How does love happen?

Today I've been thinking about love.

And how a person comes to love.

...and I'm not sure I know how it happens. That's not to say that I haven't loved. I have, and still do. Deeply. But how does it happen?

How do you get from thinking someone is attractive, to find someone interesting, to wanting to spend time with them, to wanting to spend all your time with them, to wanting what's best for them over what's best for you... Because that's the great paradox, isn't it? You start to love for yourself and somehow you end up in love for the other person. There is this confusing way in which you hope that you are the sick one, because it would be worse if it was your child. Where the old lady hopes that she dies first so that her husband doesn't have to learn to take care of himself. Where you do things you hate, because the other person will like it.

I think a lot of time I worry about making myself attractive. I am concerned about getting this mysterious other person interested in me, interested in spending time with me. Maybe that's because I think I'm easy to fall in love with if you get to know me...  But is that really true? I have hundreds of friends. Out of all those hundreds I know of one who fell in love with me. Ok, take out the girls and the members of my family and let's say that I've known a good 150 eligible guys. I think that number is kinda low, but just for argument's sake, go with it. 1 out of 150 is not good odds!  It's like needle in a haystack time. Yet every single day people fall in love. Somewhere out there someone is staring dreamily at someone and saying horrendously cheesy things that don't sound at all cheesy to them because they are in love.

How does that flippin' happen?

How does it go from- "I think you are hot" to "I want to pledge my whole life to you." I mean I think this is why Nathan and I were friends first. So that I could stumble into this caring. So that it could grow step by step, naturally. But how do you get someone to care about you? And where the heck is the line between caring for someone like a friend and caring for someone as more than a friend? That one I really don't know. Cause my closest friends... I really would do just about anything for them... and yet I don't feel about them the way I felt about Nathan.

And another question: How does it work if you aren't friends first? I mean that happens, I've seen it. Two people meet for the first time and then one or both of them just become totally taken with each other and that's it... And how do you know you are seeing the real person then? Twitterpated goggles can lie.

I've also been thinking about myself and how I come across to people. I've long said that I give a bad first impression... maybe it's because I only smile if I think something is funny, and not really when I'm nervous, but I don't know. I was talking with a friend the other day and they said, sorta off-handedly that I seem exclusive at first. How the heck does that happen... and how do you come across as non-exclusive... especially when you are shy and bad at small talk? I hate it when people get the wrong impression about me...  I swear for a person with such a deep desire to please people, I also have a heck of a lot of pride.

A Special Blog Post

Today, I'm writing an early blog-- and I probably won't be blogging later tonight. Prepare yourself. Today is a hard day. I'm trying not to think about it, but if I'm slightly hermit-like, please forgive me. Tears are close to the surface today, and I don't have energy for  putting on a happy face. I don't have energy for much of anything but running to comfort, today.

That said I'm blogging about something that's very important and special to me. The incredible people who have come into my life in big and small ways over these past 2 years. Last week I wrote a letter and mailed it to three places. Siteman Cancer Center at Barnes, the Oncology-hematology offices at Hulston Cancer Center, and 5 West at Cox South. I'm *so* grateful that if I had to go through this horrendous experience, I can at least say that I was blessed with amazing knowledgeable people to help me through it.

So I just want to share the letter that I wrote with all of you:

September 28 is not my favorite of days. It was not so bad last year because we had a “1 Year of Kicking Cancer in the Face” party. You see, September 28, 2009 is the day that gave us the news that my husband, Nathan Dunn, had Acute Myeloid Leukemia. He was 24, and I’d just turned 26 the month before. We’d been married a little over 2 years and had just been starting to think about having children and our plans for the future- plans that were instantly derailed at 8:00 that Monday evening. But as heart wrenching a moment as it was- discovering in one fell blow that you are not, in fact as invincible as your youth would lead you to believe- it was also the moment that brought into our lives some of the most incredible people I’ve had the privilege of meeting. It’s now two years later and on September 29th it will be 8 months since we lost Nathan to complications due to the treatment of his AML. He wasn’t quite 26 yet. The journey was long, difficult, painful and basically the only type of rollercoaster that I revile. But I had the most incredible team come alongside of me when it happened and I don’t know how we would have done it without them.

