48 years 68 days

On Christmas Day I outlived my father by one day. He died at 48 years plus 68 days. On Christmas Day I was 48 yrs and 69 days. Don’t do the math…its likely wrong.

Its an odd thing to be on this side of life. 

Things I know now :

48 is young as hell. I knew that then because people told me. Now however, yes. Its young. For most of my friends, children are still elementary school or growing up. Careers are settling in. Life is a blur perhaps. 

He likely didn’t know anything anymore than I do. We all fake it sometimes. I can’t imagine he was any different, even if I did and still do think he knew all. I kinda like to think that now as I sit and wonder at my own still waiting on it wisdom. Makes me laugh really.

I'm told i live with ghosts. I prefer to think of it as a cloud of witnesses. Or better yet I'm an overachiever in the parental death category. (That can be funny. Its ok)  Knowing what I know now about childhood trauma and circumstances that change in families with the death of a parent, I have done pretty well. Yes I worry. More about being left than my own health issues. I'm working on that "left behind" part. Its a lifelong issue complicated by lots of things so…. I’ve got more to go. 

By all I know, Dad was a good guy. Likely with a long fuse, which once it blew, it was gone. I relate to that. I remember having an argument but couldn’t tell you what it was about 10 minutes later. A blessing and curse perhaps.

He played jokes.

He enjoyed his family.

He enjoyed his little girl…even as she called him a “male chauvinist pig” once. (I really did! and meant it and knew what it meant). I think I heard it on Maude. He walked out to the dogwood tree at the back of the yard to apologize to me for whatever he said. The dogwood tree was the “thinking tree” for me. It was my safety so he was most assuredly coming to my place for forgiveness. So there is some humility there. Even in the face of an angry 8 yr old. My mother told that story over and over and how hard he laughed at the “chauvinist” comment. 

Until she told him I was right. 

So today, I wonder what he would have been at 86. But not for long. He remains a 48 yr old bespectacled bearded Dad (who had a goatee long before it was hipster). Who laughed and loved and kissed me goodnight. Whose last words were "Khette, its going to be ok."

Perhaps the adventure continues in a different way. He’s here somewhere.  

Doing Some Jesus Stuff

Last night, I was in Memphis on a “girls weekend” with friends. Friends who work with me and friends who have seen all of us through a world of hurt and wonder. 

We had spent a day with Elvis at Graceland…hilarious in a variety of ways that left us sore from laughter. We had dinner at a spot on Beale and were headed to the Peabody Hotel when the protesters were spotted. 

I shouldn’t say spotted because really they were already there and we were headed toward them. They were on the corner of 4th and Peabody Place. A handful with placards reading #Icantbreathe and #blacklivesmatter. I had to stop at their corner because the light was red. We couldn’t cross yet. 

I felt a little awkward standing there with people behind me, mostly folks of color, with placards pleading for justice and for their lives. My back l was turned to them, literally. 

I am weary from the recent events of Ferguson and New York. Shocked and weary and deeply disappointed.  I really have no idea where or how to help….if there is any. “I look to the hills and from whence does my help come?”…..yeah….its supposed to come but feels like its taunting. I post things to Facebook but  what does that really do other than seem to make my less left leaning friends mad. (which is ok actually but still)

So really, I wanted a 24 hr period of peace, fleeting though it is. 

Did I mention,  my back was turned. 

I didn’t really like that. I didn’t like that I was literally not seeing what was behind me.   I’m the person who sits with her back to a wall so I can see up front and see what’s coming and yes…to people watch. I'm nosey like that. So this was uncomfortable. 

Oh, and I’m a white woman…with my back turned. 

I turned around and looked at who was behind me. 

A bearded white dude put a flyer in my hand. It was for a vigil to be held next weekend. I told him we were from Nashville and thank you for doing this, I said. I noticed a news crew interviewing an African American woman. She had on a pink t shirt and there had been a marathon that day…maybe she was discussing that… and to her left were folks holding the placards. 

My back wasn't turned.  

I looked at my friends and said “I got to do some Jesus”….they knew what I meant and thankfully stood patiently. One said later she knew exactly what I was about to do and whispered to our other friend, “she needs to pray”. I said "do some Jesus" to be funny. I wear the Reverend card irreverently some days. I know the weight it carries and its heavy. 

However, I needed to do some Jesus. For myself, for something bigger than me.  

