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Mar. 21st, 2008 12:56 pmSo this month is full of things to think about. First, the anniversaries of those martyrs for peace- Tom Fox, Rachel Corrie, Oscar Romero. Then, my dad being sick. Then, the anniversary of the Iraq war, and finally, the anniversary of my entry into the world of chronic pain. It does feel kind of like I should just spend the rest of my life in crisis mode; this emotional detachment feels kinda good, and bouncing back and forth is getting tiresome. But it feels much less that way today, after I got the first real good nights sleep in about a week.
Today:
I am feeling better than I have in two years. My pain level is way, way down, and consequently I'm able to be a whole lot more active. My pain level being down also means I can start to cut out some of the mind-numbing medication, so my brain is far more alert- I can think, its amazing! It is a little ironic that this was brought about by something that initially threatened to throw me into a relapse of both pain and depression, but at this point, I'm happy to have traded a broken hand for the miracle wrought by two weeks on muscle relaxants.
I'm a little convinced that The Powers That Be gave me a recovery so I'd be strong enough to deal with my dad's illness. He'll be moved out of ICU today, and probably will be released Monday- my brother and I will be talking him into going into temporary nursing care for a week or so, its better for everybody, including him.
This year, I did a lot of letting go about Tom's death. The post I made was really theraputic, and the scriptural analogies I made seemed to come from a place deep inside, and really did precipitate this letting go. I feel a thousand times lighter about it than I ever have, and can mourn freely.
This year, once again, I was not able to attend the rallies for the Iraq war. Optimistically, I hope there is no reason to march next year; realistically, I know there will be, and hope I can attend. I feel so strongly about this.
One year ago:
I was still in a haze, of pain, medication, and depression. I don't remember a whole lot about how I felt about any anniversary. In fact, I didn't even mention the war in my LJ, which I find odd, but not surprising. I did write a short piece about Tom, but I still wasn't sure what to do with my feelings. Overall, I wasn't convinced I'd ever get better, stop be angry, or stop being sad, and that immobilized me.
Two years ago:
Two years ago today- four days after marching down Michigan avenue to Daley Plaza for the third anniversary of the war- I was starting my journey into chronic pain. On the 22nd, I was admitted to the hospital for three days. Any thoughts about grieving for Tom, who had died ten days earlier, were shoved to the side and buried under layers of morphine. Early the morning of the 23rd, my sister called me in my hospital room and told me to turn on the TV to watch the early news- the other three hostages had been released! I was joyful- I cried, and I announced it to every nurse who came in that day, most of whom had no idea what I was talking about, but smiled and nodded anyway. I had no idea that pain would last so long.
Three years ago:
My LJ doesn't reveal anything particularly helpful, and I don't really remember. According to this post, I skipped the anti-war rallies and marches due to exhaustion. I was immersed in work, and had recently received approval to go into the field later that year.
Four years ago:
I have this vague idea that I was in Federal Plaza for anti-war stuff, but my LJ reveals nothing about it. I do remember being there, having marched down Dearborn from somewhere north, and there were booths and speakers, and a cute guy named Malachi who was passing out fliers for an interreligious dialogue group that I kept meaning to go to and never did. It seemed like almost a festive atmosphere; we were all convinced the war would end soon, there was no way it could drag on for ever and ever. Right.
Five years go:
I know this like the back of my hand, regardless of what I put into my LJ.
When we got word that the bombs had started falling, my sister and I rushed to Federal Plaza. The plan was that if the war started before 5pm we'd all gather in Federal Plaza that evening; if it started after 5pm, we'd gather the next day. The news started reporting that the war had begun in late afternoon, and not being able to determine what we should do, we headed downtown. When we got there, we found a hundred- eventually maybe up to 200- people there, but were told the big rally would be the next night. We held a candlelight vigil, and people took turns speaking about their feelings on the war. One guy got up and admitted that he had been a lifelong republican, had voted for Bush- indeed, had worked on his campaign- but was so ashamed of Bush invading Iraq that he begged public forgiveness from the crowd for helping put the man in office.
Since I had canceled all my lessons that day to go downtown, I didn't feel i could cancel them a second day to go back to the big rally. So I taught until 8 pm, and on my way home, got a frantic phone call from my sister that I should get home ASAP, the big march had started, it was huge, and the cops were starting to arrest people. I arrived home, and we watched in horror as the TV news cameras captured up and personal coverage of hundreds of people being corralled and arrested, even beaten. We cried as we watched people we knew being forced to their knees, shoved up against walls, thrown across hoods of cars, and then handcuffed. We worried for all the others we knew were involved, and I felt as if I had let them all down by not being there.
The next morning there was a jail-solidarity rally back at good old Federal Plaza. Since my work was all afternoon and evening, I went back down (still living in the suburbs at this point) the next morning to take part. There were about a hundred or so people milling about Federal Plaza, and reports of people doing civil disobedience in front of the federal building. In the middle of the morning, I was interviewed by a TV reporter; family and friends who caught it told me I did good.
Over the next few days, many people attended many different rallies and marches all around Chicagoland area in protest. The government didn't listen.
