I can only remember two times Cindy sat still for more than 2 hours during non-sleep hours: 1) after being sedated when her wisdom teeth were removed and 2) when we sat staring at the salmon and steelhead fish wiggle their way up the ladders and past the Bonneville Dam in Oregon.
For those of you that knew Cindy, you will recall that she had an inability to sit still for more than five minutes at a time. If she wasn't talking on the phone to her mother or Karin, she would be scanning eBay and Amazon.com for a deal, searching the Barrett's refrigerator for leftovers, creating a study guide for a nursing exam, baking batches of pumpkin chocolate chip cookies, or working on a sitcom treatment to share with her friend Jamie out in Hollywood. Despite all the activities competing for Cindy's attention, I never felt ignored or taken for granted. Amazingly, she had the power to make me feel that I was always the most important distraction to her.
Our time sitting together on that bench watching the resilient fish make their way upstream will stay with me forever. I had never seen Cindy look so peaceful and calm. Even when I took her to the secluded beaches in Vieques, Puerto Rico, she felt tense and fidgety when sitting on the white sand beaches and staring at the gorgeous blue water. However, something about the fish ladder lulled her into a tranquil state that would have kept me on that bench with her for eternity if it meant she was finally happy and relaxed.
I have been thinking a lot this week about the fish we encountered at the ladders. I admire the strength that allows them to swim against the current. I marvel at their bravery for making this journey in defiance of the hungry sea lions that congregate around the base of the dam. Moreover, I appreciate their tenacity to complete their journey down the Columbia River without looking back.
It has been 85 days, 15 hours, 5 minutes and 10 seconds since Cindy died. The current I am swimming against today feels as powerful as the one I struggled against back in October 2008. Dreadful sounds and unspeakable images of Cindy's two seizures that I witnessed still swarm inside my head and knock me to the ground. I manage to pick myself up and, much like the Oregonian fish, my internal compass kicks in to direct me onward. However, unlike the steadfast salmon and steelheads, I am constantly looking back.
5 comments:
You will make it just like the fish... You have so much strength and what you don't have Cindy is sending you
JM,
You are so much stronger than you know. Those fish don't have to deal with human feelings; that you move onward each day demonstrates strength that many of us could never imagine.
You're strong enough to keep swimming, but remember it's okay to sit quietly once in a while too.
Your great writing is part of what shows your strength and adds to it.
I echo the (very wise) sentiments of the above posters. The ability to look back can be both blessing and a curse but hopefully in time the tough memories will be overshadowed by the good ones.
It's a goal of mine to finish the stories Cindy and I talked about (perhaps you can assist with this??). She was always so enthusiastic and inspiring, and after every conversation I felt like I could conquer the world.
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