I looked at one of the folks there…a young woman maybe in her 20s. I said “I'm from Nashville visiting. I am glad you are here doing this…I know this sounds odd, but could I offer a prayer with you all? I really don't know what else to do. If its too weird I won’t….I understand you have no idea who I am.”  (Read "I know you think I'm some crazy red headed white woman")

Unquestioningly, she welcomed the prayer, as did a few of her friends who gathered there with us. We held hands in a circle. I thanked God for the ability to be able to gather like this, to ask for justice and peace and made some lame-ass reference to justice rolling ( I DID get an amen however), and prayed for protection for the folks there and for my black brothers and sisters who live in fear and anxiousness everyday. And I prayed for forgiveness. Forgiveness for perpetuating myths and power structures that keep others from flourishing.  I'm not sure whose forgiveness I was asking. 

I said Amen. Thanked them.

I crossed the street wondering what the hell I'd done. 

I am not an activist. I don’t hold signs. I don’t stand in the line of fire. I'm not made that way. And I have long wondered how I can be supportive of lives I know nothing about besides giving my black friends a hug and a kiss. Sometimes I think that's trite even. Sincere because they are my friends for goodness sake, but trite.  What happened in that moment of “doing some Jesus” was something I CAN do. I can pray. I can witness to folks. 

God blesses drunks and fools and I God knows I can be both. 

Sometimes “doing some Jesus” may be being ourselves.

I am after all, the “never meet a stranger Khette” who makes living praying for dying folks. 

Surely I can pray for other dying folks to LIVE. 

Back to the Future

The last blog post had me running and declaring I was BACK! Well maybe so but a lot has changed since then.

But I am running again. And know I am and will for awhile now.

I am on the cusp of my 48th birthday.

My father died at age 48. If I follow any of his trajectory I will live until September 1, 2015. If I follow my own, it will be well past that...I hope.

I have thought and will think a lot about this likely until the year is up.

I have also been in a place where the old ways aren't working anymore. So I have tried to reach back to those things that have fed me at one time or another in my life. As an only child, the outdoors, my dog, and books kept me sane. So I've begun practices that incorporate these same things.

In August, I started a trail racing program. 12 weeks of Saturday morning runs and Tuesday night hills. All for some reason that I am only now realizing.

I ran in high school. Track and cross country. I enjoyed it but can't say I loved it. It was a sport I could do. I was never fast but my mother declared I could outlast anyone. With the proper mix of stubbornness and perfectionism, I managed well.

The first Saturday was a little intimidating.. Several folks were training for ultra runs and distances that required metric conversions. I didn't know anyone. And it was hot. At 47, I produce enough heat on my own thank you. However, as I began to run --for a time, not a distance-- I forgot all of that. I was in the woods where I love to be., doing something I enjoyed for the most part. We were "given" permission to hike,walk, or whatever we needed to do to make the run good for us. Good for ME.

Permission to do something for me.

That's what I needed at that time and in that space. I'm not good at that part. And I so much needed that. I spent the downhill part of the trail flying almost out of control and feeling like I was 8 again. It had been a long time since I had that much fun.

I was hooked.

Fast forward to today. A damp Sunday with 30-40 folks, many of whom I had spent those 12 weeks. I have run 5ks and a 10k. The last 5k was great. The 10k was close to awful. Six miles still feels long to me. An hour plus on my feet is still a challenge. But I knew I would get it done.

We started the first mile waaaaaay too fast. Even for my best 5k it was terribly fast. And I was in the back! I took a water break. Stopped totally (permission remember?) and reset myself. The next 5 miles were steady, sometimes solitary, and comfortable.

My friend Kim and I finished together. We spent most of our training working hard with what we have. It was good to be there. My other friends had finished. Some folks got lost in the woods. Lyndsey hugged me knowing what this meant.

I don't pretend to think I will ever win a race or even finish topsin my age group. For me at this time, it's something to be proud of and know I accomplished something, I've learned a lot about myself. I've needed this in more ways than I knew.

Sometimes those things we leave behind, can be reused in new ways. The joy of childhood pursuits are now lessons of comfort and care for the child carried in me.

And that's just fine with me.

Back at it....

I ran last night. Ok I walk/ran but Lyndsey tells me I RAN! So I'll go with that.

Let 's back up a bit. I am 45 yrs old and as the Indigo Girls like to say "heavier by the year and heavier by the load". I am struggling with this aging idea. Mentally I feel 16 most days. I laugh I cut up I enjoy life mostly. Yet in the last year or so exercise has been hard for me.

I love to walk. I could walk all day long and am frequently excited by a long 5 mile trek. No problem. With the brown eyed boy, I like it even more. As predicted he is not allowed to walk at the moment and I a joining him in a life of sympathetic sloth.

The kicker here is that I have signed up with a bunch of friends to do a Color Run in October. Mostly we will run some per- determined distance in our tennis whites and have chalk thrown at us and come out looking like Neapolitan ice cream I think. It'll be fun. I have to get into shape.

