HAARD...

I wrote the following on November 14th. 

I'm hesitant to click publish. Why? 

I don't want to misrepresent myself... 

The piece may come across as a bunch of insubstantial muddle...

As clear and thin as muddy water...

And maybe that's okay...

Maybe that's a good reason to click publish...

~*~

11/14/24

So how did I feel when I learned that Trump had again won the US presidency?

Maybe I should start with what I did not feel.

I did not feel disgust or anxiety or shock.

Perhaps disappointment?

But... I can't even say I felt disappointment.

I felt more like someone who, through a series of explorations, reaches the acceptance phase of living with a rare, incurable disease.  

With an incurable diagnosis, after the initial shock, at some point, comes acceptance, resolve, determination and adaptation. 

Acceptance for what is and what may come.

Resolve to do one's best despite the diagnosis or prognosis.

Determination to accept and live each day, each moment, as it unfolds.

Adaptation as one finds a new way to function in their new abnormal-normal life.

I'll call it AARD. (Hmmm...if I add an H for Human, it becomes HAARD. Ain't that the truth?) Depending on the length and severity of symptoms, the afflicted goes through AARD multiple times with ever widening and deeper levels.

One learns to adapt and live with their changing limitations; to navigate the physical-emotional-mental roller coaster of symptoms, remedies, laborious self-care, appointments, ups and downs, twists and turns, and isolation.

One learns to mourn and grieve their losses, often alone in the privacy of their own world.

If the person is fortunate, they have one or two confidantes whom they can trust to be with them through their various levels of grief and acceptance.

And one learns to find joy, despite their circumstance.

To find silver linings.

To discover how to flip a dire circumstance (without bypassing the reality) into something meaningful, finding something to hang on to, something to help ground them, to help find peace with it all without allowing the condition to become one's full identity. It can be a huge undertaking with circumstances that the disabled did not consciously choose. (Again, I think of Dad who lived over 12 years as a quadriplegic.)

Like others, I have lived this up close and personal. not only in my own life, but in others for whom I have cared, human and non-human -- from quadriplegia to blindness. I penned a prose recently, endeavoring to relay a bird's eye view of what one woman has felt in her journey to acceptance. That woman is me. 

This feeling of accepting the presidential election news like an incurable disease wasn't about Trump himself, but more about our society with so many of us trapped in an insular loop of rationalization, justification, true believerism; where opinions and beliefs beyond one's own are judged as wrong, evil, demonic. I think I think that this incurable disease is the narcissistic side of our human condition depicted by traits such as lust, greed, arrogance, self-righteousness.

I, like others, have lived this also. I once "knew that I knew that I knew" the truth. I didn't just believe, I knew that "the Bible was the revealed Word and Will of God." I knew that The Way was the genuine "household of God" teaching the "rightly divided Word," the only accurate interpretation of the Bible. 

Then that which I had known as absolute and inerrant, shattered.
And I began to puzzle back together the shattered pieces to form a new vase.  (Poem: Shattered Pieces)

From my experience, one of the main characteristics of cultic thinking is limited choice.

It's what I discovered not only in a religious cult but also in the anti-cult movement.

And I learned that that cultic behavior is human behavior which happens on a continuum. 

We all have biases.

So, what about you Carol?

Where are you trapped?

I feel trapped in a crippled body which (figuratively) climbs a mountain every day to perform the simplest of tasks such as clothing and feeding oneself, making the bed, and squeezing a toothpaste tube,...

I feel trapped in a continual repetition of levels of AARD, over and over and over, like Groundhog Day...

Does that mean that I am trapped in the tribe of the disabled, though I rarely communicate with others in that tribe? I rarely communicate with others in general. Engaging takes energy that I seldom have. ( A prose from 2021: Bubbles of isolation into sacredness...)

It seems, through much of my life, I have been/am often in the minority.

Polyradiculitis is no exception.

In the over 13 years that I've lived with this condition, I've only met one other person who has the same. 

But they have it only on one side of their body affecting only one arm.

I have it on both sides affecting all four limbs and extremities, my back, my neck, my jaws, and more. 

Even though it determines my choices in my day-to-day life, polyradiculitis is not my identity (or at least I don't want it to be)...

This is just my life...

Given to me to live...

One day, one moment, one circumstance at a time, with its continual adaptations...

Thus far, it's been a rich, full, ever-learning, and sometimes wild ride...

~*~

Acceptance...

How does one feel when given the news that she has a rare, incurable disease?

First, there is puzzlement and shock which might be mixed with relief, if she's been searching for answers for months or years.

Then, grit and determination.

Then, loss and grief.

Then, acceptance.

Acceptance is the lynchpin. 
That which keeps the wheel on the axle, going round and round, to carry the weight of the wagon to its next destination.

