It seems like an eternity since I have sat down to write. Life has a way of picking us up by the scruff of the neck sometimes and shaking us like a dazed puppy. Since January, I have had two strokes, my mom has been hospitalized for over a month, and our oldest cat TeeTee is preparing for her journey into the summerlands.
I hate to admit it, but in the midst of everything that has happened, magick tended to be done in hindsight…an afterthought at first to the situation at hand. There were days after the strokes that I would find myself just sitting…staring out of windows…more conscious of the drooping or the lack of strength on my left side. Funny, the doctor says that I have had ‘mini strokes.’ In talking to a friend of mine and through reading, I have found out that a stroke is a stroke. There are no minis or maxis.
Through the challenges of recuperation, there were, constantly in the back of my mind, visions of my great grandma’s sister. We called her Aunt Carrie. I often wish I had gotten to know her before the strokes. She was a beautiful woman always dressed to the nines, very passionate and eloquent from what I was told. She was a teacher. When I got to know her, she had been ravaged by stroke after stroke. They had rendered her bed-ridden, only able to mouth and garble words, and only able to barely motion.
I lived in a world of not feeling like myself, fear of being that shell of a person I once was…but it was in the words of friends and family that I found the strength to push myself. I found out from my mother that Aunt Carrie was given the opportunity to go through therapy but chose not to. Her marriage was bad, her husband used to beat her. She hoped for death but was given an existence with a husband riddled with guilt who now decided that he needed to try to make up for the earlier hell she had to suffer through.
I determined that I would not recreate that scenario for myself. I had many friends that not only supported me through my healing but also pushed me. They knew there was more fight in me than I was showing. They also realized that I had pushed my magick to the sidelines. Working side by side with them and my doctor, I used magick and medicine toward healing. I did the therapies…I did the dreamwork. I utilized stones, crystals and visualization. I found myself in a good place. My doctor had even told me that I had made progress that she wouldn’t have expected until the six month mark.
I built a moss and fae garden to keep me close to the earth at all times…wear hematite for grounding. Things were looking better daily. I began to breathe again.
Then we noticed that our older cat TeeTee was losing weight and throwing up more. We took her to the vet for bloodwork and xrays. The bloodwork looked ok, but when they pulled up the xrays, I breathed in sharp. I worked at a veterinarian’s office for ten years. I had learned to read xrays. When I saw the large fibrous mass staring back at me, I knew immediately that it wasn’t good. We discussed options with the vet and came to the conclusion that as long as she wasn’t in pain and seemed to have a decent amount of energy that we would do whatever was needed to keep her happy. We have blended the stinkiest of foods, hand-fed her, given extra attention…and now as I type this, we know that it won’t be much longer.
We know that we have given her the best life she could have. From a wild, white feral kitten to a spoiled content house cat, she has been cuddled, pampered, catered to, and loved with complete abandon. Where is the strength we pull on here? The knowledge that she will rest and walk side by side with Bastet…back with the energy and magick she came from. We also know that they truly never completely leave your heart and side.
When you think you can’t handle anymore…the flood gates tend to open. Toward the middle of April, I got a call from my aunt. My mom had been admitted to the hospital that past Saturday. No one wanted to worry me (give me another stroke) so they didn’t let me know. My aunt was calling, however, to tell me that my mom had to be put on a ventilator and that the doctor had suggested calling the family in. We left immediately for North Carolina. My partner and I sat by her bedside for five days straight. They had induced a coma…hoping that the rest would do its part in the healing.
My mom has always had a strong faith and believed in energies and such (with our family history, how could she not). I had witches from all over sending healing and energy toward her. My brother, who thinks my mom is more along the lines of a conservative christian, asked how I think Ma would feel knowing all those witches were sending her healing. My aunt walked into the room behind him and whispered in his ear, “I think she would be completely fine with it.” With that comment, she looked at me and gave a wink and kissed the air.
In the process of that hospital stay, my mom coded not once, but three different times. She always made her way back though. She is a fighter. She has always been the bedrock of our family. I knew that if anything happened to her, that would fall to me. My first visit, I whispered to her, “I am not strong enough for this yet.” I have no doubt that she heard me.
It has been a long, hard battle but she is now awake, aware, winking, smiling, and breathing air and not on oxygen. They have decreased the size of the trach opening and have moved the feeding tube from her nose to her stomach. She is now going through therapy and trying to mouth words.
I feel like in the midst of all of these things happening around me, that I have lived any spare time I have beside ponds, in woods, and walking mountains. On my last trip to Red Top Mountain, I looked forward at the path ahead. It was crooked, scattered with rock, muddy in places, but oh so calming and lush. An old bible verse sprang to my mind, “I lift up my eyes to the mountains, from where my help comes.”
There is an area hewn into the rock on Red Top…I crawled into that cubby and lay my head back. I woke up an hour later after the most peaceful sleep I have had in months. Life is going to give us twists and turns, scratches, bruises, pain…and yes, even death. I have found though that I do have the strength to face each one. It doesn’t mean it isn’t going to hurt or that there won’t be loss or challenges, it means that I can survive. I can come out of it stronger…the armor might be a bit dirty or scuffed and even broken in places, but I have the choice of getting up and continuing on, or falling back and dying.
I walked out into the courtyard yesterday after work. I finally gave up and just started leaving food for the birds, squirrels and anything else that might be hungry out there. Mama Crow was perched on the wall eating peanuts. She looked straight at me and gave me her comforting ‘Graaaaaaaackkk’
I will keep getting up as long as I am able.