Well, I'm sitting in Fresno, California, having jumped in the car to come down here upon hearing that Marty's grandfather was doing poorly. And this about a 94 year old man who lives in Fresno and until just now, drove himself to San Francisco (several times) to come to see the new De Young museum. So it seemed fairly important to come down right away, especially when he's saying in various ways that he doesn't want to be here anymore.
It's my week off before my "new" job starts up and I certainly did not expect to be on basically a "death watch" in that time. Ah well, so life (and death) goes.
I so don't want to start work. I don't want to work period. Well, okay, I want a job I actually want to go to. Maybe that's more the case. Although I always wonder if this is just a pipe dream or not, the "American Dream". That we should unequivically love our jobs and be thrilled to be "productive citizens" in our great society. Haha. Or there's the other way of how we look at working: work sucks but you gotta just do it because you need to pay your rent and eat. Never mind if you really hate it or not. Shut up and get working.
Well, I guess I have to shut up and get working. And then see where it goes. But I'm having these extreme spikes of anxiety when I even just think about going in to work, basically what I was having when I had to go in and work for my rotten boss. And I haven't even started yet. So I'm trying to find some place of "how do I do this" so I can pay my rent, eat, pay off my debt and start saving. I realize too that some of my anxiety is coming from my work being gamey about Egypt. I had stated to the Assistant Director that I already have this set up, I needed it understood that I would be going for a month in April and he said it shouldn't be a problem. When I called to state I could work Thanksgiving (that had been a commitment already set up as well and got changed) and asked for Egypt in writing, he said "We'll see." and some nonsense about HR (who told me at the time to work it out with the directors). Arggg, so in April I may not have a job again. Extremely frustrating.
As to seeing where it goes, this week was my last chance to sit in on the Intro to Environmentalism class and I'm missing at least Tuesday. Very likely Thursday. Bah. I guess I can sit in during the spring semester if it's held at a time I can attend. Since due to Egypt I wouldn't be able to actually take the class. My brain hurts. If we could afford it, I'd go work with goats.
In any case, it's now Tuesday and still no idea how long we're going to be here. There's one computer in the house that has internet connection and everyone and their mother, literally, is using it. There's no internet node in the area to hook into with my cool new little mini computer Marty gave me for our 5th year anniversary. It's odd, I think I've gotten to a place that I'm not sure what to do with a computer if it doesn't have internet. I figure we'll be at a place soon when everthing we do depends on the internet. So I'm writing in a wordpad document this blog entry. And I haven't written in my blog in forever. Shoot, I haven't written anything in forever. Well, the adventure blog Marty and I have, but I mean fiction. Or otherwise. So, a good practice I guess. And unfortunately, this computer has shit for games, or those stupid little trial runs that you have to download the full version off the 'net. Great.
I didn't sleep well last night, tossing and turning. I finally had to put something over the clock to keep from seeing 2:00 AM, 4:00 AM, etc, ticking away in that bright, devil red. The bed we're in isn't great and I was alternately hot and cold. Finally, in the morning, I was dozing fitfully, still in that half waking stage when I thought, well, I should just get up and wham, this thought, sentence, whatever, almost in huge lettering image, popped into my mind, "There's something out there, waiting." I knew it applied to Grandpa Cooper and I could almost sense that lingering something, at the edge of consciousness, waiting.
Robert (call him Bob) Cooper isn't one foot out, yet. I remember coming to see my maternal grandmother for the last time. She was in home at Aunt Ellen's house and I hadn't seen her in some time so it was a huge shock. She had ovarian cancer, plenty of stages down the road and I think it had matastasized as well. I learned a lot about cancer upon learning her diagnosis. She was 87 and very strong so the doctor's recommended that she could go through chemo if she so desired (usually at that age, they don't recommend it or people just can't handle the treatment). She did so choose and went through several runs but eventually it just caught up, it was basically too late, she'd gone too far without being properly diagnosed and the cancer had the run of her body. But she was apparently a trooper throughout all this.
But by the time that I saw her, it was basically a situation like this, "Hey, grandma is getting worse, everyone should come". So I did. So did my father, which surprised me (he and my mother have been divorced since I was about 2) but turned out to be one of the sweetest interactions I've had with him in my adult life. She was in the living room, where David and I used to drink stupid amounts of Jolt cola and Dr. Pepper, eat grungy, self made nachos and watch Doctor Who, my experience was also echoing with those memories as well (David is gone as well). She was in a hospital bed and looked like an angelic wraith. And you could tell, right off the bat, that she had one foot out the door. She had lost a ton of weight, most of her hair and was on a lot of morphine. I think she was under hospice care as well, that last program to basically just keep people comfortable both mentally and physically before they head out of this plane.
