The Road Home and Pilgrimages

I know I just told you that it is curiosity alone that is getting me on my bike for many miles every day but the truth is, that is not the whole story. 

That is how it started, absolutely, but Erin, who begins the Camino de Santiago this week, hiking a pilgrim's route for five weeks across Spain, made the observation that my bike riding to the river every day is my pilgrimage.  But that's just because I tell her everything and she's a poet and a musician and a real life Little Prince and the best female friend I have ever ever ever EVER had and she understands about such things.

You see, I've crossed a line.

It has finally become real to me, completely real, that I am going to be saying goodbye to Michael some day.  I know this has been a theme for a while now but as you read in my post about "New Beginnings" there is a vast difference between an intellectual understanding and an emotional readiness. All of you have an intellectual understanding that you are not immortal, correct? The only exception to that is my father, who believes that full Lithuanian blood is somehow like ambrosia, or some serum from the fountain of youth, but that's another story.

For the rest of us, we know no one is getting out of this alive.

We may know this, but Michael actually went and purchased his own gravesite when he was 43 and not because he's just super organized and likes to handle all these "little details" to keep things neat and tidy.  He did it because while the rest of us enjoy our stay in the land of the living, he knows he is going to have to say goodbye because his body is wearing out.

And this is the paradox that has made it so hard for me to adjust to this:  As his body gets weaker, he gets stronger.  His mind is as sharp as any able-bodied 40 something. Sharper even.  He spars with me, verbally, like no one else. Very funny, very quick, brilliant mind.  And spiritually...where do we even begin?  The man meditates on top of his gravesite!  You don't think that puts you in a different place?!

So when I am with him, that power and strength just beams out from him. It's really quite remarkable. And it takes conscious effort to remind myself that physically he has lost ground every year.

And now we have another winter approaching.  Winter kicks his ass and I don't know how much more ass kicking his body can take.

I have to be ready. It may not be this year and maybe he'll move to a warmer place for a few months but the truth is I have to be ready because when the time comes that he is truly ready to relinquish his body, he is going to need support.

There is a time when "preparing" has to become "prepared".

I am prepared.

But it takes effort every day to stay that way.  Every day I have to let go. Every day I have to let go even while he is still here.  I used to be afraid of that. I didn't know how to be in that paradox. I thought letting go would create a distance. It's not. It's actually bringing us closer.

But readiness needs continual cultivation. Hence the pilgrimage. I bike to the river, in part, to outride my pain and my sadness.  And at some point I see a cow, or a deer, or a coyote or a hawk and I know it's going to be okay.  The sadness settles in but somehow I'm able to keep breathing. Keep peddling.

One day you may watch someone you love die very, very slowly, just like I am.  If you truly love the people you say you do, it would be wise to cultivate the strength of heart for what is ahead. Not everyone in Michael's life has had the courage for this and several have distanced themselves already.  He's had to watch one by one drift away as each has gotten to their tolerance level for pain.  He's watched people he has been friends with for years avoid him in fear, pretending they don't see him at social events.  He has had to be the one to initiate contact, giving them permission to face their fear.  I can't imagine how hard that is, how much energy it takes.

I'm in it for the full journey. Every last roll of the wheel.

If you want to come with us, please do. But before we move ahead, I'd like you to know us better.  You see, we started out as "river rats".  At one time, we were just kids, fishing with our bamboo fishing poles behind our houses, digging for worms under rocks.  He fished in the Des Plaines River, and I in the Grand Calumet.  We were childhood friends, from poor families, skating on our rivers all winter long. It's true, we didn't get to meet each other until I was 28 years old.  That detail didn't really matter.

We were childhood friends just the same.

If you'd like to see where I came from, you may want to check out this pictoral display of a trip I took back to my childhood home in Gary, Indiana to visit my dad. Several have captions to orient you. 

The picture above may not look like much, but it was home to me. This is the corner of the street I grew up on. You can see Lake Michigan at the end of the street. Ono's has been there for over 50 years. In fact, my dad owes his life to Sam Rizzo, maker of tasty pizzas (which he now refuses to make for my father since his bypass), excellent Italian beef and keeper of the returning-from-the-beach popsicles that I require for my health. (Superstar Fudge is my most favorite, though sometimes I mix it up with a little Creamsicle action). Sam's mom, Josie, was the proprietess when I was a kid. She let us go behind the counter to pick our own selection of penny candy (back when such a thing existed). A good part of an afternoon could be spent there, trying to allocate a quarter across just the right proportions of wax lips, Zots, Pixie stix and Wacky Wafers.

To finance ourselves, we would hang out in the alley trying to catch lizards while waiting for the "rich" kids to ride their bikes by, inevitably spilling coins from their pockets. We'd listen for the telltale jingle of metal against gravel and harvest the catch as soon as the kids were out of sight, immediately running to Ono's to cash in the days booty.

The lizards have all grown to be dragons now, but that little girl, she's still here and heavens, how she loves her bike.

Comments

[Di]

Love the photo of the two of you :)