associated in random thought

everything so frail

do you remember last summer, when i chronicled my days at the pool with the unrelated peroxide twins? one of them, our next door neighbor, has been struck down. i found out on the day i was sitting on the patio, smoking. a woman i've never seen before came up to me. "do you know your neighbor, pam?" she asked. her face was full of worry. of course i know pam. just a week before she was sitting on the patio with us, and kissed my cheek before she left, saying "i'm so glad you are my neighbor."

"have you seen her?" the lady asked me. i hadn't seen her in days. "she's home," she continued, "but she won't answer her door."

"is she ok?" i asked.

"she had some bad news from the doctor today. i told her i was going to check up on her, but she told me not to come. i had to come. she won't answer her phone, either. i'm going to wait outside her door. she's bound to let me in at some point." she walked back to pam's.

oh no, i thought. oh God, no. fears of cancer pulsed through my brain. pam is a vivacious woman, full of life and makeup and perfectly sculpted hair. her smile makes you smile back. not pam. not cancer. please God.

helen visited her this morning, and found out the truth: pam fell, and injured her brain. her speech is slurred, and she is slumped over, shaking as she holds the wall to stay standing. she can no longer drive, and is not allowed to be active. the fitness enthusiast is confined to her home. and she's moving. on tuesday. her coworkers are gathering her things for her, and moving her to an apartment close to her workplace, so that, when she is able to be out a bit more often, she can take the bus to work.

pam is a fixture here. she was the first person to befriend me at the pool. she's a woman with endless stories, who, after her husband split years ago, put herself through nursing school. her fellow nurses are rallying around her now, standing outside her door till she answers. they're packing her life in boxes for her on tuesday.

my friend, cary recently wrote a blog entry about the constant split second between life and death, and i can't stop thinking of my neighbor. will she ever recover, return from this slumped over place?

we missed her the other night, on cinco de mayo. i decided, at the dog meeting on the 4th, that we should have a margarita-full get together at our place the following night. i pulled it all together quickly, purchasing a big bottle of lowgrade tequila, a bright yellow table cloth, votive candles, and lots of corn chips. our neighbor, joe mcintyre (not the one from new kids on the block), brought queso made from wisconsin cheese and chipotle paste, and the freshest homemade salsa you've ever tasted. he also brought a thermos full of martinis, for the non-margarita crowd (i.e. himself). patrick brought ice. art brought mariachi music. rachel brought maracas. soon, our house was full of 15 neighbors, laughing and talking loudly over the blender, in which helen made several pitchers of the fantastic margaritas. drunk jim brought his dog, moe, who sat outside and drained jim's glass every time he set it down. we guessed that moe drank three whole margaritas throughout the night. he eventually chewed through his leash, and went home on his own.

we left a note on pam's door--we didn't yet know about her fall--asking her to come. the next morning, there was a note taped to a big salsa bowl, sitting on a patio chair. "i am sorry that i could not come. i hurt myself. you are in my thoughts. thank you for inviting me." the bowl was a gift to use for our next party.

those of you who pray, please pray for pam. she said to me a few moments ago, "God saved me from dying. i am so fortunate." and she told me she loved me, shakily kissing me on the cheek. she is still wearing her lipstick.

loneliness is everywhere. you find it when you throw a small party for the neighborhood dog-owners. you find it when you befriend someone at the pool. and we all get the chance to enter into the loneliness, and whistle in the dark together. sometimes you get margaritas. sometimes you get a kiss on the cheek. mostly, you get company, and the gift of sharing in someone's suffering.

if i were to write a devotional, or a self-help book, or pontifications on how to end all wars, i would say this: knock on your neighbor's door. and keep your own door open.

tags:
loneliness,
end all wars,
dog meeting,
cinco de mayo

Posted by bananie at May 7, 2005 10:55 AM | TrackBack