Life is not fair.

September 17, 2008 (I think....)

As new friendships are budding in Alessandria, I am back home in Seattle with old, deeply rooted friendships that have flourished and been nourished by the years. Kim has let you all know that I flew home last week to be with a friend who is very ill. It has been a week of intensity that only complex hospital stays and discharges can create. Long hours. Fatigue. Irritability. Fear and confusion. Dark humor. Consciously remind yourself to get a grip and breathe.....

Over the last days, I have heard people say, on a number of occasions, "It's not fair". All I can say or think is, "This be life". In the last 10 years I have learned the sweetness of deep undying friendships that have been snuffed outwardly by death. Once again, too soon, I am forced to face this possibility. While death is not, hopefully, imminent, it looms louder than I'd like and its shadow is beginning to overtake me. I cannot deny its' potential.

I didn't know how I would feel about flying home and arriving in Seattle. As the wheels of the plane began to squeal upon landing, my first reaction was great calm and comfort. I am so lucky to live in such a beautiful city with wonderful friends.

As I have been sitting in my friend's hospital room, my brain has skipped back and forth between his situation and my evacuated relatives in Galveston and Houston, Texas. I don't know who to be the most worried over in this double whammy life presentation. For Galveston I can do nothing but wait--to receive word. For my friend, I can do nothing but wait to receive word, absorb what is presented, and try to make sense of his complex, chaotic, clustered symptomatic illness. What a sentence that is; I can hear Kim in my mind recommending that I simplify it. But I can't because that's how this is all manifesting--it's quite complicated and hospital staff have responded by utilizing soft restraints.

I watch my friend's mother and sister grapple with what this all means--the enveloping realization that they won't be allowed to deny much longer and a new life learning curve is being thrust upon them. I think that this too is what some of my Galveston relatives may be thinking. They all are being blind sided by a speeding reality that they try to dodge but cannot. Splat. Reality has hit. Loss is here with more to come. Splat. Splat.

My shields are up. I am in social worker mode. I serve as an interpreter to mother and sister because this world of hospital protocols with its' changing nurses and doctors has them baffled, scared and uncertain. Yes, life is not fair but we will attempt to thwart its' impact with humor. We laugh and curse insensitive staff behind their backs. One minute I call my friend a big baby, the next a delicate flower. I remind him that it's not all about him and his drama queen act is getting annoying. Out of the corner of my eye I watch as his mother's eyes grow wide but then she smiles because she sees her son smile broadly and listens as he calls me a very, very, bad name and recommends that I fly back to where I came from. Mom's ears are not spared; she hears it all and takes it in like a champ.

I do look forward to returning to Italy. Already it's seeming like a bit of a dream and I have to remind myself that I really am living there for a year. There are more tomatoes to be bought and cooking lessons to be had. I miss Kim, the ringing church bells, and I miss those winding, dog pooped cobble stone streets. (She'd really want me to adjust that sentence)!

I kind of feel like I am cheating; I've bought more vitamins and some used books to shore up dwindling supplies. I am buying sumac, a spice that I love and haven't been able to find anywhere in Alessandria. I must not forget the moxa and a few more Chinese herbs.

Before I know it, I'll be packing to return and then will be on the plane, adjusting my seat belt. I'll be torn with ambivalence as I hope there are no little crying babies close by and sobbing for the very big baby I'm leaving behind.