I’m convinced that there is a special type of crown in heaven for the medical caretakers of cancer patients. It’s a sad truth that the people you see the most are the people who are doing the worst and there is so very much unpleasantness that is brought on by cancer, radiation, and chemotherapy- both in people’s bodies and in their attitudes. I have no idea how you deal with it all, and still treat every patient with such kindness and respect. A lot of people take out their bad days on you, but you can’t take your bad days out on any of them. I would just like to let you know that you make a difference. You make such a difference. I took care of my husband for 16 months, and from that time I know that I could never do what you do, yet there you are, day after day, night after night, caring for and about dozens, sometimes even hundreds, of people who are as sick as can be. I hate the circumstances in which I met you, but I’m very glad to have gotten the chance to meet you. 

In particular: Dr. Robert Ellis, I will always be grateful for the compassion with which you broke the news to us and so glad that we didn’t “shoot the messenger.” We always felt like you were seeing, not just Nathan, the AML patient, but Nathan the person. Thank you for never making us feel rushed even though you are very busy, and for always taking the time to make sure we understood what was happening, what the plan was, and why. I also enjoy your sense of humor and will not forget the time that we came into the hospital for a maintenance round of chemo and you saw me in the hall later and asked how things were going. When I told you he was already finished with his first round you exclaimed, “Well… Well… Shiver me timbers! That’s about the fastest I’ve ever heard!” I’ve never been so delighted to hear pirate speak in my life.

The other Oncology-Hematology physicians, and staff at the Hulston Cancer Center: My interactions with you were fewer, as I often had to work during the day, but we never ran into a doctor, nurse, or tech who was anything less than kind and many of you knew Nathan on sight and greeted him even if you were not the one taking care of him that day. There were times when it felt like I was married to a rock star celebrity rather than a cancer patient. Of course I thought Nathan was special, but it touches me that you all seemed to think it as well.

5 West Nurses, PCAs, and staff: Every single one of you is worth your weight in platinum. Gold isn’t even good enough. You all became like an extended family to Nathan and me, and to this day you encourage me and care about me. You’ve cried with me, you cared for my dear husband and took care of me as well. I will never be able to say thank you loud enough or long enough to convey how important and amazing I think you are.

Dr. Keith Stockerl-Goldstein, Rebecca Thompson, and all the other Barnes/Wash U. staff in the BMT/Leukemia division of Siteman: We met you later in the game, and you saw the best and worst of Nathan. You saw him with his ready smile even when dealing with terrible pain and sickness and you saw his stubborn pride when things started getting really hard at the end. Dr. Goldstein- It was easy to forget you didn’t live at the hospital; you were there so often. I think we saw you every day for 2 and a half weeks once. That kind of dedication is inspiring and touching. Rebecca- You cared about Nathan, and it was really evident. You went to bat for us with insurance and prescriptions, you called us to check up when Nathan was in the hospital in Springfield, you told me what to do when I was so panicked that even the most obvious of choices were unclear to me, and you went out of your way to visit Nathan several times during his last week in the ICU (and I saw the tears that you tried to hide.) At some point it felt like it became more than just your job, and that still means so much to me.

If it is a war against cancer, then in one way or another Nathan and I were taken off of active duty. But you are all still out there in the trenches, fighting the good fight, saving as many lives as you can and enriching the lives of those you can’t with your kindness, your thoughtfulness, your patience and the small bit of your heart that you invest in all of us touched by the horrible disease. I’m honored to have served beside you in my small little way. Shortly after Nathan’s death I got a card from a group of people, and someone had anonymously written. “F@*k it. In my eyes, he won.” That’s how I feel. Cancer doesn’t win, even if people die. I think the human spirit is greater than that, and I think each and every one of you is proof. I would sometimes be asked if I was a nurse because I picked up on medical jargon so quickly. My response was always, “No, I’m not a nurse. I just pay a lot of attention, cause I think he’s pretty important.” I learned about one type of cancer because I thought my husband was special. You learned about cancer because you thought he was, too. You thought he was and you think that every other husband, wife, mother, father, child is as well. And for that I cannot thank you enough. But I at least want you to hear it today.

Thank you.

Thank you, thank you, thank you.

On September 28th my goal is not to focus on what cancer has taken away from me, but on all of you and the profound impact you have made on my life.

Thank you.

Happy Kick Cancer in the Face Day.

Hug your loved ones for me today.

Renée

Rant

So the collision center left a message to let me know that my car is done...  Thanks, dude, I picked it up on Friday. Kinda makes me think I should go out there and try and pick up my car again. Anyone want an extra Pruis?

