Reality

I’ve been having more and more difficulty writing this column. I only have a few ideas, I feel like I’ve worn them out, and ideas don’t interest me much anymore.

I can’t concentrate. I could say stuff about the presidential campaigns and all of that, or medical cannabis or nuclear power or our local goofs or even meditation or love or tolerance or consciousness or forgiveness, except when I try to formulate a thought, let alone a sentence, I remember how sick Janice is. Sick doesn’t begin to describe her experience. After tens of thousands of dollars, ours and yours, she’s in constant pain, and the tumor in her brain is starting to affect her vision.

At the cancer clinic in Arizona I was with her most of the time. During our second stay I’d sometimes find something to do—often involving Thai food or a thrift store—while she was getting some therapy or other, but mostly I was with her. I just wanted to be there—and still do—although there’s precious little I can do to help her and nothing I can do to make a big difference. I can’t fix her. I’ve never felt more helpless than I do now. I can’t do shit.

Well, not exactly. I can drive her around and carry stuff and run errands and wash dishes and make her alkalizing juice and flush her IV and tell her that I love her, so I do. Big deal. What she needs is a miracle. I’m working on one.

I’ve heard that serious illness can be a blessing. I know that blessings can have some of the best disguises, so I suppose that’s possible. Janice’s illness has brought us closer together, and that’s a good thing. It has also made most quotidian bothers fade into the background. I even don’t think nearly so much about what my sons want as I used to. They weren’t asking me to think about them anyway, and letting them fend for themselves means I assign myself fewer tasks, Janice gets more of my limited energy, and they grow up faster. Nice.

One cliché I’ve verified is that life-threatening illness clears up what’s important and what isn’t. That’s one reason I don’t pay much attention to politics anymore. I don’t care who wins the presidential election, because there’s not much difference between Obama and Romney anyway, and the clueless public schools have kept most of us ignorant enough to go along with whatever the big boys want for years to come. Politics is just a story. Reality is at home.