After a trip to hell and back and overwhelming pain, I am back home in our little guest house in Los Angeles, waited on by three daughters, a surgeon son-in-law who is now my second personal physician, and a doctor-husband who takes charge of me at night. I am grateful for the green trees, for the sun glinting off the red tile roof of the main house, and I look forward to healing.
My cat sat on my chest this morning and buried her head in my neck, which means she has forgiven me for being away for so long. Three times while I was hospitalized she peed on our bed in protest of my absence.
Pain is part of my life right now, but it will ease. The doctors and nurses marveled when all my kids would appear in my hospital room, remarking that I have an amazing family and support system. I am enjoying home-made soups, which are finally staying down, foot rubs from my daughter and son-in-law, and getting bathed in lotion and love by my grandchildren, who still think I look beautiful.
This is NOT fun, by any means, but so far it has been an incredible, if undesired, adventure. I so cherish your notes of encouragement, and I am deeply grateful for the circle of family and friends who sustain me. It is the greatest gift I can imagine.
An Exchange of Gifts
--Alden Nowlan
As long as you read this poem
I will be writing it.
I am writing it here and now
before your eyes,
although you can't see me.
Perhaps you'll dismiss this
as a verbal trick,
the joke is you're wrong;
the real trick is your pretending
this is something fixed and solid
external to us both.
I tell you better:
I will keep on
writing this poem for you
even after I am dead.
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