Anyway, on to the real reason why I blog tonight:

I'm irritated. Irritated with stories that obviously aren't true and are just made up to manipulate emotions. I'm irritated that these stories don't get facts even close to possible. I mean I know that "Christmas Shoes" is just a bunch of schmaltz but I saw a story today posted on facebook that took "Christmas Shoes" and added a little sister who also died, a drunk driving accident, and a newspaper which is apparently allowed to publish facts like that a family has to decide whether or not to take someone off life support. I mean the original story is just this side of likely. But adding all the other things in there to manipulate emotions... it's really wrong. It's like a Jr. High kid trying to manipulate adults. Really transparent and rather offensive... especially because after all the bs of this made up story, this was the final line.

"Now you have 2 choices: (1) Copy & Paste this on your wall (2) Ignore it as if it never touched your heart."

I would like to add a third option. Blog about it as though it totally ticked you off and you can't believe that someone would try and use death as a manipulation device.

It might be that I'm so mad because I try so hard to not use death as a manipulation tool. I go out of my way to avoid bringing it up. I go out of my way to joke about it to make people more comfortable. I go out of my way to be cool when people make off-handed comments that hurt, because they weren't thinking. I try so hard to not freak people out and to be normal-acting, even when on the inside I'm hurting so very badly. Because using grief to manipulate people, cheapens it. It cheapens my relationship, it cheapens my love, it cheapens everything about this terrible experience that I'm trying to survive. I ask for what I need, not what I want. If I asked for what I wanted I'd be using Nathan's death and I'm not ok with that. I'm barely ok with asking for what I need, lest someone think that it's just something that I want.

It's just... not ok.

I'm a hit. Not the public. I tell television what to play, yo

Do you ever go to urban dictionary and look up your name? It's kinda amusing.

Renée

A French name meaning "rebirth". Renee is of the most amazing people you will ever meet. She's random and weird, and most likely somewhat insecure, in addition to being outspoken, fiercely loyal to her friends, very sexual, very beautiful inside and out, open minded, mean at times, dedicated to music, and impulsive. She can be a hypocrite, but often owns up to it rather than denying it. She may not always use her head and tends to make excuses for the people she cares about. ex: Jeff: Who's the hot girl over there who's rambling about garlic bread's role in government conspiracies? Tom: Oh, that's Renée. She's pretty weird, but she's really cool.

At long last, someone who has heard about how garlic bread is responsible for faking the moon landing!

Also amusing? Looking up search terms that lead to my blog. For instance: "girls who look like violet" and "it was a boy and a girl and became rainbow" or the classic search phrase: "i'm a hit. not the public. i tell television what to play, yo." Believe it or not that particular phrase had 2 hits... that means someone searched it twice... or they forgot that they clicked on the link to my blog once and clicked the link again. I somehow think that one of those scenarios is more likely.

I mean I can't even remember how many times have I searched that phrase, you know?

I've been reading more people's blogs, lately... I've been caring about people other than myself. I kinda feel like I'm coming out of something- some phase of grief-- like I'm engaging in life a little bit more... Of course, to go along with that, my brain is letting me feel a little bit more than it did, so the tears and feelings of loneliness have been more... I've been by myself a lot more than I used to let myself be. But the hurt feels like healing, you know? That sore-ness that means your body is getting exercise and stretching it's muscles out? It hurts, but... it's good, too.

I think half the time I get through by thinking it was all just a lovely dream. Someone couldn't have loved me that much. Because if it was real it would still be here. And sometimes I'm caught off guard by the realization that it was real. Those eyes were here. That laugh was mine. That goofy playful grin that he got when we just started repeating the same things over and over... that was for me.

It's completely selfish, but I wish that God could have chosen someone else to be a good example.

Frank O'Hara and Horatio

Watched a movie tonight: Beastly. It's the Beauty and the Beast story hit with a modern re-telling. I say "hit" meaning hit over the head with a blunt object- Professor Plum in the Study with the Lead Pipe, possibly- but I still liked it. In no small part due to the poem which I'd never heard of, because I somehow missed the poet in my poetry classes, or was never taught of him. Frank O’Hara.

