I Pray for Grace
May 28, 2020
I haven't painted in quite awhile—since January I think, writing has been more difficult as well. I recently posted some writing I wrote earlier but did not publish, in part almost like wearing garlic or holding forth a crucifix to a vampire— attempts to ward away death. However, it is now so obvious that these attempts do not work.
As the United States begins to "open up" since the Covid-19 lockdown (right or wrong, we shall see), Jim and my worlds shrink smaller and smaller, yet I will not complain, I will only hold this time more closely. He is often restricted to the couch because even sitting pains him. I have stopped exercising in the early morning—not wishing to spend one last morning in bed away from Jim. My outdoor walks down the street have mostly disappeared unless a friend stops in and Jim is sleeping as I fear he will fall. Even meditation, which has provided my balance, has become difficult. I still however pray. My prayers have changed. No longer can I pray that Jim will be cured, for awhile I prayed for hope, now I find that hope is hope for some beautiful memories and days where Jim is at peace and not in pain. I pray for grace for both of us and strength for me to escort Jim to whatever happens next.
I never became a nurse because after so much illness and care-taking as an eldest of 8, I couldn't see that as my forward path. However now, as inept as I am, love gives me strength to do the most intimate details of love and cancer.
But there is life's most profound beauty and deep meaning in this precious time.
We had 3 beautiful days this week sparked in part by Tegan visiting: bringing barbecue (which Jim once loved) and setting up an outdoor movie theater complete with popcorn on the back deck which we watched as the dogs played and the stars all the while Tegan and I in masks and Jim on oxygen. Jim said that it was the best Memorial Day of his life.
Another beautiful thing has been Jim's oncology nurses sending their support in a myriad of ways: videos, cards, and visits. He loves them dearly as do I, amazed by their capacity to give so deeply despite the specter of death.
And of course friends and family—visits with masks, calls, cards, meals, and offers for walks.
Perhaps most poignant of all was a process we are completing suggested by Ezra, our social worker form hospice. We've had to improvise due to Covid-19 where previously a hospice volunteer would have arranged and done this. But what has been lovely is that through Zoom and with the wonderful efforts of our dear friend Lisa and our friend Ray, we're in the midst of a process modeled on Storycorp but modified for this time of isolation. I could not have done this without Lisa or Ray. It has been bringing Jim such joy, infact he's has been saving his strength for the conversations with those he loves. I think perhaps the best way to describe it is through the email we sent to the folks who are interviewing Jim below.
But before I share that, I just want to share that I have been the most fortunate woman to have found my soulmate—our time together is much, much too short and not what either of us wished. I try not to consider what we will miss in the coming years or how my life will drastically change without him. Jim has even been gently teaching me how to take care of all the myriad of care-taking things he has done in our relationship like building, monitoring and fixing the plumbing, electrical, and internet while I maintain the property and the household. For now the exhaustive list of broken and falling apart aspects of our home and cars will need to wait. I try not to fall apart but I do. I am amazed by his strength of character even though dying. I asked him the other day about his resilience. He told me that at the start of this cancer journey he made a conscious decision to live the remainder of his time with kindness, love, and to bring joy to those who love him and whom he loves. Falling his lead, I try to keep positive and in the moment especially when with Jim—treasuring each touch, each kiss, each care-taking duty though they are not the type of kisses or touches one first imagines when one says "I do". They are more akin to an anointing, a promise, "I will be sure you are safe and tended to, that peace will guide you to your next". When he is gone, then that will be my time to fall apart. But for now and for then, my prayer is that we will find each other again.
_______
Dear family and friends,
I'm writing to you as you are someone Jim asked me to reach out to. As you know since December 2017, Jim has been confronting Stage 4 colorectal cancer. He has had wonderful support and the best of medical care resulting in surpassing his life expectancy of 1 to 2 years. And in that time, he's lived life to the fullest: visiting and being visited by his son's, siblings, in laws, and dear friends; building a harp and strum sticks; going half-way across the country to purchase a camper - enjoying the travel to Iowa, Maine, and Nova Scotia; putting hundreds of miles on his bike - upgrading to an electric bike when his lung capacity began to downsize; outskiing most Vermonters for two seasons in a row; and perhaps what may have brought him the most joy - teaching his granddaughter Satori to ski and teaching skiing and snowboarding in an adaptive ski program at Bolton - to include teaching a young blind girl from Florida to do both!
However in November, we learned that the cancer could not be beat: chemo no longer worked and there were no experimental trials that aligned for Jim. This began a slow and steady physical decline. Jim is now in hospice at home and our hope is that he will be able to stay here till the end.
The hospice team has been very supportive albeit virtual. Times are challenging due to Covid-19. Often at this stage of a person's life, they are surrounded by family and friends escorting them through, sharing their stories and helping to draw strength for all for what lies ahead - much like a midwife guides new parents at the delivery of their child. However due to COVID that has not been easily accomplished.
While working with the hospice folks the idea came up that Jim should have a chance to tell his stories and to preserve them - creating a sort of “legacy video” for all of us and especially for his kids and grandkids. Jim would like to do this. So I'm working with my friend Lisa, to organize this for him. Jim would like you to be part.
The idea is that he’ll have one on one conversations with family & friends online (through Zoom) that will be recorded and then edited into a shorter video. The full conversations will be saved as well and able to be accessed by those he loves. In a way it serves a dual purpose giving you and him a chance to deeply connect at this stage of his life and to help Jim tell his story creating a legacy.
Lisa will be reaching out to each of you via email to see if you want to take part and to provide logistics. Also feel free to call, email, or text me with any questions.
Thank you for your help and for being so important to Jim.
