Time to Appreciate

It's About Time

Was it because I was running on full tilt the moment I moved into this place? Our wonderful friends from Hillsboro helped us move our stuff from, what we called, The Troll’s Forest. The one hundred year old little place among the oaks where the Audubon Society would come each year to count the Acorn Woodpeckers, one of two places where they existed in the state. The one hundred year old part of the house was wonderfully robust. The addition, not so much, with damp walls and black mold in abundance. That place was so dark. This place is so wonderfully full of windows.

I mostly remember when Michael, the eternal jokester, picked up the solid wood, chopping block. It once was a vital part of a hoagie shop in Eddystone, Pa. We schlepped it across the US when we drove westward to our new home. Here we were moving it into this house. Michael handed it off to Al. Not nice, Michael. The thing weighs a ton, not too far from literally. Al was not ready.

One week after move-in day Michael was diagnosed with Melanoma. 1990, treatments were not fully in place at that time. Thus began the nightmare of Michael’s demise, three years later.

Did I really have time to fully appreciate the wonderful place we found?

I was still working in The Heart Research Lab when we moved in, but soon was laid off from that job when the grant money that covered my salary ran out. It was an easy shift to another lab, managed by some folks I knew from the elevator ride to the ninth floor of the medical research building. Two years with them, a great research project, clinical trial for an osteoporosis medication, the first. I followed 22 wonderfully inspiring post-menopausal women, some of whom were taking the trial medication, some of whom were on the placebo, no one, not even me, knew which ones were taking which.

I soon realized the hierarchy of the position was not a good fit. I was actually job searching, Michael was in and out of the house until he was back and on his last legs. The hospice nurse started visiting. I remember her saying to me “Most people take leave from their jobs at this point.” “Really?” I had no idea how this end of life business goes. January of 1993 and the Family Medical Leave Act was just enacted. I put in for the leave that weekend, he died on February first, it was likely that Monday.

I had some ideas for the funeral, but for the most part the Portland Police folks did it their way. I did head back east for a celebration of life with the Chester folks. When I returned, I called in to say I would be back to work on Monday, one week after his death. Oh. I was told there was no job for me to come back to. Then started the law suit, but first I had to find a lawyer. Lawyers are a bit averse, it seems, to a law that has never been tested. I found one, finally. He took the case because I was asking very little in monetary compensation.

So that was going on, the kids were heading back to school, I was busy taking classes on how to start a new business. I mean after all, I can lose my own job, I don’t need anyone else to help me with this losing business. In the meantime, I’m volunteering at the kids’ schools, why not.

To say I won the suit would be a misspeak. My employer, the medical school, just ignored my claim, continuing to pay me, with my medical coverage and retirement pay for as long as I had asked for in my challenge to them. Then, just as I was ready to freak out because my income was about to run out, I got a call from a doc who knew my work and my contracting business began. I’d have to go back and check my resume, I’m sure there is one or ten of them in the file cabinet I have not emptied yet, but I ran that business idea throughout my kids’ days here at this lovely home. Then, when I had taken my idea of contracting out for the long run, switching to contracting through Pharma companies, monitoring clinical trials after running them for so long, I decided to take the next sharp left turn and head back to school for a master’s degree, in Psychology. My kids were on their own, I needed a new challenge, I guess. Yes, the master’s degree, then work in a clinic, followed by a move to private practice.

All this comes to mind as I am in a manic state, cutting down on the stuff that has accumulated in the house after all these years, in drawers, in desks, in filing cabinets, tucked away in closets. With this new focus, I have found myself looking around me in great affection and delight. Paying my house a newly profound attention and love. Beaming with appreciation at the art on the walls, at the sun shining through the tall windows. It suddenly dawned on me that maybe I am stepping out of a fog. The fog of activity of living, surviving, making it all work.

One of the things I found in my frantic culling is called Animalia Book of Days. It is a three year calendar. There are no years attached nor are days named, just months and numbers. I suspect it was a gift from my friend Barb, seems like a gift she would give me, artful, useful. I thumbed through pages. I was startled by the notations. The number of appointments, the wheres and the whens. Names I mostly don’t recognize. Places. Overwhelming in my read of what I was doing in those years. School activities, work meetings, book club, volunteering.

Was I just zooming through life and not really, I mean really, able to see what was in front of me? As I embody this new appreciation, it certainly feels like a new stage…what? Of life? Have I moved through all the stages of grief that I thought I was long ago past and found my way to acceptance? Was I, on some level, blaming my house for challenges? I have no idea, maybe all of the above and likely way more. I’m just here to tell you, this is fun.

Thanks for stopping by and sharing in my joy.

Mary E Joyce