reason to believe

Never occurred to me that the song in my head these last few weeks was Rod Stewart.
Brain, you've let me down. Unsurprising.
But it's interesting, the last person who lied while I cried was my first love. It makes sense the last would too. Sad that that's the tidy story arc end of the rainbow. All my parent issues, wrapped up in a bow.
Anyway, this time there's no deep lesson. It's just that life is ultimately unfair for most people. Vulnerability is rewarded with abandonment, love rewarded with lies, and not everyone who tries hard wins. I'm not special here. I remain extremely lucky and privileged in almost all other ways.
I will say, this last partner was special. I've never been involved with someone with such an out of control personality disorder before. One I'd never before encountered personally, even practicing medicine. So. That's a new experience, and for the future, I'll be able to recognize it in patients hopefully, and maybe get them help before it's too late.
One good thing?
I was crying the other night after I'd received the postal service notice that the address had been changed, trying to brush my teeth through red teary eyes and super ugly-face-making and gasps for breath. And I stood there after, leaning on the sink, and breathed. And saw in the mirror someone I do now solidly believe is worthwhile. Lovable. Kissable and huggable. Someone I enjoy being with. Someone who didn't do anything wrong this time really- nothing I wasn't committed to admitting to and fixing. I never lied or covered anything up. I never gave up, not while there was still a response to my attempts. Even for a while after. Until the response was "stop."
I did my absolute best to love well. And when I didn't do it super well I tried to do it better, alone.
I think I could love better, with some love and challenge and support back in my direction too. I do believe I could. I don't believe I'll get that chance- which would break my heart if it wasn't well torn apart already. But I could love better. And I'd take that chance, because I don't think I could choose to avoid it- it is, however, going to take a lot for me to trust anyone like that again. My intuition about these things has always been very wrong.
I very much miss loving someone like that- this was my first real experience of putting everything out there, while looking forward to opening even more of myself. It felt so expansive and free and joyful to be that open and trusting- for the first time in my whole life! Even though it was clearly the wrong person to trust. And even though I never got the chance to fully engage, because that part, the growing that happens when two people are going in the same direction within a relationship, requires participation of the other person. I feel robbed. It seemed so close this time, I'd never felt that before. I guess I was also more wrong than ever before too.
But now at least, I feel that I am worth someone else's time and love, especially my own.
And I'm learning how to live a life I think is worth it, with maybe only friend-love, because that's really good too. Nourishing and supportive, fun and joyful, and is good compassion practice all by itself.

(JWWaterhouse)

Solo. Free.

It is so odd here. I feel, and felt all the way to getting this job and house, that I was nudged to end up here. Away from ICU. Away from Texas. Away from Washington. Away from Portland even. Or Santa Barbara. Definitely away from the midwest and the east coast. All the times I tried going back, making connections there, nothing ever stuck.
But I wonder if I've just run away to here because it felt safer, easier.
It's hard to know if I was doing my job for the last 2 years because it was my 'calling' and 'it was made for me,' or because I found the thing that was easiest for me. Laziness?
Because now I have this feeling I should be in a hospital, fighting for people's lives. Instead I'm doing some shitposting on the internet and a few nasal swabs. Calming a tiny number of people down in our community, which has kept itself relatively safe so far because our leaders are smarter than other places.
It's. Weird.
And I'm still so scared. And angry I've had to be alone through this. And grateful. Because I can fall apart or not, I'm in control of my daily routine, with no one to irritate me or ask me for more. And because if something happens to me, no one depends on me, so I can just go, my money and things might help others.
But have I done all I can? Have I? I'm not sure what else I'm capable of doing. My ICU skills are out of date, and my ability to handle stress is dramatically different than 12 years ago.
I'm so angry that I still, after all this, after all I've tried so hard and failed at, that I still have this desire to have this all mean something, to have it be for a reason, to be working toward a happy ending in my own life, soonish. This desire to make a difference that helps the world. And to have love involved, before it's too late. It might be too late.
Today I thought about how I used to believe love could change things, I used to believe it was alchemy, that it could heal. And I did notice it had changed me, some. And maybe that's the point.
But as much as it seems like someone has kept me safe so far, that the patterns I can almost see seem real-- it also seems fragile, random, lucky, like a mirage.
And I am very very much alone.

