Find his own way

The young man was moving to Seattle; his grandparents tried all sorts of tactics to keep him home. Then, he left, and his grandparents died off gradually. But, the grandson did what he should have, in the tradition of his grandparents and their parents ... to find his own way. While he was alive, Frank, the cynical grandfather, summed it up best, "Ach ... everyone goes!"

A former teacher colleague of mine, Heather, and I let our tears run down. The young man actor was her husband, and his parents sat on the other side of her crying too. The slice of life that we hate was upon us in the play's theme. Departure. The inability to stay.

Afterwards, I gave her a snug hug, and then I drove back home. I love the theater. I must go more. Yes, the tears were induced by dialogue and drama, yet that emotional reaction is life. I must remember not to dislike my emotional reactions which I sometimes want under lock. I've been doing that lately, but drama, tells me the story that emotions are life. I agree, yet they're uncomfortable at times.

Other happenings ... we went to the endocrinologist this morning. With lots of waiting, Cody and I engaged in wild thumb wrestling matches. He construed rules for everything, until I demanded old-fashioned southern thumb wrestling, where we just tried to pin each other down. The doctor came in then, brusquely, after his gentle student doctor had already looked Cody thoroughly over, and the big sweating doctor said brusquely, "We need to do lab work!" "Perhaps he has tuberous sclerosis with those skin patches!" "I want immediate followup after we get the results!" "Get another CF test!" And, he stormed out, with his gentle student doctor smiling apologetically backwards at us.

So Cody and I went to do some lab tests.
"Just sit over there. Put the slips of paper there. And wait."
X-ray of his hand.
Another blood draw.
Pee in a cup. A nice nurse graphically explained this procedure to me, and my role in it, in the bathroom.
Set up a new appointment.

The nice bathroom nurse came to get another patient, and across several heads, she looked at me, and said, "You have extremely pretty eyes." No one behind me. She kept looking at me without breaking her gaze. "I noticed them in the bathroom. Is that your natural color?"

I hope that we don't have many more doctor appointments, because these "mystical" stranger encounters in the waiting room are turning creepy. Finally, she broke her mesmerized stare (am I a snake?), and we were free to run free in the rain to the van.

Have you ever felt each minute before? What would that be like to savor each thing that you do? Brother Lawrence in "Practicing the Presence of God" says it's possible, it's gift, it's grace before death. Yet does the death shower up into light permanence, into no departure?

All I seem to want to do lately is to live and feel each minute. Perhaps I won't make it through the winter (each winter, someone dies on the roads). For these moments, I'm glad.