Paper Chase

I posted a lot last week. That's because I was off from work, hiding out from the workaday world on a delicious staycation. I spent a lot of the time with my mother and the rest of it meandering to wherever I felt called. Now, I'm back in the office and even though life continues to come at me from all directions, I don't have a moment to process what I'm experiencing, much less feeling, so I'm setting down here a couple of the Major Occurrences that I want to come back to, unfolding events that are leaving their mark on the lives of people I love.

1. My Aunt Maisy, 85, heard yesterday that her lung cancer has returned, and in a harder to treat presentation. Her daughter, who is like my sister in every sense, is scared this time. She and her mom have a complicated relationship, which I may or may not go into later. My aunt's son was deployed to Afghanistan three weeks ago. He doesn't yet know about his mother's newest diagnosis. Aunt Maisy is a hell raiser and I love her to pieces. She says she wants no surgery or chemo, she isn't in any pain, just let her live out her life in peace. Even though her sisters are debating her on this, I have to admit I can see her point.

2. My other cousin, the evicted addict, is finding her feet, sort of. She is in an outpatient rehab program and some days are more successful than others. But what really gives me hope is that out there on her own, she has connected with a small group of women who are also part of the program, and they are trying to motivate and be there for one another. My cousin has never been part of any group, unrelated by blood, that truly valued her. She had only that man who abused her, her mother who enabled her, and her relatives who were most often pissed off with her. Now for the first time in her life, there are these women around her who she calls her friends.

3. My son emailed the head of his department asking to meet with him to get some guidance on his program. They set up a meeting for this week. He also got himself a tutor in the course that he is failing, and doesn't seem quite as tightly wrought when I speak with him. Not that he's telling me much. I called him last week and he was brusque on the phone. "Mom, I'm busy." I let him go. "Alright, we'll talk another time." We said goodbye and I threw in "I love you, son," just as he clicked off his phone. A moment later, my phone rang. "I hung up before I could tell you I love you, too," he said. We both laughed in warm conciliation. He didn't have to call back, and most days he wouldn't have bothered. But on that day, he did.

Okay, I have to get back to work. Page layouts are piling up on my desk. Scroll down for the outcome to my daughter's soccer championship game two days ago. I posted an update at the end of One more game to win it all. And no, they didn't win it all. But it was a good night under the lights all the same.