the end of the fantasy

20 years ago I had to change my whole belief system. Makes sense I would have to do it again. The disappointment, though, is that I thought the one I'd built was pretty good. Less harmful, no shame or guilt other than when I actually hurt someone. But I kept all that mystical bullshit. That was my downfall.
There is no intuition, destiny, manifestation.
It's all just random.
Some people get to experience stability, safety, love, family, trust... and some don't. It's not deserving or not deserving, there is no one running this shit, being fair or not fair, or judging or punishing.
It's just random, chance. No cause or effect anyone could ever see the whole pattern of. There probably isn't a pattern, not an organized one anyway.
And overall, people are on the balance, bad, and the world is burning.
Haiti didn't get to rebuild well, Puerto Rico got left behind again despite being part of the US, environmental degradation and pollution continues unabated, and Australia is burning like the Amazon, Indonesia, the american West, and parts of Europe.
Things I've done to help didn't do much.
Learning how to love well, as well as I could, one-sided, didn't change anything in the end. It was just another incidence of me being thrown away, as usual. Not even personal, really, except it's horrible that it took me this many times of ending up as someone else's garbage to realize the reason it hurt was because my belief system was wrong. I shouldn't be surprised when love doesn't get to be experienced by everyone- there's no reason I should be one of those that get to have it. Seriously. I don't need to keep supporting a 'specialness' complex about myself. I'm not a goddamned unicorn. There are a few people like that- who are loved. But all relationships end in tragedy, so I can't even be envious- except it must be nice to get to experience that. I wish I were one of those, but it just didn't happen.
The only thing I can aspire to, is to do less than average harm. Because I still do harm. No matter what I do or try or work on. But I still think that I want to have done my best to not hurt people, to help if I can, even though I can't most of the time and I fail so much. There's no reason for this, I don't believe anything particularly, other than that's how I want to be. I do believe that kindness is better than unkindness. And if I fail, then, I'm still no worse than most.
It's the disappointment that is breaking me. I hope it subsides with time. That's the only hope I have left I think. I wanted things to be true that aren't. It's not the first time, nor the tenth, but it is the last. It is good to let the fairy tales go at last. Now I can just live, without hope, without worry, without further disappointment. There's no prevention or mitigation or reversal. The world is dying, and it's our fault. Men keep killing people. Things keep happening, changing. And there is nothing I can do that matters to any of it. So.
At this point it's just caring for burned koalas. Throwing unmelted starfish back into the sea one at a time. Giving dying bees warm sugar water.

ancestors

it had been so long. and everyone showed up.
since Samhain i hadn't heard any spirits at all. i feel so alone so often.
keep your eyes open she said, serious, my mom's echo. maybe he? i couldn't figure out who, different energy, large, solid, sure, very old, somehow proud of me and interested to see me do well.
had started out wondering if i should just go straight down my mom's path after all. ask for a child, throw myself into it. to pass on everything. but that's what i've been trying to heal instead, to choose differently. hoping by listening more, practicing more, loving more, being more open, staying open, feeling more, that things can be different, better, good, beautiful even. joyful. together. woven together.
they let me yell at them. for leaving, for being bad at loving me, for making me learn the hard and slow ways, for making themselves sick and then leaving me alone. all four of them.
i understand i have learned so much with them gone.
i understand this time i have learned so much in 2+ months. pain focuses me. horrible as it is.
i understand i am practicing. every day. with someone(s) new.
i am so grateful to do the job i do. it allows and forces me (i chose it/keep choosing it to force me) to practice.
i begged for some hope. to have it not be for nothing. and of course it's never wasted. practicing love. i still want reassurance, hope, a vision, a dream, to keep my sails full.
i tried to reconcile if he chooses to throw me away, like the fool, to be a widow, except to be like my mom, losing her person because of his choice mostly, and how i could do it better. hence the thought of children, or fostering. and yet. that path is very likely ugly without dedicated help. without a teammate.
the problem now is not knowing, what he'll choose.
even knowing i'd have to keep practicing every day either way, to not loose hope or focus or perseverance, for life, and that it will still end anyway, regardless, but not by choice, even if all ended up going in a direction i'd prefer.
my grandfather's mistakes and love and being partly right- they haven't made fools of me. but so far, they've been fools.
bozena's mistakes and teaching me how actual love feels. thank heaven for her understanding and persistence and not giving up on me, not entirely.
my mom's horrid beliefs, but such love. teaching me to laugh and question.
my grandmother's insistence on shame, and love, and that discipline didn't have to mean not-love.
is it that i have to let go and let things be, to 'we'll see' my way through this?
it is so hard letting go of knowing of shaping of even trying to paint.
it felt good to be talked to.
practice.
keep your eyes open.
we love you. love you. love.

