As the kids got on the bus this morning, my brother called to say my father was in the emergency room. When I called the hospital and talked to my father he said, “Well, they looked in my left ear, and they didn’t see light coming in from the other side, so I guess I’m doing all right.” He was alright, more or less. He fell and couldn’t get up but was found by a nurse in his retirement community. There are health problems on the other side of the family too. My brother-in-law, Tim, is fighting cancer. As I write this in late January he’s lost about 50 pounds and is on an experimental “chemo drip” that goes into his blood throughout the day, every day. He too manages to maintain a sense of humor and graciousness despite the effects of pain and pain meds.
These are tough times, with moments of frustration and tears. There’s a lot of travel. Spending time with sick or hurt people is an iffy business. It’s tricky to find the balance between spending time together and making sure everyone gets enough rest and quiet. It’s hard to be with people when you’re in a lot of pain, no matter how gracious or funny you are. When you’re on the outside, it can be hard to know how to act. Yet there’s still cooking, cleaning, homework, sports, and music.
Life is unpredictable. We like to think that our lives will follow the arc of my father’s, with full years of parenting, a chance to enjoy retirement (my father has become an avid traveler), and some support when we need it. (And this is not to say that his situation is a picnic, because living with his disabilities is a frustrating and frightening business.) But the fact is that we, like Tim, may find ourselves fighting for our lives in the midst of it all, with kids still in school and bills to pay.
As I reflect on my father’s and Tim’s situations, what I notice is that being sick or incapacitated is miserable. Those of us who aren’t sick can rejoice in every steady step and pain-free breath. Every minute that we can truly pay attention to each other without the distraction of pain or crisis is a gift. That time is the cooking, the cleaning, the homework, the sports, and the music. The shoe tying, bath taking, allowance negotiating, and carpool arranging. The time at work and school.
When we were in college, my friend Tom used to love running out into the rain without a coat, extending his arms, opening his palms, throwing back his head, and sticking out his tongue. He’d spin around and exclaim, “Laura! We’re alive!” Whether we are in the midst of illness or the latest homework temper tantrum, we never know when the moments of grace will arrive: The hour when the pain ebbs and the friends are there. The minute when the tears stop, the breathing becomes even, and the math problem makes sense. The hilarious comment from the coworker. The teacher’s gaffe that makes the whole class, and even the teacher, laugh. In this world the moments of grace rain down upon us. They’re often tiny drops, and they could be overlooked. Let us throw back our heads, stick out our tongues, and catch them, paying attention to those who are with us, and remembering those who are not.
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Timothy Pomeroy passed away on February 13, 2009. Family was central in his life. He was a devoted father, uncle, husband, and friend. A man who knew both how to have fun (especially when singing karaoke) and how to make sure that the business of life got taken care of. He will be dearly missed.
In Sickness and in Health
