The local paper did a story on Killian’s album, and the reporter asked about my blog. Some people are very private—suffer in silence. I don’t know that Phil or I made a conscience decision to hang it all out there, but we’ve definitely not been private. We had the store, we lived in the store, people saw our children in their pajamas, and Phil and me “fresh” out of bed at 6 am. I started the blog in this vein, but also for practical reasons—too many individual contacts lapsed in the desperate search for a cure. At this point, though, baring it all in writing feels like the trail of breadcrumbs left behind so I can find myself again.
I get glimmers of a sort of sad that I know I’ll be swimming in soon. Now, I’m just wading in and out when there’s quiet. Other times, I’m loudly crazy. My coffee maker stopped working, spilling almost two quarts of granulated coffee water all over the kitchen counter. So desperate for coffee was I, that I tried the whole thing again (“maybe it’s not really broken, I think I didn’t grind enough…yeah…”) And again, the testy machine belched massive amounts of liquid all over my counter and floor, prompting a stream of expletives, ridiculous blame-seeking and a hurled stick of butter, followed by a long sob session and muttering about everything falling to pieces. BFF Breon called during the sobbing. I ratchet up more sobbing into the phone, telling her everything’s falling to pieces, “…and I have a terrible, terrible temperament!” Why she’s my best friend: “yes, you do honey, but I love you and I know you won’t sit around in self pity but will be the survivor I know you are and make a list of those things that are driving you crazy, get some help with those things, and get a new coffee machine.”
Phil’s so present for us, so loving, so funny. I can’t see where his ouchy is, what this is doing to him. Send love, prayers, thoughts, pink-healing light, or virtual vitamins to him. Here’s the article that reporter did about Killian in our local paper, the Woodstock Times.
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5 comments:
Effin coffee machine.
Ongoing love and deep appreciation. If there's anything, just ask. You are all in my consciousness all of the time.
Wish I could deliver a coffee machine in person, but the commute is a tad far. What kind do you want and I'll order thru amazon.
Spilled coffee water and grounds are, I believe, legal grounds (so to speak) for throwing butter or murdering inanimate objects. Keep on keeping on, my most admirable sister in name!
xo the other Barbara (Perlov)
With those breadcrumbs you are breaking trail for many of the rest of us. Some of your readers haven't had the experience of having a loved one be very ill. Your honesty about what you are going through may help them learn to communicate at a time when it is needed, rather than suffering in silence.
What are you, Killian, Cally and Phil needing (individually, or as a family) right now that we might be able to help with?
I would have thrown the butter at that point too.
You had the store, we lived in the store, people saw our children in their pajamas, and Phil and me “fresh” out of bed at 6 am.I think you was going to office?May i right or wrong?
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