Guest Post: What We Put In The Ground

Today’s post is excerpted from a recent email I received from my friend E, a fantastic writer and a fantastic person. It was inspired in part by a recent entry here. While I am like a puppy faced with a truckload of bones when it comes to praise (more please, no, really, more), I am posting this with her permission mainly because I find it so touching and beautifully written. Identifying and other details have been removed. Thank you, E.

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Yesterday while stretching after a particularly strenuous run I realized that my neck, which had not been troubling me during the run, was totally aching. It came when I tried to lower my head to the ground, bending forwards, to place my hands there and ease open the muscles in the backs of my legs.

The fact is that earlier this year, I learned that the bones in my neck were not stacking up in the way that they should. Like some kind of nearly-toppling tower, they were too unsteady to do their job. To help, my neck muscles were in a state of spasm, trying to keep things upright. Good intentions, bad results. So when the pain started while I was bending over, I at least knew what it was: my neck muscles, trying, as usual, to keep my head on.

When I first got the diagnosis, I called my husband. “I can’t hold my head up,” I said. “You couldn’t invent a better condition for me at this moment.” His mother died a year ago while we sat beside her in the house that she raised him in, the house that we now live in. We lost her at the end of a period during which we watched and heard lung cancer make its way up to her neck. For the entirety of her illness and the period that followed, when I watched my husband’s heart break, I did not feel I could hold my head up at all.

Yesterday, when I tried to lower myself towards the floor of this room, in this apartment where a woman I loved very much raised two children that I love very much, one of whom I married, I realized that my neck was working too hard, working against me as I tried to place my hands on the ground.

I thought of the entry you had done about this, about why we place our hands on the ground and what it means. I thought that it is terribly important how we get to the ground. I was bending over but my neck was craning out, like a not very intelligent ostrich. I could not let it hang.

I stood up again, and did the kind of thing that I have a body memory of from being in first grade, kindergarten, having kind teachers and a rubbery little self. I rolled my spine one vertebrae at a time down and when my head wanted to turtle its way out I thought no, just let it go.

When I got to place my hands on the ground, all of me was there. My head had come along for the ride, too. I was alone in the house that we’d been fighting to bring back to life after this impossible year, and had my hands on the ground giving something back. It was quite beautiful and it was a moment that you helped to create with your writing, which was with me as I leaned over and let go.

When It's Surmountable

I'm very lucky in that I have a job I like. However I want to do something completely different -- and no, it's not the fish-slapping dance. I found out this year that I want to design jewelry. I am slowly building the skills to be able to do that -- learning to render, learning to silversmith, designing and so on. I am also trying to suspend my disbelief that this is an insane idea. I have two great things in my favor: a husband who is completely supportive, and friends and family who draw monsters and make fertility sculptures out of broken furniture FOR A LIVING so boy am I in the best possible company for this kind of career transition.

The third thing I now have, courtesy of my lovely Tante, is the passenger records of my maternal great-great grandparents and seven of their nine children, ranging in age from 18 to an infant (the last two, including my great-grandmother, were born here) when they came through Ellis Island from Russia in 1898.

In addition to the sheer loveliness of having all of their original names on record (some of them were Americanized to the point of being unrecognizable), I have a reminder that will carry me through the next year and half -- that my great-great grandmother was the exact age I will be this year, 37, when she came here with basically nothing, survived the trip and started over in a new world, with seven children depending on her.

I would wish for her strength but I know I already have it, so I can only say bless you my wonderful ancestors. Everything I could ever want in this new world is entirely possible.

When The Answers Do Come

I've been thinking today about the impossibility, often, of changing or healing the past. We do things or things are done to us that are such a rupture to our psyches that they can seemingly never be healed.

I told my friend heretofore known as the Goddess Devi (she is the daughter of a Hindu priest) about a friendship that went terribly bad. The friend and I had a screaming fight on the phone one night when he said he was certain we'd known each other in a past life. I asked what he thought had happened. He said "You killed me and I killed you. Probably with knives."

When this friendship drifted away, I felt awful I'd never been able to have closure on it. Never really been able to say I'm sorry I hurt you and I'd like to hear that you're sorry you hurt me. Instead there was gaping, endless me -- the reality is I could have, and wanted to, hear I'm sorry a thousand times and it never would have been enough. Then there was the friend, who more or less avoided all eye contact with me for the next ten years, including when he was in my house.

So I told the Goddess Devi all of this and how I felt like a failure, like I'd have to go through another lifetime or ten, or at least this one, having failed this friendship, not having ever made it whole or functional or healed enough to walk away and feel like I could throw my hands up over my head like my son so often does, yell "I did it!" and never look back. The Goddess looked at me with incredulity and a small lilt of a smile. "Of course you succeeded! Look at it this way -- you didn't kill eachother! That's enough progress for one lifetime!"

I got an answer today to a question posed in my last post from someone I never thought I'd hear from again. Someone who hurt me badly enough that I didn't want the ending to be good for him, or for me. All I can say right now, other than the ever-popular "BE CAREFUL WHAT YOU WISH FOR" (I asked for an answer from anyone, and boy did I get an answer from Anyone), is that I can forgive myself for not having super-human powers of healing for myself or any of the other broken animals. It's not my job to become perfect in the face of awful, or to work for anyone else to do the same.

I ask that the Universe remove my guilt. I ask that the Universe remove my shame. I ask that anyone -- and Anyone -- who was harmed, abandoned or in any way had their psyche ruptured by the person or people who loved them most -- I ask that we are all held one way or another in the palm of love, and that all of our guilt and shame be removed.

