Thursday, March 26, 2009

I am fragile. But fragile like my grandmother’s hands with their veins crossing like purple highways. My mother sat at her bedside holding those hands, she’d trace the veins and watch the blood fill them back up. There was a delay, like the blood was a sluggish river. My grandmother, she was too proud to come back after the stroke, refusing to speak rather than learn again. But I am fragile like her hands with their parchment skin, easily torn and see-through.

I’m standing in the Walmart where I am because I need some big sponges. I broke down in tears during my therapy appointment before coming here and my eyes are still red. I pluck myself up wondering how many of the people here have stood atop Glastonbury Tor and felt the wind try to carry them away…or been chased by gypsies outside the cathedral at Chatres…or made love in a seedy hotel in Versaille…or been torn a new one by a real British dame? It’s not like I don’t know the answer. These were my dangerous choices. The choices I made instead of staying home and living a quiet life. So now I am alone and worried I have nothing new, exciting or different to look forward to. And no one to share it with—whatever ‘it’ turns out to be. I get my sponges and carrot juice and check out, feeling spectacularly alone.

This all hit because the realtor comes by tomorrow to look at the farm. It’s too much for me to take care of by myself. And I can’t get the sort of medical care I need by myself because the doctors take advantage. And I can’t afford to take care of both the place and myself. So I must leave. The “by myself” phrase keeps coming up and I think, now, that I made terrible choices since being me means I am now this fragile, alone thing. The people around me don’t look different from me. I fit in here, externally. But I know what fills me is very different than what fills them.

So I am fragile and papery and vulnerable. Just like my grandmother’s hands.

And I got a very nice personal rejection, which didn’t help matters terribly.

15 Comments:

  1. Paula said...
    This is a story, Roseanne - a nonfiction human story. I loved the comparison between your emotional and physical fragility to your grandmother's hands. Another line that spoke to me was how you knew you were filled with something very different than the people who surround you.

    As far as feeling alone and wondering if you made poor choices or if you have anything new to look forward to - I can appreciate those disturbing thoughts, because I've felt that way before.

    I'm always hesitant to attempt to cheer someone up when they are blue, because I don't want to seem as if I am trying to slap a cartoon printed band-aid on in internal injury, as if it could stop the bleeding.

    I will say, if you are strong enough to do what you need to do to take care of yourself - foremost - and understand that losing the farm will force you to experience life in a different "new" way - then, you are a survivor who has the ability to think clearly during chaotic times, who acknowledges their emotions, but does not let them strangle logic.

    Being vulnerable and transparent can be beautiful. As frail as Allison Kraus' voice or the wings of the moths you wrote about in a lovely story I read a short while back.

    I once read that writers are loners and are often sad, but their imaginations give wing to the intangible essence of their souls and even though - the writer feels alone - their readers feel close to a stranger whose glass-heart is placed in their palms - in the form of a book, story, or poem.

    As long as you can create, you will always have something new to look forward to - and who knows, you might discover more peeps want to hang out if you ain't so tied up with goat duties and dodging goat doodies.
    annetteinalaska said...
    This is likely the sort of thing ahead of me, too. The question is: would you go back and change the choices that you made? And if so: would you be the same person? And: would you be willing to risk the unknown, different you?
    Tossing Pebbles in the Stream said...
    Rosie,

    It has been a while since I last visited your blog. I am so sorry life has gotten so difficult for you. I hope circumstances improve somewhat.

    Finding oneself "alone" is something I have experienced. I would never have expected in any vision of my life. I hate feeling that someday I may have to depend on the "kindness of strangers".
    Sara said...
    I haven't any magic words to soothe and help, but I hope that perhaps me reading this, and saying so and typing these words, might make you feel a teeny bit less alone. Ill health and having to move are so stressful, no wonder you feel fragile. This will change, hang on in there.
    Margy Rydzynski said...
    I'm sorry to hear this. Leaving something you know is always difficult. Your health has forced some decisions, much like unemployment has forced the hands of others in similar ways. These are never easy, but you at least have the courage to express yourself honestly. I commend you for that. It actually may be that something better will come of all this - or at least something that benefits you in unexpected ways, whether or not you consider it a benefit.

    Hugs,
    Margy
    Omnibus Driver said...
    Awww, Rosie. Prayers going up.
    Nancy said...
    Aww, Rosie. I'm sorry. It is hard to be alone. But, I think your next home, and next challenge will be better.
    goldwing12 said...
    We all make choices at certain times in our lives. Sometimes those decisions are made in seconds. Doubting yourself, and those choices or decisions, only feed the green head of our own ambition that we also carry with us. The one that makes us want to reach for the stars.
    Yes, I could have been a rock star. Love playing to the crowds. Too bad I can't sing or play an instrument. But I also love my solitude.
    Yes I could have married that other girl. Ok, I did marry that other girl. Then we got divorced. But it seemed like a good idea at the time. Now I'm glad I did get a divorce. I have the lady I have been looking for all my life.
    She knows that the career path I have chosen was done out of desperation for a job. Any job that has security. It dangerous, but you don't get layed off. I wish sometimes that I wasn't a cop, but after 25 years, I have made changes in others lives. Just like you Rosie, you touch people you don't know and leave a lasting imprint that you don't see.
    Man I love a smart woman. I do love how you write.
    dibear said...
    Rosie, your story has left a lump in my throat. Your comparison brought back memories of my grandmother. I spent 8 yrs alone after my divorce, and when I thought I would always be alone, I was blessed with my wonderful husband, now of 17 yrs. Life sometimes has to reach it's darkest days before the sun shines once again. Chins up and bless you.
    Maridmitch said...
    Dear Rosie,

    You are wise to know you can't take care of yourself and your property right now.

    I hope God leads you to where He wants you to be.
    bonnie said...
    I'll miss your stories about the farm, the animals, and some of the ones about your neighbors (the good ones, not the ones who burn pink houses, shun people & steal their goats), and wherever you end up (scuse me while I paraphrase The Last Unicorn) I hope you find many more stories.

    I bet you will, too. You're awfully good at looking for them - I bet that goes with you whereever you our.
    WAZA said...
    aight, so, what did the Realtor have to say? times are going to be busy.
    GUYK said...
    I am sorry. I hope it works out for the best for you.
    jen said...
    Hang in there rosie.

    Sometimes life is really hard-so sorry it is for you right now-hope ther are btetter days ahead-

    saying a prayer for you-

    Jennifer
    Jbeeky said...
    Rosie, I am so sorry you are going through this. Your choices are amazing and I hope you do not regret a thing.

Post a Comment