Road Trip Forgiveness

I awoke to the raucous call of an irritated Stellar’s Bluejay [sp] looking for the day’s peanuts that are usually left on the deck by earlier risers then I and the Amazonian jungle sounding Pileated Woodpeckers.  Running inventory over my aches and pains I discovered I was none the less the wear from forest roaming axe wielding psychotics [see previous road trip post].

I aimed my sleep blurred eyes out the “glass wall” and though sunshine comes late to the deep canyon floor I could tell the day was set up to be astounding.  Like a teenager on his first, well, I looked forward to the day with anticipation.  To be sure, the place felt very empty with just me in it but, like a teenager on his first, well, I looked forward to the day with anticipation.

Taking my morning meds briefly reminded me of my illness but I shrugged that thought off as I pulled on my jeans.  I was feeling good and it was clean good because the meds hadn’t muddied my mind.  I decided to make the quarter mile stroll down to the bridge that crosses the confluence of the river the cabin sits on and a slightly larger one that passes by to the west in a rush to the ocean.  Make the stroll without my cane.  Later and a torn Meniscus later I would realize medical aids, no matter how injurious to one’s pride, should not be shunned in a rush of feeling well. [Hell a few days ago I got a handicapped parking permit]

The bridge is at the canyons mouth so the morning sunlight fell with long soon to be autumn shadows.  The bridge is Forest Service issue and as I sat in the middle on a convenient pedestrian walk area I was filled overwhelmingly with anticipation of the day.  Here, on at least three versions of this bridge, I had cried, sang drunken Jerry Jeff Walker songs with friends, watched otters be the silly happy things they always seem to be, watched for falling stars and this time never ever once thought of being sick.  After sitting and soaking up the space and slightly thinking I missed something I wandered back to the cabin for lunch.

I lay on the sofa and as is inevitable on a weekend I fell asleep.  I regret sleeping through my weekends.   But, sometimes at the end of the week this bastard that is my disease makes me.  I hate it.  Apparently this time I had slept long enough because my wife showed up in a dream, kissed me and I awoke. It must have been important to her as she always lets me sleep.  She was right once again.  I really shouldn’t waste my time up here sleeping.

Why was I here?  Simple and complicated.   

The day continued to be beyond glorious.  I sat on the river beach for quite some time and watched the river flow by dragging my thoughts thirty five years back and forth and every where in between.  I wondered how many of my memories had drifted down that river and took place by that river, incredible it was.  

 I went for a walk through waste high meadow grass without my cane….oops Xray and MRI damn log [see above pic]. 

Each and every step I took was as if I was walking through, with or around my life that was.  It was glorious and scary as hell.

Later, in front of the cabin sitting out by the river I started to really think about the past.  There’s a reason why monks go on hermetical sojourns.  Being alone clears the mind and lets the rest of the mind come to the forefront.  I hadn’t been alone alone for a long time.  Word of warning.  Unless you are a saint [and I suspect even they fall prey] and you aren't used to introspective alone time you need to hang on and be prepared. 

The ghosts of the first night were a pleasant diversion.  A smile, a tear, a smirk, a laugh, all good and I made it through the second night with the same ghosts.   But, on this night, I sat in thought and picked at old wounds with nothing but thoughts surrounding.  Do this and you need to be prepared to be kicked to the floor.  I forgot about that part.  Next time I won’t

For the first time in more than 24 months my thoughts were not about my disease.  My thoughts were about those in my life and those who were no longer with me.  My thoughts turned to how do I ask forgiveness especially if those I need forgiveness from are gone.  In some cases how do I forgive? 

I’ve lived an incredible life and plan on continuing to do that and in that place, that place that is my spiritual haven I started to realize that I had quit living.  Lately my only purpose was to “manage” my quality of life or just forget. 

While that realization didn’t resolve forgiveness issues and memories pooling on the cabin floor like inky blood or heal the scars I opened that would later take five days [and nights] to close up.  Not heal.  Close up.  The realization did make me want to heal those scars.  Figure out the forgiveness thing. 

Add to that just because you’re told you are sick and they can’t fix you doesn’t mean you can quit living.  There are people you know, people who love you, others you don’t even know that care and people who need and want you to live.  Need you to forgive yourself.  More importantly there are those who want to forgive you.

I left very early Sunday with, I was to find out later, my T-shirt inside out.  Yep.  You guessed it.  I hadn't learned not to wonder, as I locked the gate, if I would ever see the place again.  Babysteps.

I left so early there was no traffic as I traveled down the Tumwater which was filled with tendrils of now contained forest fire smoke and the tang of same.  I made it to where my wife was in record time.

Three oddities of the return trip:  My willingness to start living again.  Due to open scars the feeling I’d break into tears at any moment.  Oddest of all, every few miles a Raven alongside the road watched my passage not my totem Crow.  What’s up with that?

Talk to you later

…tomorrow I get on my soapbox and you men “ain’t gonna like it”