re-becoming a flower

thich nhat hanh has this lovely bit in one of his talks about when people are separated from ones they used to love, that one thing that can be done is to notice if the flower that was fresh and appealing that was offered at the beginning has been allowed to wilt, so the job of the person who has wilted is to refresh the flower.
(he implies that this applies both ways in his example, but one can only do something from one's own perspective) (and the job of the person angry at the wilted flower is to water and feed the flower, from what i remember, but that's not where i'm looking at the moment)
presenting a refreshed flower to the world does not ensure a bee will want to pollinate it, but even if not, it might be a good resting spot for a katydid, or might remind someone through its scent or dew or color or abundant soft petals that there is love in the world still.
and after trying to do better, i might only receive anger or disinterest or abandonment. a flower can't take a bee's decisions personally, so i will have to work to cultivate more compassion for myself and others so that i can see those reactions differently and not fall apart. if a bee stings, it loses its life, so all i can do i suppose is learn to be a less aggressive flower. (metaphor falling apart alert. ha.)
i didn't wilt intentionally or alone; the conditions around the wilting have been rough and dry and compressive this year, and i wasn't watered adequately for sure. but i can see, that to refresh myself, there are things i can do now that some of the pressure has lifted.
i can attend to my own suffering better, and not push it on or blame it on others. well, i can work to be more skillful at that, at seeing it, at curbing it, then stopping it; it's a good aspiration.
i can sit with my fear and inability to help, and understand that kind of suffering better in myself.
i can see how fear drives desire (for change, for anything different, for something to move), and i can be with that and learn to slow down my reactions and behave more skillfully.
i can enjoy and care for my physical body more positively. i can find a better balance between excess and control.
i can listen better. i know i can. i do it with patients. i failed hard at that in the past year.
there has been a lot of suffering in this house i didn't attend to. it's probably never too late to try, so i will. i can be a dragon (amber and ferocious and wise sometimes) or a hedgehog (reading and prickly and hiding) or a cat (naps and clean and demanding and pets) pretty well, now to focus on the kind of rose i am best at.
i also have to let go of needing my attempts to bear fruit from anyone but myself. i would like to grow a lovely rose hip at least, so that when finally i wilt forever, others can benefit from the buildup of vitamin C. and love.
(and the meantime, i might smell better. ha.)

music, time, warmth - today was a letter writing day

3 months ago, here, i wrote how things might fall apart, and they did, and while i'm not surprised, i feel such sadness. at the same time relief; not the way I was relieved when I found you and felt I had found what I had been looking for- but relief that I still have a house and a job despite fires and planes and fear. And that I have the ability to reach out for hands to hold when I am afraid and sad. And that hands reach back. It's just enough. I do want more.

Hafiz said a lot of things. Today I read 'you carry all the ingredients to turn your existence into joy, mix them, mix them!' I will keep mixing.
Also 'On my worst days, I think to myself, the man that survives this will someday thank me for not giving up.' (@rudyfrancisco) And I want you to feel this deep in your heart.

There is safety in depression. I am very comfortable, still, not afraid but drawn, still, when I see that cold damp darkness come into view. But I want to undo myself, to stop growing the unskillful pieces. The self-hatred and impossible desire my mom steeped me in, that I see is no longer mine. Last week I hovered for a good while directly over a pit of that darkness and chose instead to get on a plane, to listen to love, and to move forward. It is a good sign, I think. I am better at feeling unsafe. At pushing and growing when I am full of fear. What is mine to work on is different than my mom's, and also needs to be worked through, and I want to. I want to be more skillful at life. At love, specifically.

And I want you to hear me. To see yourself for who you are. Your worth, that is not related to depression or alcohol or perceived failure. Or your beliefs that are untrue that you cling to.
Shame and guilt and victimhood are easier to feel than fear and confusion and indecision.
If you can learn to be afraid you can ask for a hand. If you can learn to be confused you can become curious and learn yourself clear. If you can learn to feel indecisive you can ask for help deciding. But those are so uncomfortable.

