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Prescribing Joy: Joy

Madeline (Octopus Lady) is my youngest biological sister. With seven years and two siblings between us, we weren’t close growing up, only really getting to know each other when she first visited me in law school 15 years (!) ago. I love her despite the can of dog food she once dropped on my¬†head, and she loves me despite the times I locked her in the basement and told her Chucky was going to get her. Sisterhood is a joy … now that we’re older.ūüôā

prescribing joy

Joy

Joy

Is seeing a rainbow

image1

Walking through the woods

image2

Splashing in the ocean Read more…

the duration of love

today
i drove
alongside
the ocean
with my sister
madeline

i told her
how i learned
our mom had cancer
right before i boarded
the train to
my first
comic con

and how
when i drive
one stretch of
this freeway,
i remember
talking to my mom
while looking out
at the ocean
so vast and
thinking
how enormous
(wider than the ocean)
it felt to know
we would not
have many
more
phone
calls

but, today,
talking with madeline,
i reached that stretch
of freeway
and felt

endless

like my mom
and my godfather,
and my grandpa g
wrapped parts of
their love into me

and i feel them
(not the loss of their bodies)
in these moments:
the warmth of love
wrapped around me,
a cocoon of forever,
the duration of love

image

loveworthy

I haven’t been reading blogs recently, and I miss them. I miss you.

My quiet, though, is a necessary, self protective one. In this greater quiet, I have spent a lot of time thinking more about safety. I have discovered both that I haven’t been a safe place for myself and that I must work–hard–to be one now and for many tomorrows.

Silver Star & Dark Moon 4eva

Of course, even the greatest quiet must include one’s closest friend and Silver Star (aka “Rache”), and we’ve had much to share. One text message exchange in particular lit my heart such¬†that I wanted to memorialize it, to remember the exchange and to remind myself that love isn’t a matter of luck. I wrote Rache:

[Someone] told me earlier this week that I’m lucky to be so loved … but it wasn’t luck, for me or for you or our siblings. Having known great hurt, we are also uniquely equipped to identify those who could or would never hurt us. We have sought those people in our lives and left aside the others. It is not luck that we are loved. It is that we are lovable … that we listen, and we hear, and we love so greatly. Read more…

Weekend Coffee Share: My sister’s lovely snores

If we were having coffee, I’d ask you why you were out and about so late. I’d explain that I’ve only slipped out briefly while my younger sister, Rache (aka “Silver Star“), sleeps on my couch. She’ll be headed back home almost as soon¬†as she arrived, but the quickness of her¬†trip doesn’t change the warmth left in its wake. Home feels¬†even more like home when filled¬†by traces of certain loved ones’ presence, I’d say with the hint of a smile, already looking forward to hearing my sister’s snores for a few more hours.

I’d tell you how we didn’t do much, and about how very perfect was our laziness. I’d say¬†we slept only in alternating fits on Friday nights, talking through most of¬†Unfriended¬†and¬†Cinderella, and laugh when saying I made it through only ten minutes of¬†Avengers: Age of Ultron¬†before taking a late-night nap. Me, sleep through a superhero movie and stay awake for¬†Cinderella?! I wouldn’t have believed it myself, had I not been there, done that! Read more…

The Sisterhood of the Waves

At 2:35 p.m. on March 4, 2011, I soared over the ocean in a Ferris wheel.

I seldom remember what I was doing any given day, let alone any hour or minute, but this was a moment I needed to spend laughing.

My mom had died one year ago that very minute, and I wanted to make sure I spent that minute’s¬†entirety remembering¬†not how my mom died, but how she¬†lived.¬†We’d laughed together on that Ferris wheel on her one vacation. That very same trip, she’d shouted for me and Jay Leno to get a “chin shot, chin shot!” on account of our mutually sizable chins. Read more…

Lifted into the light

“How do we get the medicine on her?” Rache asked after we received it.

Our mom didn’t want medicine as she died. She’d cut herself in younger days; the physical pain felt more real, more justifiable, than her emotional pain. In her final days, I think it felt like a reminder she was still alive, still strong enough to endure any pain short of death.

None of us doubted her strength. We’d witnessed it firsthand for decades. Mom’s pain was evident, and excruciating, and we chose to ease it.

“I’ll ask if she wants to watch me nurse D,” I said. “She loves that. With Mom focused on that, you can give her a back rub and slip on the patch.” Read more…

Home was in the car

Categories: Family, Love, Personal Tags: , , , ,
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