We (the family) just hung out together, mostly in the living room, chatting with each other, sitting by her bed side, talking to her in her occasional lucid moments. It was an extremely comfortable, touching time. At one point, I started experiencing a couple of odd things. First, it was feeling as though I had giant wings coming out of my back. Energetically mind you, I'd have been more concerned if I had been sprouting actual wings from my back. They felt quite "real" and almost heavy, an odd "physical" sensation, almost in the back of my head. I told my mother about it, who over the years has heard, I'm sure, stranger things pop out of my mouth. And later, were both a bit shocked when my grandmother suddenly snapped from her bed, "Have that girl turn around, what's on her back?!" And upon realizing she meant me, I turned around and she examined my back with a critical eye and said "Hmmph." My mom and I just looked at each other, wondering what it is that she saw. Eventually that feeling faded and well, I started seeing this guy.
Okay, this is rather hard to write, as I've often had these experiences blasted in the past and so I've locked them away, or perhaps the ability away. But recently seeing Adyashanti, I've sort of starting thinking about that space again. So, in any case, this is what I experienced and no, I'm not crazy.
Standing in the doorway to the living room, leaning against the side, was, erm... Okay, I don't believe in the christian form of god and I certainly don't believe in angels. In fact, I still don't. But there was a tall man, raven black hair, bright green eyes, basically handsome, wearing one of those molded Roman leather chestplates, with the caligae type sandals and the roman pleated leather skirt, basic Roman warrior type get up, sans sword or any weaponry. Oh, with huge black feathered wings. Let's not forget that rather important feature. Now mind you, it's not like I was actually seeing him with my physical eyes, more like seeing him there with my eyes but as if projected from the back of my mind. I've never been really sure how to describe these sorts of things and it's not like they occur very often.
He just stood there, looking at my grandmother. He didn't look anywhere else, at others coming through the room, at me looking directly at him. I don't think he ever looked away from her. He didn't do anything either, just stood there, leaning almost casually, arms loosely crossed over his chest. He just seemed to be... waiting. Her guardian angel. Or in my mind, her guide. Waiting for her.
At one point, I was starting to get headaches. I could always see him standing there and I think whatever part of my puny little human brain that was allowing me to see him, was getting strained. They got pretty bad but at one point, near the end of my stay there, my grandmother beckoned to me and I came over and sat down. She didn't say anything and I just laid my head on the bed and she laid her boney, withered hand over my head for a minute. It seemed very solemn in the moment and then she patted my head, the energy shifting to a lighter, more casual space. And I couldn't see him anymore. Nor did my head hurt anymore.
I wasn't there when she died but I got to say my goodbyes at that point. She was in a respite home later, there for a brief period of time when my Aunt Ellen was leaving to go to my cousin Jessica's wedding in New Mexico. She died after she left, I think with no one there. We all think that in terms of her personality that she wouldn't have had the terminity to die in front of anyone, how rude, you know.
So, it's a bit curious to be here with Marty's family and his grandfather. I was a bit concerned about leaving to go to Fresno when I have this week off and having all these things planned this week before I start the new job. But I wanted to support my husband. It's funny how guilty one can feel in this situation when, really, it's sort of understandable as I am not blood linked or had plans. Marty was very understanding about my uncertainty about coming and has been reminding me that I am able to leave if I need to. Not something I'd probably do but dang, sort of sucks to watch my week off dwindle away or even to know when I'll be heading home. I think that's the worst part, not knowing if I'm going to be here until Saturday or some such and then have to go to work on Monday. Okay, starting to feel guilty again...
Although he looks much different than the last time I saw him, paler, thinner, frailer, as I have said, he did not seem to have one foot out the door. He's always had a fantastic mind and apparently that organ is still working the best out of everything else in his body which is in quick decline. The next day, the family sitting in his room, lounging on his bed and sitting around the bed, he felt more absent to me. But still not quite one foot out yet. But earlier I felt that something waiting. A faint "knowledge" that it had not yet entered the house but no idea what it was, other than perhaps Robert Cooper's guardian "guide". And later, same day, a faint image of large golden paws crossed over each other, the feeling of a great cat. And a bit later, clearer, a lion. You'd think male but a hefty lionness, waiting with infinite patience.
If nothing else about death or watching someone die, I have found seeing the guardians the most comforting part of the process. And who knows, perhaps they are there to guard or guide or don't exist at all but in my mind, but still.... a good thought.