I get it, as much as I can without you telling me specifics. I have been near where you find yourself now. I have wanted it to end. I have feared for it to end. I have wanted the connection you found in the desert. And I see you looking for it. That feeling of "not-alone." And when you don't find it, I see you trying to drown your sorrow and aloneness in further isolation and chemicals. Which doesn't work, unless it actually drowns you. What you keep doing isn't going to find you that connection. Neither is racing towards or forcing your own end. Although it would be quiet then. But I might not be able to find you again. I hope you stop moving in that direction. I want you to come back to me.

I wish you had been sure about me, but you can't be unless you are sure about yourself.
I was sure about you. It was a first. I'm still frustrated I didn't meet you earlier. I want more time with you. If I could ask you for anything.
But I can't allow myself to enable you, and I can't allow myself not to challenge you. That is hard for you and for me.
I believe in you, I want to help you through this, I wish I was the one you wanted with you. If you ask, I will come to you to hold your hand as long as you need it. (Even if you hint and can't ask.)

But I can only work on myself, even if I want to support you I can't do the work for you, only mine. So I realized through this awful time, that I do want a family. Not the 2.5kidsspousedog nonsense. No. I am (watering the idea of?)(asking for?) a partner who wants to do the project of life with me. With me. As a team. A team that extends to a family that is open to involving other beings, chosen and non chosen family, buildings and tents and work and music and flowers and travel and politics. A work of honesty and love and challenge and space, in progress.

These are from a talk by angel Kyodo williams, a Japanese Zen priest:
"Love is developing our own capacity for spaciousness within ourselves to allow others to be as they are.  It doesn't mean we don't have hopes or wishes that things are changed or shifted. But that to come from a place of love, is to be in acceptance of what is, even in the face of moving it towards something that is more whole, more just, more spacious, for all of us."
"Whatever kind of desire we have for our own development in life: to be willing to face discomfort and receive it as opportunity for growth and expansion and a commentary on what is now more available to us rather than what is limiting us and taking something away from us."
"I must face this because it is intolerable to live in any other way than a way that allows me to be in contact with my full loving human self."
"I know the road feels low and winding and we seem to need the pain to cut to the core to emerge from the sleepwalk of despair and feel through the numbness of disconnect and indifference. But if we let ourselves feel this we will be better for it."

I love you. I want to become more skillful at loving, and at loving you. I will keep working on it.

phoenix

there might be a point at which a heart has nothing left to break
a fragile feeling, being made of crystal that used to sing
but only if touched gently and consistently...
i told her my heart had finally been broken too many times-
that truth resonated and filled what is left of me but didn't hurt
the world has too much suffering to be saved from human disrespect
the last seed of hope was crushed in someone's teeth instead of planted
the phoenix turned out to be a plain grey bird up close
there is no return or repair or revolution
only walking resolutely forward into the smoldering fire
anticipating pain, hoping for empty darkness at the end

"today is the day" - Poe

Rule 35, ostensibly from Shams: "In this world, it is not similarities or regularities that take us a step forward, but blunt opposites. And all the opposites in the universe are present within each and every one of us. Therefore the believer needs to meet the unbeliever residing within. And the nonbeliever should get to know the silent faithful in him. Until the day one reaches the stage of Insan-i Kâmil, the perfect human being, faith is a gradual process and one that necessitates its seeming opposite: disbelief."

And from Rumi: "Things become manifest through opposites Since God has no opposite, He remains hidden."

And Hafiz: ' Who can believe the divine kindness of God? Who can comprehend what happens when Separation ends? For now, Because of my union with Reality, Now, Whenever I hear a story of one of His prophets Having come into this world, I know I was a tree that stood near, Leaned down and took notes. I know I was the earth that measured the infinite Arch in His feet. I know I was the water, I know I was the food and water that nourished Him--- That went into our Beloved's mouth. Pilgrim, If it is your wish, you will someday see You sat inside of Hafiz And it was with the lyre you gave me We sang of truth and the sublime intimacy: "I know I was the water That quenched the Christ's thirst. I know I Am the food and water that goes Into every Mouth." '

