And in the meanwhile there is little we can do.
Except pray for her. Please join us.
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