George's surgery is behind us;

it was a slow two weeks, we were at CHOP more than we would have liked, but he's healing now, ready to get back to school on Monday. What a blessing that Sandra, Fred's sister, has been around and able to help out with the kids a lot. We could be at the hospital with George, knowing completely that June was in great hands with Sandra. And the people at CHOP, every one of them, every nurse, doctor, food service person, custodian, they are just friendly and kind and courteous and made being there as easy as it could be.

And I let myself be very present for George while we were there and while he recovered. We watched a lot of Food network TV together and cuddled. I mostly did well at not worrying about all of the projects that I need to organize in the house and about my work that I wasn't doing. After going through cancer treatment, I know now that I don't have to expect perfection of myself and I know that the world goes on even when I fuck up a little here and there...

and I know maybe that sounds a little bit obvious and trite but for me, it's been revolutionary. Allowing myself to make mistakes, allowing myself to be patient when things take a long time, doctors with their discharge papers, for example, I know now that I have some control in how I react and how I react can impact my reality. I can be in CHOP, waiting from 6:30AM to 11:30AM waiting for the nurse practitioner to sign off with George's discharge instructions that Dr. Tom gave me orally at 6:30AM, and I can be grateful for George's healing--or I can just be pissed off that it's taking so long. I meditated consciously on being grateful and I felt so much happier as a result even when feelings of being pissed off surfaced; I could look at them and say "I'm pissed off" and watch that feeling float away...

The mindfulness practice that I've been cultivating is mostly about noticing what I'm feeling and I'm realizing how in any situation, I'm internalizing the practice--

yesterday afternoon I got George in his coat and out in the backyard for some air. I sat in a green folding lawn chair, clutching my hot green tea while the wind blew against me. I closed my eyes against the sun shining and everything was white and for the first time since his surgery I could hear George singing. I felt how present I was to that moment--to the sun, the wind, to George's singing--all of it against the backdrop of everything that I hadn't done or accomplished in the two weeks that I had been caring for George since his surgery. I knew that all of that "stuff" was there but I was able to ignore it and embrace where I was.

A very close, dear, old friend of mine is in rehab right now. I found out a week ago, I found out about her alcoholism a week ago, and she hasn't been out of my mind since. Memories surfacing of our girlhoods together; memories of her father getting ill and dying when we were in high school. I can still see and smell the church that Sunday in June where his mass was held, St. Mary's in Hollidaysburg, and everyone gathering back at the house after the service to eat and the two of us drinking wine from boxes in plastic cups.

I remember the emotions of that day and I remember my girlfriend holding back, holding it in, holding herself together. They're just feelings, I think, remembering her and remembering her dad

and remembering her mom, who passed too, about eight years after that, of what, of drinking, they're just feelings, I think to myself as the sun against my closed eyes makes everything white, in my backyard, in Elkins Park, with my son, nearing seven years old, singing something intangible, what?

Then my eyes open, stinging with tears, Georgie, what are you singing?
My eyes open, stinging with tears, George, I want to know. I want to know what you're singing, what you're thinking.
I miss my friend and I miss all that I've missed, the years of her drinking and suffering and me, not picking up the phone.

(Why do we suffer this way--alone? They're only feeling, feelings--)

They are just feelings I say out loud wiping tears in the cold wind, taking George in to get warm the sun going down, approaching evening, November, dinner to make, calls to return.