https://youtu.be/muCOH-aeO6g

irony

this is the first time i've intentionally drunk a bottle of wine by myself in a year.
because, mostly anyway, today i read about bombing syria (and missing) and killing civilians, again, bombing afghanistan with the largest bomb in existence that hasn't been used before, with who knows what implications, and threatening N korea knowing S korea would simply be sacrificed if something started... imagining the sweet family who got momentarily famous a few weeks ago who lives there, and an ex that lived in guam with the navy for a while...
the alcohol relaxes my restraints on emotions and thoughts.
i think about teaching meditation, and how maybe that's all i can do. if i can.
i imagine a job where i am allowed to do what i believe in, but am quite uncertain that is possible.
i feel the loss of my mom, my second mom, my two grandparents i loved so much. and the fact that i've been easy to leave since my dad wanted nothing to do with me since before i was born. i want guidance. reassurance. to not feel alone right now when another world war seems imminent. because of "us".
i am quite certain that i have missed my chance at love and a family. and i wonder what will be fulfilling in its place, if the world ends (for humans) or if it doesn't, and if i am an irredeemable failure already.
and i text my best friend who's on an island.
i talk to my best friend upstairs.
i write to myself here.
i compose in my head the (sober) letter i'll write in the morning to my best friend in santa fe.
i remember my other sister is skiing this week.
i wish the things i love were easier for me to hold onto.
and then. i really do love a good corsican rosé. minerals, astringent fruit, and crisp florals.
maybe if the world does end soon, i'll become a sommelier.

Elephants

It's almost comedy how, after years of meditation, I can simultaneously notice, allow, understand, and be annoyed by my mind avoiding something unpleasant.

Today, like every day, I went in seeking truth. And also not really wanting to see it.

I am the blind men describing the elephant- except I have only blindfolded myself, and seem to sometimes intentionally fixate on the toenails or ribs of the elephant, rather than allowing myself to understand how each part makes up the whole of it.

my Work: my intention to relieve suffering - my refusal to submit to a system I despise: my Inaction.
my Love: my desire for relationship and connection - my repetition of past patterns: my Solitude.
my Home: my longing for belonging - my loves spread all over the world: my Restlessness.

Independence, Gaining Knowledge, and Relationship. These were the three things my mother helped me identify as my main motivators. I am persistent, enthusiastic, and love to teach. I've been told I am passionate, nurturing, and brightening.

I went in today seeking truth. Instead I saw how everything connected, I felt the skin all around the elephant, I felt my mind refuse to name it, refuse to take the blindfold off, and I turned away imagining a to-do list for my evening meeting.

I wonder when I will finally open my eyes. And what I will see.

life after death

You used to complain about your weight, then eat ice cream before bed.

You wouldn’t open up when you were upset for days, then a trigger would send you at me suddenly, howling in terrifying rage that made no sense to me.

You didn’t trust your body since it seemed to betray you so often, and had no tolerance for pain, resisting it and distracting yourself instead of taking better care.

You were so afraid of me being hurt that any small thing would send you into a panic over me, instilling a deeply etched pattern I keep trying to shake off.

Your black and white thinking alienated so many people, and your certainty kept you closed off and ashamed of your own choices, your misplaced guilt a shark-filled moat around you.

You wanted to connect so badly that your intensity backfired, leaving you mostly alone.

Your own brother barely knew you…

Your father blamed himself for so much, not because he did treat you badly when you were young, but because of his choices in women…

Your mother lied to you about why she was so depressed and angry, and after she died you wished you could speak with her.

And I realize, all at once, that all these things, so directed at you, so angry at you, so judgmental of you, voices repeated by my mind over the years, can also be said at many points, completely, truly, about me.

And also.

Your sense of humor was excellent, and we would make each other laugh until we couldn’t breathe.

You tried hard to exercise, to eat healthier food, and enjoyed small adventures.

You loved philosophy, archaeology, old movies, music, science fiction, and poetry.

You thought you had a good answer for how to make the world a better place.

You loved to sing in other languages.

Music moved you, could make you cry, or motivate you to dance awkwardly around the living room.

You had a gift for seeing into me, understanding what really motivated me, who I was, solidly, reliably, predictably, underneath the roiling emotions that constantly disturb my surface, and your advice and love were deep.

Your relationship with grampa got much better over time.

You understood your mother so much better after she died, and although that was painful, it was helpful too.

All these things are also true for me.

No suffering is ever unconnected.

No connection is ever without effect.

Letting go of certainty and blame,

the innocence of interdependent arising 

can begin to be seen to illuminate existence.

a Dream of Time

We are born into an hourglass, a structure of time

For a moment there is no sand around us
But the colorless sand transformed into our cage.

As we take our first breath

The universe is transparent, boundless.

We enter into our own time

The count starts, sand lands on our heads

Shocked, we cry, trapped, cold, alone.

