I wish I could report that my sister Margo is still here in Florida with me, but yesterday morning when I woke up, I knew it would be the sad day when I would drive her to the Orlando airport for her flight back to Maryland, back to her husband who has missed her terribly and who adores her and needs her as much as I do. I appreciate his support for her visit with me, and for accepting her eight-day visit, which included a three-day extension.
When she arrived here, my life was a mess. My walls were covered with outdated pages and notes about my projects, and the surfaces of desks and tables were covered with stacks of papers--pieces of paper with cartoons and notes, how-to information, pamphlets, advertisements for services, stories from my past, and spiral notebooks I've crammed full of random notes.
My projects I'm struggling to get into forms for release to the world include four books to become e-books and soft cover books (one in the form of a life writer's workbook), an audiobook, a mountain of cartoons, and a dozen songs I've written that need to be recorded and released both for online download and as CDs.
Every step in each of these projects is like quicksand--there's so much to learn and figure out, and the learning curves for each decision and mastery of each skill are steep. At first, Margo was diving into the various project tasks like I've been doing--"Let's do this now." "Now let's do that." "Oh here's this to do!"
First we were at the computer looking up information for one project, which led us to the coffee table and a stack of papers where we searched for something needed for another project, and then to the bookshelf to find a book needed for another project.
I could hear her Geiger-counter mind ticking faster as the confusion built up into toxic stress and she saw me hyperventilating, moving into the panic/overwhelm mode I go into when I'm too tired to make the smallest decision.
Nearly 3-1/2 years younger than I and in good health, in other words, still able to adapt, Margo changed her approach, something I haven't been able to do for myself. Here is what she did for me:
- She helped me get all of my projects organized, with steps lined up for each, wrote them down on structural tension charts, and taped them on the walls in place of the outdated pages.
- She designated shelves and drawers and labeled folders where I can place each piece of paper so I'm not spending all of my time searching for it.
- She helped me record 6 of my 9 stories for the audiobook, clicking the software on and off and writing notes while I recorded. Her notes allowed me to quickly edited out the mistakes in the track for each story.
- She went to the doctor with me and listened when he diagnosed me with thrush, linking it to leukemia.
- She went online and found the CLL support groups.
- She listened non-judgmentally while I told her my political and religious beliefs, and then she shared her thoughts that were in common with mine.
- At her insistence, we went to the bookstore and looked for cartoon markets.
- She stayed patient, cheerful and energetic throughout the long days, and continued to nudge me forward, past 2 a.m. on some nights.
Margo thinks and creates like I do. During her work on her Ph.D. in music, she introduced me to the work of Robert Fritz who has studied the process of creating and teaches others how to create using his concept of "structural tension." Fritz has written a number of books, which she and I both have read, including Creating, Your Life as Art, and his international best-seller, Path of Least Resistance.
In August 2001, after attending one of Fritz's week-long seminars, she came alone to Florida to visit me, for the first time ever, to share what she had learned. As she described the events that took place at the seminar and what Fritz taught, I understood that I didn't need to drown in my bipolar disease. We all have shouting, mean-spirited voices, permanent residents in our heads, calling us names and making up lies. I could shake hands with them and step over them to create a new life for myself. I was 56 years old, living alone on Social Security Disability, with a history of several hospitalizations and multiple suicide attempts. Her gift to me changed my life.
A few years later, we both attended Fritz's workshop where he taught an international group of attendees to teach his course, "Creating Your Life."
On this June visit, Margo is probably the only one who could have asked me the right questions, identify what has been blocking me, and help me finish some of the tasks and line up others to move me forward to completing my projects. I trust her and accept her as an authority and a mentor. Last October when Margo and her husband gave me their car, I did what our mother often did--I accidentally called Margo "Mother." That says it all!
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| Margo Ready for Lunch, June 2011 |
I tried to make Margo's visit enjoyable and memorable, too. I cooked nutritious meals for her (or we ate out) three times a day. I gave her a Starbuck's gift card and the car keys so she could go down the street for good coffee. I took her to my English country dancing group for a night of dancing with 20+ other men and women. She was very good at it! (I'm not! I can't remember the routines for each dance.) She facilitated a dulcimer group workshop one night, and they shared their music and ideas with her. I also arranged for my massage therapist voice student to give Margo the first professional massage she's ever had. She loved that experience.
We shared our music, sang together, and worked on arrangements. There wasn't time for recording them. I hope when she comes back next year I'll still be able to sing. One challenge with singing when tired is those little part-muscle vocal chords won't cooperate.
One big surprise to me is that Margo is the gifted artist of the two of us! That shouldn't have been a surprise. She had the artist talent when we were children. I've worked hard to draw my cartoons. For her, with a few quick pen strokes, the picture materializes. She left this drawing propped up on the pillow yesterday. She's on the left. She and I both agreed that so far we've avoided falling into the family dementia disease. Our judgment is based on our belief that we're not yet repeating statements and questions. I call it our "belief" because we could both be so far into dementia, we don't remember that the other has repeated something. Still, I find the belief comforting.
In spite of increasing fatigue and other developing problems, I'm optimistic that my descent into CLL (chronic lymphocytic leukemia) will be gradual enough that I'll have the time necessary to complete my projects.
Today, I'm much calmer as I look at the structural tension charts listing the tasks and due dates taped to the walls and the materials lying neatly on shelves. I know the priorities and logistics for all of the projects. I also know the established place to put each piece of paper when I get to it in the piles of papers still heaped on tables and desks. Life is good!
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