Saturday, May 10, 2008

the state of things

Sometimes it feels a little bit wrong to continue on with the business of life after someone you know is no longer living. But when I really stop to think about it, I realize that what would be wrong would be to stop living. I can mourn, I can remember, I can regret. All while continuing on.

Thank you for all of your kind words in the comments and emails. My cousin and I were very close as children and young teens, but had not been in contact in recent years, due mainly to distance, both physical and not. She suffered from health problems and constant, debilitating pain. Years of drug therapies, herbs, homeopathy, and expensive trips to internationally-known clinics had not helped her. She was beautiful and brilliantly smart, but she believed she had no way out of the pain and chose the only option she thought was left to her. Everyone must experience the loss of a loved one at some point, but when it happens in that way there is a whole extra layer of anger, sadness, and regret to deal with. What if I had made the effort to reach out? What if, what if, what if?

What if. My life must go on. Mina and I returned from our trip to Salt Lake City for the wake and funeral two days ago. It was difficult and sad, but also good. It had been far too long since I had seen my grandmother, my aunts and uncles. It was good to meet friends of my cousin's, girls whose names I had heard many times during her summer visits years ago. Mina got sick halfway through the trip and spent a rough 36 hours throwing up (first real sickness in her short lifetime). I paid two visits to the doctor's office the afternoon we got home - first for my injured wrist, which was also a literal pain all through the trip, and second to make sure Mina wasn't dangerously dehydrated. We're both on the mend, and life has to go back to mostly normal.

Last Sunday I needed to be outdoors doing something physical, so I decided to weed the flowerbeds. I hadn't properly cleaned them up last year, and my landlord's perennials were choked with solid swaths of grass, buttercups, dandelions and clover. I spent the entire day working on them, only stopping at dinner time when Mina started demanding to "eat! eat!" Apparently, it was far too much weeding for my wimpy wrists to handle in one go. My left wrist became a swollen lump that only worsened throughout the week while we were gone, culminating in a diagnosis of severe tendinitis, a stiff wrist and hand brace, huge doses of naproxen, and a possible cortisone shot if it isn't better by Monday.

This is how much I had gotten done on my lace camisole before the gardening fiasco. I don't move my left hand much at all when I knit, just my index finger to push the stitch off the needle. But with the soreness and brace in the way I knit infuriatingly slowly and even more loosely than my normal loose tension. It isn't even worth it to try. Which really sucks. A lot. So, I either mope about how I can't knit, or I find something else to do.

I finally dug out the green, brown, and metallic art supplies for the Earth phase of Project Spectrum. Some of them, anyway. I am late with my ATC's for the swap (my partners have been notified), so that will be my first order of business. I'm so glad I am right handed. I also stocked up on some magazines and other supplies at the craft store today, but I'll wait to share those later - I have to have something to keep blogging about while I can't knit. I think I have enough dexterity in my left hand for sewing and embroidery, and I can certainly write and draw. And so, more to come. Life keeps moving on.

1 comment:

marycatharine said...

That extra layer of emotion is the hardest to deal with in my experience. You're right about needing to live while you remember.

I hope your wrist gets better and that Mina is still on the mend. Hopefully you can start knitting again soon.