April 12, 2006

Quiet Evening at home

In the meme yesterday I mentioned hand-shoveling 12 tons of gravel. Our gravel-filled side yard is now our outdoor dining room. We have two comfy chairs, a fire pit from Target, and a small table. Last night I made dinner while Jrex got to play with fire. (His love of chemistry and fire should have been combined through a career in pyrotechnics, but that’s not high on the list of acceptable career options for a 2nd generation Korean.)

As we sat and talked, the poor dog kept trying to stay near us, which meant contorting herself into semi-comfortable positions in the gravel. She could have moved five feet to a nice bed of soft grass, but no, must be as. close. as. possible. (At night she shimmies her way under the bed. We won’t let her on the bed, so to be near us she burrows beneath.)

One of the rituals I’m enjoying is that we often discuss my latest blog entry. Last night he was confused by the whole “tag” concept. I explained how certain ideas or questionnaires start filtering around various blogs. Someone who knows you’re a reader tags you to fill in the blanks for your own version. He wondered who Snickolett was; he knew the other two I’d tagged. (Thinker he doesn’t read your blog, just knows it exists!)

I explained Snickollet is a soon to be mother of twins whose husband is fighting cancer. “Her life is more full of highs and lows all at once than anyone I know.” He shook his head, “I’ve seen worse.” (He’s an oncologist though currently working in a bio-chem lab.) He had a 34 year-old cancer patient admitted for a bowel obstruction. While he was in the hospital his wife came in to give birth just down the hall. They went “home” to a hospice.

There’s a quote I appreciate, “The world is more full of weeping than we can understand.” Many of my friends think I’m being morbid with that quote, but I’m not. Somehow I find it helpful. After my life was touched by death, it helped to think of all the other people who have endured as much or worse. It helped to feel part of a community, no matter how horrible the ‘joining’ fee. The worst part about becoming blog friends is that it’s impossible to help in any tangible way. All we have are words. And they are often the last thing one needs… I wish I could run over to Weigook Saram's house on a rainy day and play with her little girl while she takes a break. I want health and wholeness for Snickolett's husband. I want to make them food, or help paint the babies' room. What fragile yet vital bridges we build: stories, sympathy, care.


weigook saram said...

Okay, my "problems" right now are so not in the same league as Snickollet's! I complain too much.

I know what you mean about wanting to reach through the computer and help her, though. Whatever support I can give her in comments feels so inadequate.

thinker said...

It's ok if he reads it, it may not make a lot of sense, but who knows maybe it will!

Anonymous said...

Heh. Thanks for asking, JRex! Now I understand what I have to do! Being a solo blogger, I had never heard of this game before...


snickollet said...

Weigook Saram: If I have learned one thing through what I'm going through, it's that life's problems are all relative. If you have a problem in your life, it's a problem for you--even if it seems small or big compared to someone else's.

OTRGirl: JRex's story of the couple who went "home to hospice" is something I actively fear. What if GH is in the hospital or under hospice care when the twins come? I try not to think about it.

OTRGirl, you expressed beautifully how much help it has been to me to find people "out there" via sharing my life on the Web. You readers do a lot, even if it's not tangible. Sometimes the intangible emotional support is harder to find.

By the way, the twins' room came out awesome. It's the color of a perfectly ripe mango. I'll post pictures.

OTRgirl said...

Snickollet: Jrex didn't mean to be dismissive by saying he'd seen worse. He read my posting and got worried you would think he was belittling your pain. I didn't even think about it cause in my head I heard his compassionate, tender voice as he sadly said, "I've seen worse."

You probably have lots of scenarios that are better left unimagined. I can't even imagine the mental battle going on in your mind!!

Glad the room is gorgeous. Can't wait to 'see' it!

snickollet said...

Reassure JRex that I did not take his comment as in any way dismissive. I can't begin to imagine what sadnesses he's seen--I'm sorry he's seen one that I've envisioned but don't like to admit could happen. I know that due to his line of work, he can feel our pain and our sorrow in a unique and intimate way and would never try to diminish it.

Yankee T said...

beautifully written. Here via snick.

L said...

This is so poignant, esp for me right now. It seems that as I get older my eyes are open to more sadness and reality than ever before.

I agree that blogs have a way of connecting people, but at the same time making you feel a bit helpless. YOu want to help but all you have are words. But sometimes, I have to say that those words are enough.