The issue is this. I used to be 16 yrs old and weigh 102 lbs. Yall can fuss at me all you want about that but
I was. I was captain of the track and cross country team. Ran my butt off in August heat and proudly puked at the top of a hill in a fancy neighborhood in Knoxville. I was never fast but I could outlast anyone. I ran at least 8 miles of a half marathon two years ago. I trotted through it and it was fine. I did it and got the t shirt.

I am competing against that 16 yr old and losing badly.

Now? Ack. I need to do this so I won't collapse on this fun run with a bunch of friends watching. It hurts. Ok running is supposed to hurt? I know that mind over matter crap. My knees hurt. My toes hurt. It is hot as hell and I am in peri menopause. Basically that means do not stop me from getting into a cold body of water ASAP at the end of any physical activity.

I have tried the "your patients would give their eye teeth to get up and run" thing. That doesn't work. Frankly I think they would rather feel good enough to sit with their grandkids on their porch.

Yes I am healthy but it still sucks. I have tried the "oh who cares if you're 45, this is good for you!" Whatever. And don't even give me the "body is a temple" speech.

I don't want to feel middle aged....and based on good genes in my family, I am smack it the middle. I just got hearing aids and I need new glasses.

I'll go run tomorrow I guess. I needed a day to rest today.

It will still suck out loud.

Week 3 and a new appointment

We have completed week three of four for the first heart worm shot.

I think there may be a countdown calendar for the next leg of the treatment. Thanks to good friends who have agreed to sit with him at various times, we have managed. And likely managed well. I think he's high maintenance but then again it's probably me instead.

Our evenings have consisted of sitting on the porch instead of walking. So my activity level has reached one step above sloth. He has turned the living room into Lewis dogcave.

Our next shot is July 30. I actually consulted Lyndsey for the date so I actually don't have that nervous breakdown I came close to the last time. Since I am going off meds, it's best for all of us.

We'll make it I believe.

He still won't mow the yard though I bet.

What we call normal

This morning in an effort to restore a little normalcy to our day, I put Lewis on his tie out so he could do his morning thing without having someone monitor every drop of piddle and poo. He's been calm and settled all week and if he gets hyped up, I could bring him back in.

This worked fine as I found evidence of such things in his usual spots in the yard (why is that the case I wonder). All the better because it was 6 45 am and this meant we could either go back to bed or lounge all morning.

The weather was tolerably cool and together we sat on the back porch enjoying some outdoor time that we have both missed terribly. I put in some laundry, made coffee, and sat.

Then came the obsessive licking.

Lewis's pads were damaged last week at an unnamed local dog boarding place on Gallatin Rd....and he has worn a cone head for the past week. After settling my anger at this pad condition ( and receiving a less than satisfactory response from the unnamed dog place on Gallatin Rd), I have discovered that this cone head has helped calm him a good deal. That and all the drugs he is on....

All of that to be said, without the cone head this morning, he began obsessively licking his front paws. Ignoring my warnings, he continued. I went inside to retrieve the cone head. I put it on him and with his usual pitiful brown eyed pout, he settled down. I read the paper...well FlipBoard, checked email, Facebook. Even read today's lectionary text. (Sing us one of the songs of Zion followed by cleaving one tongue to the roof of ones mouth)

And then, the squirrel appeared. under the bird feeder and within the cone head sphere of sight. Lewis bounded off the porch, into the yard...with the cone head on.

I think even the squirrel laughed.

Well here we go. The long awaited heartworm shot. As you can tell he's thrilled. I think he's more thrilled that I awakened him early to go get this thing. Per the vet at noon, he took the shot "well". Whatever that means.

While I have waited today...and by waited I mean, I had a flat...waited on the AAA guy named Kirk. he game ME a bottled water. I took the car to the tire place... and waited. I went to lunch while I waited. And then waited as a patient's partner told his story. And came home and am waiting now for a phone call.

In the meantime, over these last "waiting weeks", I have two friends who have had babies. I have had two friends lose a mentor to death. I have witnessed a wedding and a reunion of hearts of those that surrounded them. I have seen what friendships do to sustain people. I have driven to Ohio and back and then watched as 20 something people drove into the morning light to go to church camp.

So maybe I haven't waited and done nothing. Surely not. An article today that is making its way around  "the facebook" talks of the need, deep deep need, for idleness. To sit. To ponder. To be.

I was anxious about this day as I was returning to work having been away and having missed out on too many deaths...or so I thought. I dont feel like I have done much. I was and am anxious about the evening to come.

And then I remembered my dear Dot telling me to wait in line is a gift from God to be quiet and take it in.

This life.

This life of babies and weddings. Of friends and family. Of creatures to care and love.

And await my dream guy.

All will be well.