The grains fall around us, they become familiar

We use them, become comfortable in them

As it falls we assume new sand will always fall

So we can keep building our sandcastles…

Some become aware of our imprisonment

Some attempt to escape early

Rushing Jumping Building Steps

Up towards the fall of sand

The movement looks to show only one way out

Choking, suicidal, some get stuck in the rush of time

But spirits cannot move from the stream until the grains have all fallen through…

For the rest, when the grains run out, for a moment there is peace

A clear path for spirit to leap into the empty chamber above

Leaving our bodies below.

Spirit can float free without time

Until inertia turns the hourglass over and we begin again

The dust from our old lives mixing with time

Pouring over us again, old patterns and habits

While our spirit remembers only love and wisdom

It begs to be heard through the noise from the fall

But

Sometimes

There is a spirit that remembers its nature is pure light

And for the joy of it

The joy alone

The spirit embraces its light nature

Floating free between turns of the glass

Illusion is banished

And light passes through glass

So

There comes a choice

To be light inside time

Or to be light outside time

And then

To return to time as light?

Love and Dreams

I still remember how you used to look at me. Trying to look at my eyes, frustration, distraction, desire, struggling to care about my words. In the dream early this morning it was the same. Even as I woke up, the need to explain the story I was telling you, the need for you to understand, to sympathize, to be indignant for me, to laugh with me and make me feel better about the jerk who'd tried to use me to hurt my friend, all of those things felt real enough that I wanted to finish telling you the story even after I was fully awake. But as the dream faded and I thought about how real it seemed, I remembered why you couldn't listen, why you missed so much. In the dream I had only a pink tank top on, the one I have now that is too big that I sleep in sometimes, but it didn't matter. You always saw me and said I was so little, you saw my body, you saw under my clothes, you saw what you wanted to do 10 minutes from then. You had trouble being present, hearing my words, seeing the person who loved you, focusing long enough to get to know me all the way through. I mostly wanted a friend back then, I wanted you to be someone you weren't capable of being for me. It wasn't fair. It wasn't fair that I was so angry at you for so long after either. I probably could have made it easier on us, but I didn't know how at the time. I didn't see the person who loved me either. But love is not necessarily what you need it to be, since it comes from a person who is not necessarily what you need for your soul to feel at home. I hope you understand that now like I do. You were the only one there for me during the worst week of my life, and I can never transmit to you the extent of my gratitude, and how much I love you for that gesture, no matter the ulterior motive. A song on my way home tonight sang to me about getting over someone, but I will never get over anyone I've loved. Nor would I want to. Because for me love is forever, even if it changes form, because I use it as a verb, and I still love you. If I give away a piece of my heart, there isn't a loan or lease, it is yours. Crush it like you did, give it away like you did, forget it like I thought you did, it is still yours. The giving made my heart stronger somehow, letting more light out and in through the gaps.

grampa's voluntary trip to anatomy lab (in memoriam)

remembering anatomy lab

where we curious butchers would go,

to plumb the depths of someone

searching for every muscle to name

taking off skin

sawing through bones

braving the formaldehyde

the cold

the gruesome reality of death

looking for diagnoses

finding heart attacks, implants, strokes, tattoos, cancers—

it really was fascinating-

… there was a strange excitement

that went along with each discovery

… we’d think about the patient

not for long about how they died,

instead we’d imagine a life,

usually a positive one

and we treated our patients with respect,

kindness, compassion,

though they wouldn't know

… but I wonder when my grandfather’s body

lay in their med school lab

… if they found his sadness…

his loneliness as the final cause of death…

the grief, the shame, the guilt,

that drove the last few years of his life

the frustration…

but also the kindness and the love

and the desire to understand

his ready laugh that was harder to evoke last year

his enchantment with children

his repetitive stories i loved

'I may not always be right

but I'm never wrong'

and how often he walked to get us donuts on Sundays... 

underneath the anxiety

that likely damaged his arteries

there was a sincere desire

he wanted his grandchildren

to be well and happy

alongside the resignation and despair

because he did not know how…

I wonder where we find that.

when medical students learn that.

I certainly didn't learn it in lab.

does someone you love have to die

for you to understand death- 

losing all my immediate family certainly didn't teach me-

does it require something more?

how do you teach an understanding of life inclusive of death?

making us grateful and present

for the lives we have while we have them

...he loved us so much

...I wish everyone could have known my amazing grandfather

...and be touched by his gregarious and optimistic love for everyone he met