A hiatus from writing was inevitable, the pace of life was moving too fast to slow down and get my thoughts out. I can only look back and see an outline of the last few years. The details are few but bold. My children are on the cusp of becoming thirteen, and with every physical change I accept that my boys are becoming men. I started working at local bakery that I have frequently visited for their delicious pastries, Foul (Lebanese fava bean dish) and my favorite avocado toast with seasonal fruit and za’atar. Fabricating croissants and danish have been a lifeline for me. I love the people I work with and each shift is like a deposit in my confidence account. I believe in myself again. My role as a wife, mother, daughter had become a cyclone of caregiving and my self worth was depleted after the paranoia of a pandemic and political mayhem.
Feeling helpless is insidious and takes away your ability to see the action you can take to make a change. When I was diagnosed with Lymphoma, it was hard to accept or share. I had no symptoms but I could see a large mass on my neck and it was a daily reminder that something was off balance but I was scared to take action. At one checkup my doctor kindly asked “what are you scared of?”My answer, “feeling worse.” At the end of last year, symptoms hit like a freight train. Night sweats, rapid weightloss, chest pain, extreme exhaustion, and difficulty breathing. Finally, I agreed to begin treatments. I am blessed to have insurance that covers the infusions that gave me the strength to endure the next few weeks. After my second treatment, on Christmas day, my dad suffered a stroke. He was traveling and was hospitalized in Nevada. Then the winds and fires ravaged our community. Eventually my Father was transferred home to California to a nursing facility. It was there that we accepted that life was going to be dramatically different. We would need to sell the house to afford full time care. My mom was going to live with my brother and we were committed to getting Dad back to his baseline of health. All that changed when Dad had to come home on hospice. It was January, cold and the power was out at my parents home. We stayed by his side 24 hours. There was stillness and calm and at 1:11 pm on Friday January 24th, with my brother and I on each side of him, he took his final breaths. Three days later was his birthday and as a close friend explained his welcome home to Graceland. Dad was a big Elvis fan.
Four weeks later I finished treatment and buried my Father. It was an ending and a beginning all at the same time. My best memories of our time together was of him walking me down the aisle, being in the audience of Real Time, and our last outing to the aquarium. I know your soul has peace.
Life loved you as much as you loved life.
Months passed and then I suddenly lost my beloved sister Antonette. I still cry and smile when I think of her. She was vibrant and generous of spirit. Her battles became too arduous and then she let go. I believe she knew she was dying, but neglected to address the health issues she was facing. In fact, she focused on my recent diagnosis and my parent’s health problems, distracting her from her own needs. It’s hard to write about her death because she was such a force of life for so long. I struggle with how I was not there to comfort her in her last days. When I got to the hospital she was already intubated. She held on until the priest arrived. Her eldest daughter and I prayed with him over her and when he left, so did she. My sister was very religious and her wish to prepare herself through sacrament before leaving this earth was important to her and us. Antonette was a great dancer and she moved with confidence and power. A teenager in the 80’s, she was influenced greatly by Prince, The Mary Jane Girls, Teena Marie and Devo. But when I hear Funky little beat by Connie, I see her dancing so vividly. I see her smile, her deep dimples, that wild curly dark hair and her hips and shoulders moving to the beat. My sis and I got to see Prince together. We danced and sang, loved deeply and shared a history that lives in my memory. She encouraged me to write and we dreamed endlessly of opening businesses together and publishing a children’s book titled No more twirling. A book about the nervous habit of twirling your hair. Maybe we both were navigating our own childhood traumas and recognized each other’s need to create to heal. She was the spice and the fire in my life. Always reminding me to not be too serious and lead by her heart. Her love still nurtures me. A mother figure and friend, my sister will always be with me.
Writing is my outlet and self therapy. This space is sacred for me and I am thankful.