Acceptance flips the initial shock, determination, grief.

With acceptance comes resolve.

Determination returns, but not so lofty as before.

Loss and grief again follow, deeper than the initial round.

Which brings another layer of acceptance.

Acceptance that she can no longer participate like she once could.

She recounts her life, weighing its worth.

What, of merit, has she accomplished?

When she struggles to find value in real time due to her disabled circumstance, her heart recalls its first love -- the mountains, the woods, the open sky, the earth and its wonders.

And her heart is comforted.

For she has loved Gaia, and Gaia has loved her. 

Even if I can never again be with the trails I love so dearly, I am gifted with rich memories that bring me joy, that lift my confidence, that bring me peace.

And there is human motherhood, of which I am most proud, my children.

I recently attended a Zoom gathering.

I felt seen. I felt comfortable in my own skin.

Oh girl, wouldn't it be great to feel that way every day?

But, that's not how skin works. 

~*~

Enigma with Return to Innocence...

~*~

11/17/24

A few days after penning Acceptance, another "A" word came to mind: adaptation...

Perhaps it is the lynchpin instead of acceptance...

~*~

Go Heels...

Tuesday, 10/29/24

As I walk through the small store, my eyes grazing upon books and cards and trinkets and soaps and jewelry and apparel, a man walks by wearing a UNC Tarheels long sleeve tee. 

"Go Heels," I say with a smile. He responds with a smile and affirmative, "Yup." 

"I have a kinda funny short story, if you have a moment," I respond. 

"Sure, " he answers still smiling.

"My mom was one of 13 children though only 10 made it to adulthood. So, I have lots of cousins. Most of them went to UNC - Chapel Hill. But one of my cousins had a different idea. He applied and got accepted at UNC-CH and then proudly showed his acceptance letter to us cousins and announced with a chuckle, 'I only applied to turn 'em down. Just wanted to show everybody that I ain't goin' there. Instead, I'm going to App State.' :D " 

The man in the Carolina tee chuckles, "Well that's even funnier because I went to App State. But I'm a true-blue Carolina fan."

Some ten minutes later our paths cross again in our store perusals, and I ask, "Where are you from?" (I often ask this question of folks I encounter along my day-trip adventures in the mountains.) 

"Eden," he responds and then proceeds to explain where Eden is located (which I already knew). While listening I search my brain for a name. Thankfully, Brain comes through...

"Did you know Harold Matthews?" I ask. I figure he would know Harold because Harold had been superintendent in Eden, and the UNC-tee man (whose name is Tim) looks old enough to have known Harold.

His face lights up, "Yes! I knew Harold well. And his family."

My face lights up too. "Wow. Harold was my husband's uncle. We went on a few trips to Topsail Beach with the Matthews. Hubby's having supper tomorrow night with Bruce." (Bruce is Harold's son-in-law.)

"Wow," he echoes. And then continues "I just talked to Bruce this morning. My wife and Cherly were best friends." (Cheryl was Bruce's wife who passed away years ago from cancer.)

"Cheryl was the closest thing to a sister that Hubby ever had." I add.

Tim calls and motions for his wife, also named Cheryl, to come join us. Her jaw drops upon the introduction.  One of things she tells me is, "I remember going to Aunt Kate's!" (Kate is Hubby's mom who is still alive and well at 89 years old.)

We swap stories, all three of us delighted at this serendipitous encounter.

I later drive north on the Parkway to Smart View at Mile Post 154.1, my soul feeling satisfied, grateful, and seen as I allow the magical flow that so often accompanies me (especially in the Blue Ridge) on these daytrip portals into life beyond my symptoms and problems reminding me of how very rich I am. These mountains, they are my true home on this earthly sojourn...

~*~

Tim and Cheryl visit the store mentioned above one time a year -- in October. The store? Poor Farmers Market in Meadows of Dan, Virginia. A place I frequent on my daytrips to my beloved Blue Ridge Parkway. 

The store-deli-gas station-produce stand is a feel-good gathering place. Hubby and I have grown fond of this special place -- its owner and staff, the regular patrons, and the magic it has brought into our lives. The story above is not the first of these magical encounters at the Poor Farmers Market, but it probably takes the winner. However, there is that time when, on one visit up there, Hubby and I came home with an extra $10,000 (in the form of two $5000 checks) in our wallets! It was a gift of gratitude from a previous pet-sitting client. (Woah doggies, was that I surprise!) Another time, I met a man who was born the same year in the same hospital as me in Daytona Beach, Florida. (Who woulda thunk...) There are other stories, but those three are probably at the top of the serendipity-magic list.

If any readers are ever driving the Blue Ridge Parkway in southwest Virginia, I highly recommend checking out Meadows of Dan located right off the Parkway at Mile Post 177.7.

~*~

The Youngbloods with Get Together...