Portraits of a beautiful person.

In my job I am blessed to know some amazing people. I meet them in an intimate setting: as their nurse as they navigate their terminal illness to the end. It can create personal heartbreak, yes, knowing that the people you grow so fond of are not long for this world, but it all feels worth it. I meet amazing people that do amazing things. I meet people ready to see the end, people fighting their diagnoses, and people that simply live each day to its fullest, with a unique intention that a terminal illness can bring.

I have been blessed with the honor of knowing a woman named Christi. Christi is very much alive, and during my months as her nurse her optimism has been simply enchanting. She was dealt such a crappy card in this life, but she smiles like no one I've ever seen. She is kind, she is appreciative, and really, I have grown quite fond of her. I have returned to my favorite local hospice agency, so she is no longer my patient; she is now my friend. As her friend she has given me permission to photograph her, not only the beautiful, shining self that she is, but the harder, more sick parts that are very much a part of her reality. She does not hide her cancer, it is a part of her now, just as her pain pump that is constantly infusing medicine into her is a part of her. Just as her colostomy and nephrostomy tubes are a part of her, the cane that she must use because her gait is too unsteady to walk without it. Just as the smile that she gives when she sees you is a part of her. The compliments she always doles out, and the attitude that keeps on looking at the positive; these are a part of her. She is multi-facted. She is beautiful. 

Thank you Christi for letting me take these special photos of you and your mama. Thank you for letting me be a part of your life. Thank you for making my life even more meaningful having known you. You are a special human being.

 

 

 

February

We made it out of February, some more unscathed than others. 

Winter brings out the blackness. The long days, the mornings where every ounce of your being wants to just lay in bed, the bitter cold forcing it's way into your bones. This is February.

I have a friend that is hurting badly, full of a profound grief and glaring introspection. I want it to not hurt so bad for him. I want to take the hurt away.
I have a friend with advanced cancer. She was my hospice patient and now, with a restructuring of my job, she is now my friend. And like all my friends, I love her. And I want to take the hurt away.
We had a nephew that only blessed this world with a week of living.  My sister in law and brother in law are hurting. And I love them and want to take the hurt away.

This has been February.

February, for being the shortest month of the year, feels like the longest. February, in all its coldness and its forced recluse, gives us the opportunity to reach deep inside and pull up the things that need to be dug out. When I lived in Maine (where it is VERY COLD), I called it my black month.

You can't avoid February. It comes every year. Some sensitive types, like myself, feel the pressure of February a bit more than others, but no one can fight off the seasons, the ones of Earth, and the ones of our hearts.

I was gone from my writing in February, lost to my own routines and tightly curled up hurts.

But the sun, the glorious sun, has started shining.
And the sun, the glorious sun, is what gently uncurls the hurts.
Spring is rebirth. And we get the chance to be reborn again and again.

Soon February will be a distant memory. Or maybe, for the people that have experienced tremendous loss, it will be a milestone. An unthinkable time that hopefully will be less traumatic with the healing sun gently easing the pain.

I, myself, give thanks for February, for the dark and the light. And for the Spring where we all get the chance to be new again.

Spring is a gift. The sun always comes back.


FEBRUARY
BY DAR WILLIAMS

I threw your keys in the water, I looked back
They'd frozen halfway down in the ice
They froze up so quickly, the keys and their owners
Even after the anger, it all turned silent
And the everyday turned solitary, so we came to February

First we forgot where we'd planted those bulbs last year
And then we forgot that we'd planted it all
Then we forgot what plants are altogether
And I blamed you for my freezing and forgetting
And the nights were long and cold and scary, can we live through February?

You know I think Christmas was a long red glare
Shot up like a warning, we gave presents without cards
And then the snow, and then the snow came
We were always out shoveling and we dropped to sleep exhausted
Then we wake up, and it's snowing

And February was so long that it lasted into March
And found us walking a path alone together
You stopped and pointed and you said, "That's a crocus"
And I said, "What's a crocus?", And you said, "It's a flower"
I tried to remember, but I said, "What's a flower?"
You said, "I still love you"

The leaves were turning as we drove to the hardware store
My new lover made me keys to the house
And when we got home, well we just started chopping wood
Because you never know how next year will be
And we'll gather all our arms can carry, I have lost to February