An Ordinary Wednesday

Dusk is settling down, foggy and cold. Wet snow lays thinly in the bare patches between grass, and on the gravel. It seems fitting. On the surface, things are fine, but underneath, I feel like the landscape. It's not that the surface is false. It's just that it's not the whole.

Christmas

Space is still filled with the noise of destruction
and annihilation, the shouts of self-assurance
and arrogance, the weeping of despair and helplessness.
But just beyond the horizon
the eternal realities stand
silent in their age-old longing. There shines
on us the first mild light
of the radiant fulfillment to come.
From afar sound the first notes
as of pipes and singing boys,
not yet discernible as a song or melody.
It is all far off still,
and only just announced and foretold.
But it is happening.
This is today.
And tomorrow
the angels will tell what has happened
with loud rejoicing voices,
and we shall know it and be glad. . . .

--Alfred Delp

from "The Shaking Reality of Advent,"
which was written just before Delp's 1945
execution as a traitor to Nazi Germany

Christmas Eve

And ye, beneath life's crushing load,
Whose forms are bending low,
Who toil along the climbing way
With painful steps and slow,
Look now! for glad and golden hours
Come swiftly on the wing:
O rest beside the weary road
And hear the angels sing.

For lo, the days are hast'ning on
By prophets seen of old,
When with the ever circling years
Shall come the time foretold,
When peace shall over all the earth
Its ancient splendors fling,
And the whole world send back the song
Which now the angels sing.

--Edmund H. Sears

Amen, and Come, Lord Jesus

--St. John
"Revelation"

Appointments Two and Three

I've seen a whole slew of doctors in the last couple of weeks, and for once I'm seeing them instead of Elijah. The upshot has been that we need to have some more diagnostic exams done. That's the answer I was looking for, but it's been frustrating to go through so many different doctors in order to make it happen. While we wait for the upcoming exams, I'm trying to take a deep breath, unclench my jaw, and generally relax. Waiting and not knowing have never been easy for me.

Overheard

Boy: "Why can't birds breathe?"
Me: "? . . . Birds can breathe, honey. What made you think that birds can't breathe?"
Boy: "Well, because they're not mammals."

Carrion Comfort

Not, I'll not, carrion comfort, Despair, not feast on thee;
Not untwist--slack they may be--these last strands of man
In me, or, most weary, cry I can no more. I can;
Can something, hope, wish day come, not choose not to be.

But ah, but O thou terrible, why wouldst thou rude on me
Thy wring-world right foot rock? Lay a lionlimb against me? scan
With darksome devouring eyes my bruised bones? and fan,
O in turns of tempest, me heaped there; me frantic to avoid thee and flee?

Why? That my chaff might fly; my grain lie, sheer and clear.
Nay in all that toil, that coil, since (seems) I kissed the rod,
Hand rather, my heart lo! lapped strength, stole joy, would laugh, cheer.
Cheer whom, though? The hero whose heaven-handling flung me, foot trod
Me? or me that fought him? O which one? is it each one? That night, that year
Of now done darkness I wretch lay wrestling with (my God!) my God.

--Gerard Manley Hopkins

Appointment One

Elijah and I saw the geneticist today, for the first time in (can it really be?!) three years. It was about as uneventful as I'd expected. They don't have any new ideas about a possible diagnosis. They do have a couple of new testing options which we'll have to decide about; one requires a blood draw, the other general anesthesia, and as far as I can tell, neither of them really get us forwarder. With either option, a diagnosis would a) be unlikely, b) be even more unlikely to be something that has already been described, and c) not change anything about Elijah's treatment. Not to mention that the last time he had a blood draw he was two years smaller and it still took two or three adults to hold him down and a good twenty minutes to get a decent stick. Or the fact that he has, on occasion, had trouble with anesthesia.

Not surprisingly, without a diagnosis, they still don't have any information based on anything other than surmise regarding the statistical probability of a recurrence.

The highlight of the visit was listening to the geneticist as she examined Elijah: "Can I touch your hair? . . . Can I see your hands? . . . You have such nice hands. . . . May I look at your feet? . . . Those are good healthy feet. . . . While you're walking, I'm going to look at your spine. . . . That's so nice and straight!" That office has a full schedule, eight hours a day, five days a week, seeing kids who, for the most part, are not so strong and healthy. Elijah's health is a gift.

Testing the Waters

It’s been a gray day, with a steady rain falling. The standing water in all the low places on the driveway and road picks up the light of a late sun as it breaks through the clouds at the horizon, turning the world gray and gold. It’s the kind of day that so often made barn chores cold and miserable; the kind that lends itself to solitude, a steady fire in the woodstove, a cup of hot tea, writing and thinking.

Over the weekend, Dan and I reached an amicable agreement in the matter of Christmas decorations—enough to satisfy his love of finery and festivity, but not so much that I want to run screaming from my own house in protest against holiday cheer that I’m really not feeling. So Elijah’s sitting in the middle of the couch with an oft read Curious George book, and I’m curled up next to him with my laptop, both in the glow of the Christmas lights. We just finished school for the day.

I haven’t been here much lately, as the dates at the top of the past few posts testify. I’ve needed a break. And now that I’m starting to think about coming back, I’m uncertain about where to go from here. Writing about the details of day-to-day life and leaving out the emotional undercurrent just doesn’t work for me. I have a hard enough time doing it in real life without becoming bitter and sarcastic; I’m not going to attempt it on my blog. On the other hand, completely spilling my guts on the internets doesn’t seem like a good call either. For some reason I felt more comfortable talking openly about deployment than I have felt so far talking openly about grief and loss. I’ve thought about it. I don’t know why.

I’ve been uncertain as to whether any kind of a middle ground was possible. Hence my absence. I’m still uncertainly, actually. But I’m back for now.

A Thomas-ey Day

Today was Elijah's fourth birthday. He had his first birthday party for friends his age. He had requested a "blue" party; we surprised him with Thomas decorations, which are, after all, blue.


His birthday always reminds me how blessed we are to have each day we get with him. This year has been no exception.

More on the Surge

More to chew on, from Lola.

Surge

Tucker said it better.

(I actually don't know that I do agree with the surge, generally or any other way. I'm incredibly, overwhelmingly ambivalent. But Tucker's right about the price.)