Dear Kate,
The other night, Sunday night, I was sitting in my back yard and for the first time, could smell the oil. Like a cancer in our gulf, this oil crisis has hit hard on my heart. Granted, the winds were from the south carrying the scent of the sheen, still ten miles away. Today, the wind is blowing from the north, pushing the mess into the Gulf Stream and again away from our coast. Yet, daily, “tar balls” wash on shore, leaving it littered with little brown globs. The beach looks like a very large pack of wild dogs were let loose on the sands to poop.
Another story, if you can bear with me:
Once upon a time, a young man went to England to study. He fell in love, but once his studies were over, he returned to the States, leaving his love behind. He eventually married. Over time, his wife became sick and he was left a widower. Perhaps influenced by loneliness, he sought out a love of his past, re connecting communication after years of separation. His love in England too had married, had started a family, and eventually too widowed. He traveled to England and brought his first love back to the States as his wife, her grown daughters remaining overseas. This story ended happily enough, until she too became sick. Rather than loosing in love twice, they chose to end in a Harry Crosby, Josephine Rotch fashion, ending their lives together with a bullet rather than suffer the pains of illness and loneliness.
These two were members of our church. Mixed emotions regarding their departure fly. And my heart is heavy when I think of them.
My dad is doing well, yet I hear in his voice a new weakness. I see in his emails a confusion of words from a once well written man. His mind can no longer read, nor really understand the strings of words he tries to read. I worry over his treatments. He has had a port installed, which is supposed to be a good thing, but still makes me squirm. He has restarted Radiation, and gets two hour doses of Chemo pumped in his port thingy every two weeks. I remember vividly his last bout with Chemo, and it was far from comforting. He has had his first Chemo dose, and as of this writing, no severe side affects, which is good. But like the oil in the gulf, it is not so much a matter of if, but when.
I feel like David when he cries out in the book of Psalms. Woe unto the depths of my heart!
The hand in hand feeling with these woes is that feeling of solitude. I feel isolated. I wonder why I have to be strong all the time. When can I be weak for just a moment and trust all will be ok? Whose hand can I hold as I stand up to face the storms in my life, the reassuring hand helping me remember that this too shall pass? Where is that someone whom I can trust will be there when it’s time to clean up from this mess?
I spoke to before about Capt’s bitch, bitch, bitch. Well, he still does. Bitches about work. Bitches about his teens, bitches about their mothers, bitches about his doctor. Then, when I cry out my woes, he listens, and claims them as his own. Let me ensure I am clear on this, he does not lift the burden from me or console (if you will), but rather, in a weird sense, steals them from me for his own personal pity party. I hear him, on the phone to his mother, to his brother, to his friends in Savannah, Arizona, Puerto Rico, to his friend’s mothers…you catch my drift…he is on the phone to anyone who will listen, “Woe is me for this family from my church” “Woe is me for the oil in the Gulf” “Woe is me for my girlfriend’s dad.” The man is ALWAYS on the phone (yet to me he claims he has no friends?), and always COMPLAINS!! I sometimes wonder if he breathes between sentences….
Ugh.
Still my guitar gently weeps.
This morning I woke to the capt telling me what great news it is that the Gulf Stream is pushing this oil away. But as one who sees the forest…I cannot rejoice. The damage is done. I am seeing the repercussions everywhere I turn, in the death of our wild life. In the loss to the jobs in Louisiana. To the shoring of our fishing boats. To the pending destruction in the Keys. To the far reaching tendrils of this cancer in the water. And what breaks my heart is that it was caused by man.
And my dad’s situation wears heavy on my heart for the opposite reason: his cancer was NOT caused by “man” (in terms of un-healthy habits).
Ma Cousine, I need a vacation. I have the dates. I leave here July 2nd and do not have to be back until July 9th. There are plans for my parents, and I am hoping that there are still plans for West Virginia. I would like to come see you and your new husband over 4th of July weekend (me coming on Friday, leaving on Monday), if possible. Let me know. I promise I will not be a kill joy. Leaving the negativity of my relationship for a while will put that optimism back into my spirit. Plus, getting to be around family is always remedy for a sad, sad song!
A final tidbit, as my letter is really too long already… but to prove there is good in life:
I did apply for grad school. I am looking at starting a part time, Masters in Social Work program this fall. I dotted my i’s and crossed my t’s and now simply wait for that confirmation. A discussion with the head of the department put great confidence and reinforcement in my decision. So, we shall see.
All is well, ma cousine. Though I grumble, and the time is grey just the now, I know there are sunny skies. The oil spill is a disaster, but life must continue to push on, somehow. I just weep for those who cannot escape the blob. My prayers to the dolphins, sea turtles, fish, pelicans, herons, shell fish, humans and any other creature trapped by these globs of poisoned goo.
Paix,
Leigh
