6,408 Minutes
The last photo taken of me and my mom, a month before she died.
106.8 hours. Or, if you prefer it in minutes, 6,408. Or, about 4 1/2 days straight with no food or pea breaks.
That’s how long it takes to watch the entire series of Grey’s Anatomy, beginning with Season 1 Episode 1, and ending with the most recent, Season 7 Episode 22. (And just in case you’re curious, that’s 148 episodes at about 43 minutes and 30 seconds per episode.)
I started watching the show the day of my mom’s funeral in late May. I wanted a quality drama that had been on long enough that I could bond with the characters and get lost in the storylines and forget that at the end of every episode, my mom would still be dead. Because there’d always be another show with another cliffhanger right behind that one.
I finished the last episode three weeks ago. My mom, by the way, is still dead.
Also, mourning and MS is not a good combination. You know peanut butter and jelly? Yeah, sorta the opposite of that.
The Grand Canyon
Last week I had a mole removed from my upper arm. My dermatologist thought it looked suspicious, but it turns out it was fine. Have you ever had a mole removed? When they cut it out it looks like a little crater. A micro-Grand Canyon.
For the first few days I put ointment on it and wondered how the skin would ever right itself. I looked at my other arm where I had had something removed in my early 20′s and the skin was completely soft and smooth and perfect. A slight discoloration the only hint of what once was.
But then I looked back at my fresh cut and it seemed so…impossible. How does one get from here to there? Especially with a body like this, a body that goes haywire like a suburban teenager goes to the mall.
But it’s been a few days since then and already there’s a scab where the crater was. I’m looking down at my arm now and I feel so proud. Really. I am so proud of my body when it acts as it should – obediently sending out the proper cells to create a build-up of hardened skin that will, sometime soon, fall off and leave me with something new and fresh.
Look, this isn’t a metaphor for losing my mom. I mean, duh, of course it is, if you think it is. But also I just happened to have a dead mom and I happened to get a mole removed and I happened to have MS. Just a bunch of random more or less concurrent circumstances. And because they are all random, they don’t mean anything. And because they don’t mean anything, I don’t know how to end this post.
Except that when I feel like things mean something, I tend to write more skillfully about them. And my mom would always read my posts that meant something and call me “Kierney” in her heavy Israeli accent and tell me how proud she was and how much she loved me.
I suppose the fact that I can’t write that last sentence without weeping means something.
Anyway, I’m back. It’s been three months, I hope you haven’t given up on me. I hope you’ll join me as I begin again, with a scab on my heart, but with heart nonetheless…
No related posts.
Welcome back! We missed you!
welcome back …I also had something removed (it required major surgery, though) …and the thing I had removed is a metaphor for programming that needed changing ^.~ I totally relate to the way the body heals …it’s kind of cool to simultaneously observe & be an integral part of the process ^.^
Thanks for showing up for this post… Looking forward to what’s next
Being present with heart – beautiful.
Missed you, Karen…….wonderful post.
thank you deb, lauren, lara, mike, selma. your support is deeply appreciated.
warmly,
karen
Hi,
I read your posts because I search for the writing that brings deep value, utility and expansion to my committment to live all out and as fully as I can. The bunch of random more or less concurrent circumstances is both random and absolutley and exqusitely intentional. There lies the beauty of a deeply meaningful and coherent life. Keep writing because both when you feel skillful and not skillful your writing comes from the lived experience and from the place you connect to the world.
Best,
T
I don’t want to like this message because that seems inappropriate but I did want to acknowledge that I read your posting and my heart aches for you. My condolences Karen.
thank you so much roz. i appreciate you taking the time to write this very much.
karen
Welcome back. I can’t possibly know what you are going through. I fear the passing of my parents. I know I shouldn’t as it’s the nature of things, but I do. Im so sorry you are going through this.
thank you alahnna.
Thank you for your continuing inspiration Karen, and I am so sorry for the loss of your mother. I am happy to see your postings again (selfishly), and I know that so many others apprecite you!
Ross