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Shadows and Feathers "Hope is an unbearably precious thing, worth its weight in feathers" "The happiness without cause is the best happiness, for glee intuitive and lasting is the gift of God." "I find ecstasy in living, the mere sense of living, is joy enough" Emily Dickinson Where are we? At just the moment I begin to write, up in the air between Chicago and Detroit. Jeanie came along for SCUPE graduation and to see the Betty Laduke Eritrea paintings exhibited at the Field Museum. By the time we kiss the girls and turn in after midnight, she won't be able to recall the day's events unprompted. Ten days ago she had another seizure, a considerable set back from which she has recovered more slowly than before. Perhaps as much to the point, an MRI the day prior had shadows "suspicious of new neoplasm" as they say. She takes my hand across the empty seat and her eyes are bright. Her face is a little drawn and she tires easily. She forgets phone messages, sometimes as soon as hanging up (be warned and ask her to write it down). She is simple, direct, inclusive in family prayertime. She picks up a novel and begins reading yet again from page one. Getting out of a car in Chicago she panics slightly looking for Lucy (home in Detroit). She laughs, and my heart rises with its ripple. She gets lost, but in a winsome kind of way. Losing a thought, she is gracious with herself and others. She puts her head on my shoulder, holds tight, and sinks in deep. Her kisses are long and tender. She loves and knows and receives at a depth. She bes freely herself. How did we get here? For those wanting the saga in detail: She did walk the Good Friday Stations (with both our mothers).At the Easter Vigil, she covered last minute for Lydia who turned up with a sore throat. Waving off all proffers of assistance, Jeanie took the lectern and, as we held our collective breath, read a full chapter of Exodus, leaving Pharaoh's army and death itself drownded in the tide. It was a stunning moment. Miriam herself might have danced. A week later she seized while alone. I'd gone to fetch something from the car and ended up in sidewalk conversation with a close friend (about the holocaust and the New Testament causes of anti-semitism, no less). I was heartsick to find her recovering wide-eyed on her knees, forehead rug-burned and a black eye begun. Next day, her memory was not so hot, but she bounced back - doing cognitive, sequencing, and memory exercises with a home therapist. Time story problems and check book balancing sheets (hell, I should have her do mine). The week of May 15, week of the MRI, I was giddy with joy. The doctors, in progression, all smiled or teared and declared her a walking wonder. Enroute home by car I asked about the novel she's reading (the one now begun again). To my amazement she details plot and character, imagining what's to come. We agree the time is ripe to think on a next magazine issue topic for her to edit. That very evening she seizes again, this time with ten-year old Lucy the one on deck. Lucy had dreaded this prospect, alone with Mom, but Jeanie's been so good I thought nothing of a pick-up run to get Lydia. Lucy rose to the moment, getting a pillow beneath Jeanie's head and phoning a neighbor. Actually, the numbers by the phone "went all blurry," but she called one by heart, a block friend whose mother came running. Now recovery goes more slowly or levels off, fluctuating on the slope of slippage. I don't know how many more times I can bear to watch Jeanie slip away, but Lord knows she's so far bounced back an equal number of times. (Sometimes I'm not even sure how many more miracles I can bear).Tomorrow I head off for five days of conference and teaching, plans confirmed in the giddy days of her wellness. Mothers and friends piece together a schedule of presence and care. Tomorrow is also my 51st birthday. My jubilee disciplines have, to be honest, deteriorated, - all but abandoned. A journal and these letters about all that remains. I know I'm not taking care of myself. Friends notice and step in. A new one from Bartimaeus Ministries in LA, appeared a few weeks back to do "bodywork" a few days with us all. Lucy, poor sweetie, was on the table relaxing beneath the healing touch of a message when a tornado blew through town, setting off sirens and driving us with books and candles to the basement. (You'll think I'm contriving some sort of metaphor). Lucy, by the way, is asking for weekly counseling which is being hooked up right here on the block with a therapist in the Worker community. Lydia, meanwhile, is in the final throes of eighth grade, back from a DC trip, orchestrating talent shows, and braiding flowers in her hair for graduation. I guess that's it. We make summer plans on uncertain premises. We rest in the rhythm of day by day, step by step, trying to pay attention. It dawns on me that these letters are themselves a form of prayer. You know they are a summons as well. Please and thanks. Death be drownded, Bill |