And here we are, five years later. We still have never officially and legally declared war on Iraq- indeed, the US hasn't constitutionally declared war anywhere since World War II- although four years ago Bush declared "Mission Accomplished!" and told us it was over.
So what now?
Today:
I am feeling better than I have in two years. My pain level is way, way down, and consequently I'm able to be a whole lot more active. My pain level being down also means I can start to cut out some of the mind-numbing medication, so my brain is far more alert- I can think, its amazing! It is a little ironic that this was brought about by something that initially threatened to throw me into a relapse of both pain and depression, but at this point, I'm happy to have traded a broken hand for the miracle wrought by two weeks on muscle relaxants.
I'm a little convinced that The Powers That Be gave me a recovery so I'd be strong enough to deal with my dad's illness. He'll be moved out of ICU today, and probably will be released Monday- my brother and I will be talking him into going into temporary nursing care for a week or so, its better for everybody, including him.
This year, I did a lot of letting go about Tom's death. The post I made was really theraputic, and the scriptural analogies I made seemed to come from a place deep inside, and really did precipitate this letting go. I feel a thousand times lighter about it than I ever have, and can mourn freely.
This year, once again, I was not able to attend the rallies for the Iraq war. Optimistically, I hope there is no reason to march next year; realistically, I know there will be, and hope I can attend. I feel so strongly about this.
One year ago:
I was still in a haze, of pain, medication, and depression. I don't remember a whole lot about how I felt about any anniversary. In fact, I didn't even mention the war in my LJ, which I find odd, but not surprising. I did write a short piece about Tom, but I still wasn't sure what to do with my feelings. Overall, I wasn't convinced I'd ever get better, stop be angry, or stop being sad, and that immobilized me.
Two years ago:
Two years ago today- four days after marching down Michigan avenue to Daley Plaza for the third anniversary of the war- I was starting my journey into chronic pain. On the 22nd, I was admitted to the hospital for three days. Any thoughts about grieving for Tom, who had died ten days earlier, were shoved to the side and buried under layers of morphine. Early the morning of the 23rd, my sister called me in my hospital room and told me to turn on the TV to watch the early news- the other three hostages had been released! I was joyful- I cried, and I announced it to every nurse who came in that day, most of whom had no idea what I was talking about, but smiled and nodded anyway. I had no idea that pain would last so long.
Three years ago:
My LJ doesn't reveal anything particularly helpful, and I don't really remember. According to this post, I skipped the anti-war rallies and marches due to exhaustion. I was immersed in work, and had recently received approval to go into the field later that year.
Four years ago:
I have this vague idea that I was in Federal Plaza for anti-war stuff, but my LJ reveals nothing about it. I do remember being there, having marched down Dearborn from somewhere north, and there were booths and speakers, and a cute guy named Malachi who was passing out fliers for an interreligious dialogue group that I kept meaning to go to and never did. It seemed like almost a festive atmosphere; we were all convinced the war would end soon, there was no way it could drag on for ever and ever. Right.
Five years go:
I know this like the back of my hand, regardless of what I put into my LJ.
When we got word that the bombs had started falling, my sister and I rushed to Federal Plaza. The plan was that if the war started before 5pm we'd all gather in Federal Plaza that evening; if it started after 5pm, we'd gather the next day. The news started reporting that the war had begun in late afternoon, and not being able to determine what we should do, we headed downtown. When we got there, we found a hundred- eventually maybe up to 200- people there, but were told the big rally would be the next night. We held a candlelight vigil, and people took turns speaking about their feelings on the war. One guy got up and admitted that he had been a lifelong republican, had voted for Bush- indeed, had worked on his campaign- but was so ashamed of Bush invading Iraq that he begged public forgiveness from the crowd for helping put the man in office.
Since I had canceled all my lessons that day to go downtown, I didn't feel i could cancel them a second day to go back to the big rally. So I taught until 8 pm, and on my way home, got a frantic phone call from my sister that I should get home ASAP, the big march had started, it was huge, and the cops were starting to arrest people. I arrived home, and we watched in horror as the TV news cameras captured up and personal coverage of hundreds of people being corralled and arrested, even beaten. We cried as we watched people we knew being forced to their knees, shoved up against walls, thrown across hoods of cars, and then handcuffed. We worried for all the others we knew were involved, and I felt as if I had let them all down by not being there.
The next morning there was a jail-solidarity rally back at good old Federal Plaza. Since my work was all afternoon and evening, I went back down (still living in the suburbs at this point) the next morning to take part. There were about a hundred or so people milling about Federal Plaza, and reports of people doing civil disobedience in front of the federal building. In the middle of the morning, I was interviewed by a TV reporter; family and friends who caught it told me I did good.
Over the next few days, many people attended many different rallies and marches all around Chicagoland area in protest. The government didn't listen.
And here we are, five years later. We still have never officially and legally declared war on Iraq- indeed, the US hasn't constitutionally declared war anywhere since World War II- although four years ago Bush declared "Mission Accomplished!" and told us it was over.
So what now?
