3.27.2011

"The Evil Exists is a Pair of Train Tracks, and the Devil is a Railroad Car"


Dear Readers,

I'm not sure I've told this story to you or not, but I'm going to tell it regardless. When my nephew Sam was small, around 4 or 5 years old, he got in trouble. Hands over his face sobbing, I asked him what happened. His answer: "I have choices!" followed by more sobs.

Sam taught me a great lesson that day. Choices aren't always easy, in fact the older I get the harder they are. A few short weeks ago, I had this conversation with my dear friend Michael Birkenshaw. If you haven't had the great pleasure of knowing Michael, let me paint a picture of him for you. Tall, curly haired, extraordinarily handsome and charming, known for hitchhiking, fighting hobos, finding love everywhere from the streets of Oakland to my living room in Boise. His stories reach epic proportion, and to those of you who don't know him would find them completely unbelievable; those of us who do know him shake our head and say things like, "Only Michael."

Sorry to digress, back to my conversation with Michael. He had just returned to Boise from his adventures in the Bay Area. "Michael," I said, my nurturing instincts kicked into full gear, "I know you think my life is boring. Working a regular job, coming home and making dinner for my family. I know that a conventional life is something you can't fathom. But I worry for you, I worry about the decisions you make. I worry that you don't have food or a safe place to sleep. It's okay to have food and a safe place to sleep. You have people who love you that would take you in. You don't have to take the burdens of street life on." He smiled his heart melting smile at me and said, "Heather Plummer, I love you. I love your family. I'll find stability eventually. Please don't worry about me, I'll be fine."

I knew that talking Michael out of a life of self discovery wasn't possible, but I wouldn't be me if I hadn't have tried.

I wish that it had been surprising news yesterday morning when I found out that Michael had died. He was trying to get back to Boise by way of hopping trains, and somewhere in Oregon they found him by the tracks a broken man. I can't help but stand by Michael in his reckless choices now, even though I tried to talk him out of them. It is tragic but true that he was destined for a life less ordinary. Often with extraordinary experiences and moments of beauty, even more often with harsh realities and strange circumstance. One of the last things I said to him, sitting in Alia's eating bagels and drinking IPA, was that I wanted the rights to write his book. He said he would write his own and I could be his editor. It's sad that we won't have that chance now.

The last couple of weeks have weighed heavy on my heart. I don't like thinking about or watching my friends suffer. But with great pain comes great opportunity to love. I have never in my life had so much heartache. But I have never in my life been so grateful and full of love either.

Loren had me play the piano for him yesterday, and the only book I recognized was the LDS Hymn book. He asked me to play "Be Still, My Soul". What a comforting song, whether you're a pious person or not. "When disappointment, grief, and fear are gone, Sorrow forgot, love's purest joys restored. Be still, my soul: When change and tears are past, All safe and blessed we shall meet at last."

I love you Michael Birkenshaw, it was a pleasure to know you. I hope you found what you were looking for.

Sincerely,
h.

3.20.2011

Honce


Dear Readers,

Breathe in. Breathe out.

Today, right now, this is my mantra.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

You've heard me talk about my friend Loren before. As far as friends go, he's the creme de la creme. Cream of the crop. Top drawer. More family than friend. More friend than family. He is my Lojo, and I am his h.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

He told me a little over a week ago that he was sick. He didn't need to tell me, because I know him as well as myself, and I've known for a long time that he was sick. They put him in the hospital for observation.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

He told me a little less than a week ago that he has cancer. He needed to tell me this, because I know him as well as myself, and I never would have imagined that it was cancer. They're keeping him in the hospital for treatment.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

This is one of those situations where I feel like Dorothy while she's in the house in the tornado on her way to Oz. Everything is spinning around her out of control, and she just holds tight to Toto and watches strange images fly past the window. My friends and family are the house, giving me a sense of familiarity and structure, keeping some of me together. Toto is the small things I hold onto that I feel I have some sense of control over; visiting everyday at the hospital, buying anything I can think of that might seem appetizing for someone who really doesn't want to eat, sending mundane text messages to anyone and everyone I could think of wanting even the smallest update on the current situation. In the meantime, I watch everything else through this crappy little window. A broken washing machine, dirty dishes in the sink, even eating a regular meal fly past this window reminding me for just a moment that there's something else I'm forgetting to do.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

I'm taking a day off today though. I'm talking a lot with my husband. I'm trying to land my house in Oz, and walk down that crazy yellow brick road until I find myself back in Kansas again. I've received so many supportive emails, phone calls, and text messages, each one with love for me but more importantly with love for Loren. Each one is so very much appreciated. Each one saying, "If there is anything I can do, let me know." To you all I say, keep doing what you're doing. Support and love Loren, his friends, his family, and yourself. Keep sending those messages, if even through your thoughts. I'm realizing more and more that it's not me going to the hospital everyday, it's not finding things to buy for him, it's not sending mundane updates and trying to feel like I can have control over this situation that's going to help him. It's not helping anyone, not even myself. It's me loving him, loving my friends, loving my family, and taking care of myself that will help him the most. I encourage you to do the same. Trust me, it's easier said than done.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

I question whether or not writing this blog is the right thing to do. It seems a bit contrived. If Loren reads it, I don't think he'll mind (do you Lojo?). If anything, it helps me to write it down and see things in a tangible fashion. It could probably use a bit more satire. I could tell you about the male nurse named Jamie who won the title of "Most Cliche Person of the Week". Or I could tell you about the patient I over heard yelling at her nurse because they offered her a nicotine patch in lieu of a cigarette (for some reason smoking's not allowed in hospitals), and she's "No damn quitter..." so why would thy offer her a patch? Or I could tell you about going to Chris' messy house last night, sitting on the floor with Lucas, looking around at the most unlikely group of people who I am so lucky to be so close with, watching "Adventure Times" and enjoying each other in a new way. But I guess I should keep it simple, like my mantra today.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

Sincerely,
h.