I ask that we pass that love and all the gifts we receive forward into the future. I ask that we are liberated from feeling hatred and anger about people in our pasts, the dead and thoughtless and stupid and young and uncaring, the things that can never be rectified. I ask for forgiveness from anyone I harmed. I forgive everyone who harmed me. Everyone. And Anyone.

The (Overwrought, Overdiscussed) Butterfly Effect

Since we're nearing the end of the year I thought I'd go back over these posts and see how things have transpired since I picked up the megaphone of this blog and started shouting into the dark heavens.

I took another look at post#1, Universe Please Help Me Find A Name for This Blog (with apologies to RG who made it very clear he never again wants to read about just what Judy Blume helped me find. I owe him a nice, calming post about baseball.)

What struck me most is that I had totally forgotten the incident in the bar that had led me to start blogging in the first place. Some strangers told me a couple of small stories and nudged me in another direction, one I wanted to go in but just didn't have the map to. And if it hadn't been recorded here, I'd have forgotten all about it.

A good friend of mine recently went through a bad breakup. She said a story I'd told her ten years ago about my breakup with my first love helped her, as did other stories she'd heard about breakups. This was her first real breakup with a longtime love. She said having no experience at this, all these stories prepared her, and she leaned on them, thinking about how her friends had felt and how they'd gotten though it, and it helped her follow a path that others had already walked.

I guess what I'm learning is that life is not a series of big dramatic moments. It's a constant weaving of thousands of threads. You're weaving other people's lives without even knowing it.

The love I have for Owen, my friend who died years ago, still reverberates even though he's not here to tease me about it. After a very bad recent day, when I only saw my badness and all the reasons why the couple of people I know are angry with me right now absolutely should be, and I said "I don't think I can handle this pain anymore," well, there he was. I came home from my evening class and sitting in the lobby of my building were a few true-crime novels. (One of the things I've come to love about my building is the neighbors leave books and magazines for eachother). At the top was Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil, Owen's favorite contemporary book and one I've never read. I'm reading it. And all the things I loved about him -- his humor, his warmth, his sense of the absurd and of the good -- are still right here in the world and even in this book with its strange blend of lurid and lovable. And of course I can take any pain there is to be doled out.

Tiny little miracles

1) My computer rose from the dead this morning, bowed low at the waist and tap danced around the room. While it was making me some tea in an elaborate ceremony, the doorbell rang and the new battery for it came. The computer clicked its heels in glee. After two hours on the phone with (remarkably nice and helpful) Dell tech support people on Friday, who had me do everything short of attaching jumper cables to the laptop and starting it off the engine of my car, I'm in genuine shock that flipping the on switch this morning actually worked.

2) I may have an opportunity to periodically go to London for work, neatly and shockingly solving the problem of how I am ever going to see my best friend from childhood who lives two hours from London by train. Even the possibility of this blows my mind. Who ever actually gets what they want? Me?

3) In the debacle following the computer's three days on the slab (I guess it's Happy Easter for the computer), my fabulous Andrea offered me the use of her home office, which I am going to take her up on starting this week. This is another one of those unbelievably lucky and generous happenstances -- I really need to work somewhere other than my house with the working husband next to me at least some of the time, and I would not be able to afford an office space on my own.

4) We loaned a friend of ours a chunk of money several months ago when they couldn't make their rent. We later told the friend they didn't need to pay us back. Genuinely felt that way. Said friend has since gotten lucrative work and not only wants to pay us back but offered to help us start a college fund for our son and make sure our investments line up. Said friend is in finance industry. Said friend rocks.

5) I stopped drinking coffee this weekend after having food poisoning Friday night and figuring that it might be a good time to clean the slate of abusing my body, mainly with caffeine and sugar. The miracle part of this is by taking vitamin supplements and sleeping when I needed to, I somehow never turned into the Jabberwocky nor ate my friends and family whole in one big gulp.

Til later.

Last Minute Save

At this very moment, as I was about to say I had nothing to write about, our friend who has been waiting for her green card for 6 YEARS just called to say it was in the mail as of yesterday. She is now legal.

We've been asking the universe for this for a good long time now, so many thanks to the universe for helping a very deserving person take the next steps toward a productive and wonderful life.

Strangely, my husband just called her yesterday, and there has been a long-standing tradition of her getting some news on the progress of her green card within minutes or hours of speaking to us. She says we're her good luck charm. I'm very happy to be that for someone.

File Under -- Please help the people of New Orleans

And I'm sure most people reading this have asked for that over the last three years.

I've been struggling with the idea of holiday gifts this year, for myself and for others. My kid doesn't really need the metric ton of toys he is going to get and the people I work with really don't need another -- MILKFAT SPOILER ALERT -- Junior's Cheesecake .

We finally finshed our lists last night, but what I really want is to get someone in New Orleans a hot water heater. And it looks like I can.

This awesome-seeming organization, Make It Right NOLA, (hat tip to the New York Times)spearheaded by Hottie McHottie Pants -- er, Brad Pitt, which means Hottie McHottie pants in at least 8 languages -- and a group of eco-conscious architects, is working to help rebuild the Ninth Ward with 150 sustainable homes. You can apparently pick something specific to donate, like a hot water heater or a tree.

So, Mom, because I know you read this, let's talk about making small donations to eachother's charities of choice, along with the 707 stuffed with Muppet paraphenalia that I know is due your grandson, or He Who Flies Around The Room On Golden Angel Wings, and Never Does Anything Irksome At All, at least, Not In Front of Grandma. It would be a nice lesson in giving for He Who Flies, and it might be a nice new family tradition.

And by the way, Brad Pitt, well played, but you are totally stealing my husband's look. Knock it off.