Having a Coke with You

is even more fun than going to San Sebastian, Irún, Hendaye, Biarritz, Bayonne
or being sick to my stomach on the Travesera de Gracia in Barcelona
partly because in your orange shirt you look like a better happier St. Sebastian
partly because of my love for you, partly because of your love for yoghurt
partly because of the fluorescent orange tulips around the birches
partly because of the secrecy our smiles take on before people and statuary
it is hard to believe when I’m with you that there can be anything as still
as solemn as unpleasantly definitive as statuary when right in front of it
in the warm New York 4 o’clock light we are drifting back and forth
between each other like a tree breathing through its spectacles 

and the portrait show seems to have no faces in it at all, just paint
you suddenly wonder why in the world anyone ever did them 

I look
at you and I would rather look at you than all the portraits in the world
except possibly for the Polish Rider occasionally and anyway it’s in the Frick
which thank heavens you haven’t gone to yet so we can go together the first time
and the fact that you move so beautifully more or less takes care of Futurism
just as at home I never think of the Nude Descending a Staircase or
at a rehearsal a single drawing of Leonardo or Michelangelo that used to wow me
and what good does all the research of the Impressionists do them
when they never got the right person to stand near the tree when the sun sank
or for that matter Marino Marini when he didn’t pick the rider as carefully
as the horse 

it seems they were all cheated of some marvelous experience
which is not going to go wasted on me which is why I am telling you about it

And here is another:

My Heart 

I'm not going to cry all the time
nor shall I laugh all the time,
I don't prefer one "strain" to another.
I'd have the immediacy of a bad movie,
not just a sleeper, but also the big,
overproduced first-run kind. I want to be
at least as alive as the vulgar. And if
some aficionado of my mess says "That's
not like Frank!", all to the good! I
don't wear brown and grey suits all the time,
do I? No. I wear workshirts to the opera,
often. I want my feet to be bare,
I want my face to be shaven, and my heart--
you can't plan on the heart, but
the better part of it, my poetry, is open. 

Another one that I like is Morning, but it's long enough that I'm not going to paste it here... but here is a link to read it yourself.

Oh poetry, I still love you, despite your general inaccessibility and tendency towards the obtuse.

There is such a strange and difficult dichotomy between expecting God to intervene and at the same time laying what you want down at His feet and letting Him choose what to do with it.

to quote another poet... Horatio Spafford,

When peace like a river, attendeth my way,
When sorrows like sea billows roll;
Whatever my lot, Thou hast taught me to say,
It is well, it is well with my soul. 

Though Satan should buffet, though trials should come,
Let this blest assurance control,
That Christ hath regarded my helpless estate,
And hath shed His own blood for my soul! 

It is well ... with my soul!
It is well, it is well, with my soul.

Now that one I get.

Good for the soul

Short blog because I stayed up late into the night talking to a friend. My absolute favorite kind of nights. But it got so late that she's crashing on my couch, now.

Sometimes I do think I look like Snow White... only a modern day Snow White. Ooooh good book idea?

I'm wearing a new dress to church tomorrow. And heels... and quite possibly tights. Prepare yourself for the cute-ness.

I'm going to be able to see my family next weekend. I'm excited about it.

I learned today that post-traumatic stress moments still hit me... and they still pack a punch when they do.

I should have been writing this weekend for class. I didn't. Maybe tomorrow?

Really really good evening. *really* Imma be tired tomorrow morning, though.

And so I think I need to say goodnight to you.

but not before I say that I think everyone should have conversations where they stay up so late it wouldn't really be safe to drive home.

It's good for the soul.

Especially the lonely soul.

Where the wild things blog

I got my car back today!! Everyone at the collision center was *much* friendlier than they were on Monday morning. People get grumbly on Mondays. All the damage was cosmetic- no internal damage, and because it was repaired at the dealership there is a warranty on it. It's ridiculous how excited I was to see it... and how glad I am that it no longer makes that horrible popping noise when I open the door. It felt like an old friend had come back to me. I talked to it when I got inside it, like it was a child. I introduced it to my new tights. No, I seriously did.

I swear I don't need psychological help... but if you don't believe me, no need to worry, one of my good friends is a counselor so she'd tell me if I did... and least I think she would.

I also spent a good deal of the day looking for some cute, black, closed-toe, medium height heels. I went to 7 different stores before I found some. 7 stores!?! Ach. It was ridiculous. *everything* is peep toe right now.... or 10 inches tall and glittery. Don't get me wrong, I love peep toe shoes, but they aren't super awesome with tights, and I might have mentioned my love of tights lately??

I should have spent at least some of today cleaning my place. I live in the city, not the country. Someone could stop by my house at any moment, and what wreck they would find!

Unfortunately all my greatest cleaning binges hit me at 3:30 in the morning. I'm kinda like a meth addict that way... but unlike the meth addict my response to these urges are something akin to: It's too late to clean, I might wake someone up... I think I'll go sleep instead.

I think I'll go to sleep and make mischief of one kind

or another.

Good night, moon.

Yes, that writing for children and YA class is rubbing off on me, in a big way.