I haven't painted in quite awhile—since January I think, writing has been more difficult as well. I recently posted some writing I wrote earlier but did not publish, in part almost like wearing garlic or holding forth a crucifix to a vampire— attempts to ward away death. However, it is now so obvious that these attempts do not work.
As the United States begins to "open up" since the Covid-19 lockdown (right or wrong, we shall see), Jim and my worlds shrink smaller and smaller, yet I will not complain, I will only hold this time more closely. He is often restricted to the couch because even sitting pains him. I have stopped exercising in the early morning—not wishing to spend one last morning in bed away from Jim. My outdoor walks down the street have mostly disappeared unless a friend stops in and Jim is sleeping as I fear he will fall. Even meditation, which has provided my balance, has become difficult. I still however pray. My prayers have changed. No longer can I pray that Jim will be cured, for awhile I prayed for hope, now I find that hope is hope for some beautiful memories and days where Jim is at peace and not in pain. I pray for grace for both of us and strength for me to escort Jim to whatever happens next.
I never became a nurse because after so much illness and care-taking as an eldest of 8, I couldn't see that as my forward path. However now, as inept as I am, love gives me strength to do the most intimate details of love and cancer.
But there is life's most profound beauty and deep meaning in this precious time.
We had 3 beautiful days this week sparked in part by Tegan visiting: bringing barbecue (which Jim once loved) and setting up an outdoor movie theater complete with popcorn on the back deck which we watched as the dogs played and the stars all the while Tegan and I in masks and Jim on oxygen. Jim said that it was the best Memorial Day of his life.
Another beautiful thing has been Jim's oncology nurses sending their support in a myriad of ways: videos, cards, and visits. He loves them dearly as do I, amazed by their capacity to give so deeply despite the specter of death.
And of course friends and family—visits with masks, calls, cards, meals, and offers for walks.
Perhaps most poignant of all was a process we are completing suggested by Ezra, our social worker form hospice. We've had to improvise due to Covid-19 where previously a hospice volunteer would have arranged and done this. But what has been lovely is that through Zoom and with the wonderful efforts of our dear friend Lisa and our friend Ray, we're in the midst of a process modeled on Storycorp but modified for this time of isolation. I could not have done this without Lisa or Ray. It has been bringing Jim such joy, infact he's has been saving his strength for the conversations with those he loves. I think perhaps the best way to describe it is through the email we sent to the folks who are interviewing Jim below.
But before I share that, I just want to share that I have been the most fortunate woman to have found my soulmate—our time together is much, much too short and not what either of us wished. I try not to consider what we will miss in the coming years or how my life will drastically change without him. Jim has even been gently teaching me how to take care of all the myriad of care-taking things he has done in our relationship like building, monitoring and fixing the plumbing, electrical, and internet while I maintain the property and the household. For now the exhaustive list of broken and falling apart aspects of our home and cars will need to wait. I try not to fall apart but I do. I am amazed by his strength of character even though dying. I asked him the other day about his resilience. He told me that at the start of this cancer journey he made a conscious decision to live the remainder of his time with kindness, love, and to bring joy to those who love him and whom he loves. Falling his lead, I try to keep positive and in the moment especially when with Jim—treasuring each touch, each kiss, each care-taking duty though they are not the type of kisses or touches one first imagines when one says "I do". They are more akin to an anointing, a promise, "I will be sure you are safe and tended to, that peace will guide you to your next". When he is gone, then that will be my time to fall apart. But for now and for then, my prayer is that we will find each other again.
_______
Dear family and friends,
I'm writing to you as you are someone Jim asked me to reach out to. As you know since December 2017, Jim has been confronting Stage 4 colorectal cancer. He has had wonderful support and the best of medical care resulting in surpassing his life expectancy of 1 to 2 years. And in that time, he's lived life to the fullest: visiting and being visited by his son's, siblings, in laws, and dear friends; building a harp and strum sticks; going half-way across the country to purchase a camper - enjoying the travel to Iowa, Maine, and Nova Scotia; putting hundreds of miles on his bike - upgrading to an electric bike when his lung capacity began to downsize; outskiing most Vermonters for two seasons in a row; and perhaps what may have brought him the most joy - teaching his granddaughter Satori to ski and teaching skiing and snowboarding in an adaptive ski program at Bolton - to include teaching a young blind girl from Florida to do both!
However in November, we learned that the cancer could not be beat: chemo no longer worked and there were no experimental trials that aligned for Jim. This began a slow and steady physical decline. Jim is now in hospice at home and our hope is that he will be able to stay here till the end.
The hospice team has been very supportive albeit virtual. Times are challenging due to Covid-19. Often at this stage of a person's life, they are surrounded by family and friends escorting them through, sharing their stories and helping to draw strength for all for what lies ahead - much like a midwife guides new parents at the delivery of their child. However due to COVID that has not been easily accomplished.
While working with the hospice folks the idea came up that Jim should have a chance to tell his stories and to preserve them - creating a sort of “legacy video” for all of us and especially for his kids and grandkids. Jim would like to do this. So I'm working with my friend Lisa, to organize this for him. Jim would like you to be part.
The idea is that he’ll have one on one conversations with family & friends online (through Zoom) that will be recorded and then edited into a shorter video. The full conversations will be saved as well and able to be accessed by those he loves. In a way it serves a dual purpose giving you and him a chance to deeply connect at this stage of his life and to help Jim tell his story creating a legacy.
Lisa will be reaching out to each of you via email to see if you want to take part and to provide logistics. Also feel free to call, email, or text me with any questions.
Thank you for your help and for being so important to Jim.
Love,
Ann
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