This was written 2 weeks ago. I thought I would share this now, from my heart to yours.
Limbo is not a place where one can settle down, or get into a groove. Groove is not the deal, unless we’re talking about the limbo dance. No, THIS limbo is herky jerky; unscheduled and unschedulable,
and there’s movement in this limbo, but its a hamster wheel we’re talking about--run in it round and round until the wheel finally falls off.
This limbo is what we’re talking about—while my husband is under the “auspices” and care and process that is hospice. Yea, that’s right: hospice has been called in, and I am the main lady-in-waiting for the ultimate Main Event.
In his case, it’s about his tired, beat up heart in its state of limbo after decades of trauma and surgeries and medical interventions: starting with a congenital defect, his heart is now in the throws of the ramifications and surgeries and near death experiences that issued forth from then on.
So, we got the word that there’s only one thing left to do, and it is a medicine that will hold his heart together with rubber bands and bubblegum, until they break open and finally allow the heart do what a beat up and sick heart does: in short: it eventually dies.
Back to limbo: At this moment, the drug is holding, and he is thriving as he—a powerful being—does. He’s kind of stubborn that way: That way being the way of miracle men and women who’ve gone before him. And I, as Lady of Perpetual Waiting (for the other shoe to drop or for him to collapse or for the final curtain call…)— I am ok with the latest miracle he-who-is-doing ok.
Well, at least I thought I was. Until today. Today was not so ok. You see, I have not been able to make plans of any merit for my future. Nor have I been taking this day to day incredible ok-ness as a prompt for creative output…. Well, unless you consider this poetic blast as creative output.
As an inspirer and healer and sage adviser, my creativity is one of my go-to tools of the trade: I am the jazz singer of seminars and classes and gems of advice and suggestions and blog posts and newsletters and more classes to share from my inspirations. I never run out of ideas. Not even now.
But I DO run out of steam. And patience with myself is running in short supply. And, admittedly, patience with my man and my mom is running short of that divine flow that is patience…. Wait a sec: did I mention I also have a mom who is one fall short of permanent disaster? Hmmm. Well, I do. Limbo limbo limbo: Not sure when or where or how that drama will play out.
So. Today: It was a day of mix ups and double bookings and cancellations and requests and then more cancellations: all plural, and all made my head spin. I thought: This stinks. I have plans to implement, a business to run, newsletters to write (it’s been too long! alert alert!)
A kind friend recently offered up a birthday present to help me put together a podcast: Something I’ve talked and talked about doing. She said: “Create the content, and I will help you get it recorded, edited and up and running…”
Which is so generous and cool and kind and wow, I need to take advantage of that. And then, more things fly my way in limbo land: oh, did I mention there’s flying stuff in limbo land? More situations to deal with, and a friend has recently died, and there’s a family in need, and then there’s other things to attend to in my man’s or mom’s, um, situation.
So… Just as I was feeling the guilt of having unimplemented dreams swirling around me, begging for attention—because that is what I do: I create, I dream up stuff and then make them happen— just as the weight of guilt for staring at a blank laptop screen when I should be doing something creative was bearing down on me, and furthermore…
On this mixed-up stoopid day when one of the mix ups had me embarrassed for looking like a flake, this day provided a…
Tea time with a friend. Unscheduled, impromptu--it happened because of yet another cancellation. We sat in cushy old leather chairs at a bookstore coffeeshop, and we shared of our lives.
At one point, she regarded me, and said one of those gobsmacking, but elegantly simple advisory statements....jeesh: something I would—and HAVE—said to her and others: “Elke, you need to meet you where you're at.”
I blinked my thank you through rapidly filling tear ducts. Come to think of it, it WAS something I’ve said to countless people. And yet…I wasn’t meeting me where I was at so much as planning me-dates that I could never fulfill.
She continued: “You’re overwhelmed and sad. Meet yourself there. You’re waiting for the shoe to drop and your loved one is in hospice. Meet yourself there.”I nodded. And then we moved on to a sweet event in my near future:
My east coast sister and niece are coming out to visit, sans little grand nieces. All great. Today, on a call to coordinate the visit, my sister mock-apologized for my husband’s entourage/fan club not coming out for this visit: the little girls adore their granduncle Jimmy. I related this to my friend, and then said: “He is such a cool uncle and grand uncle. He is going to make such a great grand….”
And I met myself in a heap of sobs, fully feeling the impact this job as support crew has on me. I met myself, and sobbed with that self, and then I set about the task of un-committing to, well, just about anything. I met the tired woman I am and said: “Rest when you can.”
I met the Creative who is not creating anything right now, and said, “You’ll create again.”I met the Limbo Dancer, and opened up my laptop to share her with you.