Happy New Year

Just wanted to post a brief New Year's greeting. I've been sick in bed since the day after Christmas with a cold turned quickly to sinus infection. Whenever I get a cold, my asthma kicks in and I cough like Camille for weeks unless I stay relatively quiet. Hence . . . my absence from the blogosphere.

I hope you all have a joyous holiday. Stay safe tonight!

My Subconscious Speaks

I have just had one of the strangest experiences I've ever had in my 30-some years as a writer.

I wrote a poem in my sleep.

We went to bed very late last night, and early this morning, I had a dream in which I wrote a poem. The process in the dream replicated my poem-writing process precisely: the headlong rush to keep pace with the ideas braked by excruciating anxiety about choosing exactly the right words. In the dream I scribbled it down on the first writing surface I could find, and when I'd finished, I looked at the indelible black words I'd scrawled across a square of silk printed with sunflowers inspired by Van Gogh and Gaugin, and I cried out, "What have I done! I've ruined my favorite scarf." (I do own such a scarf.)

The dream woke me up, and I remembered more than half of the poem. So I wrote it down (on paper, not clothing) and finished the draft. I think this may turn out to be a psychologically necessary poem rather than art, and I'm sure it will undergo some revision eventually, but for now here it is.

RECONCILIATION

In the last days and the failing hours,

of my mother's long and disappointed life,

I traveled to her bedside to make a final farewell.

To that prone, spasmodic, and non-responding figure

I spoke apology, forgiveness, and still-desperate love,

but she, as always throughout my self-tormented childhood,

remained incapable of granting the acknowledgement I sought.

Yet while I sat there, holding her hand

and praying words of ancient promise,

her twitching and restless body grew still

as she gained a peaceful though not-quite-final sleep,

and thereby I embarked on my personal convalescence.

What Today Feels Like

Slowly, the grief is subsiding to manageable levels. I'm sleeping better. This is the fourth really significant death I've experienced in the last 12 yeas, and for each one, I end up having wakeful nights for quite a while afterwards. Last night I did wake a few times but managed to go back to sleep after a short time. I also started working again yesterday . . . fewer hours than a regular day but enough to feel that my life is getting back to a routine.

Right now, I feel as though I'm walking around holding something inside the core of my being— a kettle filled to the brim with scalding liquid. If I move slowly and carefully enough, I'll be all right. If I get jostled, the kettle will slosh over and I'll start sobbing again, and some of my bouts of crying have been so intense I couldn't breathe for a few minutes and that gets scary. But as enough time passes, I think the contents of the kettle will cool enough so I can pour them out, little by little, and not get burned.

I don't know if that makes sense. But it's how I feel.

Bonhoeffer quotation

My pastor, Fr. Clyde Elledge of Annunciation of Our Lady Episcopal Church, conducted the service for my mother, and part of it contained this Bonhoeffer quotation. I found it very moving:

"Nothing can make up for the absence of someone whom we love, and it would be wrong to try and find a substitute; we must simply hold out and see it through. That sounds very hard at first; but at the same time it is a great consolation, for the gap, as long as it remains unfilled, preserves the bond between us. It is nonsense to say that God fills the gap; God does not fill it, but on the contrary, keeps it empty, and so helps us to keep alive our former communion with each other, even at the cost of pain."

I Know That My Redeemer Liveth

That's the piece from the Messiah that I'm clinging to today as I sit in the hotel waiting to leave for the funeral.

Here's a link to YouTube. (They won't let me embed.)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qtU1c5JZf0k

Thank you again for all your prayers. I know they are giving me strength.

Myrtle Hoglund Hull, RIP

My mom passed away about an hour ago. Thank you for all your prayers.

This photo was taken at her 90th birthday party in May.

my visit with Mom

First, thank you all for your prayers. I know they have given me strength, and I'm sure they are giving my mother peace and comfort.

I'm so glad I went to see her yesterday. She was more out of it even than I expected, and she could not respond to me verbally at all. (The nursing home has her heavily medicated because keeping her pain free is their priority right now.) She was moving somewhat restlessly in bed, but she did turn her face to me, and later she held my hand for a long time.

I told her I love her and that I was sorry for the times I hurt her and I forgave her for the times she's hurt me. She told me a few years ago that she fears death, so I read her John 14:1-6 and told her not to be afraid. I told her everything would be all right.

I have no way of knowing if my words sank in at all. So I prayed that the Holy Spirit would reach in and communicate with her at a level far deeper than my words could reach, and after praying that for a while, she calmed down and drifted off to sleep.

I have to believe that the visit made a difference.

Now we just wait.

I feel much more at peace about our relationship. I'm very tired, and I hurt both physically and emotionally, but I know this is just part of the process.

Thank you again for your prayers. Please keep remembering her. I'm praying that she has a peaceful passing.

prayers requested

I know I'm supposed to be taking a blog break, but I could use prayers. One of those pianos I didn't mention in my last post is about to come crashing on my head.

My mom has gone into decline. She's not eating, and half the time, she thinks my younger brother is our deceased oldest brother or she asks about my father, who's also gone. As of today, she has been switched to hospice care. I'm going down to see her this afternoon to make sure I get there before it's too late.

The nurses won't give any definite predictions, of course, but the hospice nurse told Bob today that it could be a couple of days or a couple of weeks. At any rate, I don't expect that she will last till Christmas.

Sunday will be the anniversary of my brother's death.

I'm alternating between grief and numbness.