Awaiting The Raven

mirror

 

Who owns that face
Look deeper
In the mirror
Do you see them?
Sad tired eyes
Echoing back
Tormented orbs
Dimensions of sorrow
Volumes of pain
Clouds of regret
Obscuring the view
But I see
Fragmented visions
Broken glass
Pieces of pasts
Vows crumbling
Degradation and humiliation
People pointing
Laughing from afar
Whispering rumors
Stinging sarcasm
Now I see the reflection
An old man waiting
To meet the Raven
Be brave old friend

 
Look!
There in the mirror
Image comes clearer
Hair of silver
Vaguely familiar
Lines from laughter
Deep of disaster
Tracks from tears
Shed over years
Who owns that face
Who’s been misplaced
That can’t be me
I look so hollow
A bitter pill to swallow
The anguish and rage
My refection has aged

 
I wasted so many breaths
Trying to change
What had already occurred
Can’t change the past
So I guess my advice
Would be this
Waste no time
Attempting to alter
What has come and gone
Focus your efforts
On forging a future
Bury your past
Because before you know it
You become a strained reflection of yourself
Awaiting the Raven

 
Live and Love in Peace

Perspective

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

 

 

I’ve known joy, elation, and glee
I’ve known grief, rage, and pain
I’ve cried in a thunderstorm
Sang and danced in the rain
They’re just reflections of my perceptions
Or maybe a collective of misconceptions

 
What is Pleasure but
Desires reaped
From joys sown
A song unbound
Waiting to be sung
With totality of heart
The harvest of jubilation
From seeds of serenity
Rising of new days
Dances of excitement
Unbreakable smiles
Basking freely in
The Absence of sorrow
The desertion of pain

 

What is Pain but
The unmasking of joy
Disrobing of contentment
Standing alone
Emotionally naked
Void of élan
A fallen tree cries
But no one hears
Save its homeless residents
A blind man wails
Unable to resolve
The mystery of sight
An abused child quits
Unable to resolve
The mystery of night
A foreboding tale
Of love not met
Drenched in regret

 
What is Regret but
Chastisement of self
Over performance pernicious
Castigation blurred in fog
The haze of poor choice
Perhaps of inebriation
Of mind or soul
Self flagellation
Unable to forgive
Your own heart
For betraying it’s secrets
To a well of guilt’s
Which quenches no thirst
A lesson learned
Not a burden to the wind
But a winged flight
To a better future
Time offers perspective
Accept it

Tears On My Keyboard

tears

Why did I write this? I actually find the mundane moments of life to be among the most interesting to write about but some moments are so profoundly etched into our beings it begins to define us. This is about one of those moments and as hard it is to write and most assuredly will be hard to read the moment also defined an act of giving that effects many lives. Organ transplantation. A word about the title. As I write this story I am at my most naked and vulnerable self, opening and sharing the most profound moment of my life as I sit at my sanctuary, my refuge, my keyboard. This is the story of the last moments of my baby girl Megan’s life and it is guaranteed to have me crying into my keyboard as I relive it in words. So get a box of tissues and be prepared because you about to hear about me and my beautiful daughter, Megan Laurine Jaret.

There should be some cosmic universal law stating that we should never have to be reminded of the absolute worst moments of our lives but unfortunately there isn’t. There are constant triggers that create avalanches of harsh memories with corresponding emotional outpourings thrust upon us. A case in point was the memories stirred up in anyone who has had the disturbing experience of losing a loved one during an episode of Greys Anatomy a few weeks back. The end scenes focused on Derek being at the point of no return from an accident and his wife having to be there and witness his last breath but to also have to be the one to make the decision. A decision born of the purest form of love there is, an act of both total unselfishness and masochistic self-flagellation. The decision to allow someone you love who is in intolerable pain with no hope of any semblance of real life go. On it’s face it was a good television emotional moment but having had to go through a similar experience with my nineteen month old daughter the moment was converted to an entire tissue box outpouring of tears.
I’m not sure if this will be therapeutic for me or send me into a fugue but I do know that by the time I’m through I’ll be typing the story in a keyboard full of tears. So in an attempt to bring organ donation to the forefront I am sharing the story of those last moments. Load up on Kleenex. This is in honor of Megan, my Little Little, my Mighty Meg. A baby girl who gave so much more than she received.

It had been a long road. Megan became sick at only three weeks old. After three doctors visit and one night of Meg in constant pain we made our first trip to the ER where she was seen by a cardiologist, Dr. Milton Prystowski. He notice an irregular heartbeat and before we knew it Meg was having a spinal tap. She was diagnosed with an enlarged heart. She was put on a medicine regimen and sent home. Six months later on an otherwise serene Sunday morning she went into cardiac arrest in her crib. We immediately gave her mouth to mouth, called the ambulance and within minutes she was on her way back to the ER. We jumped in our car and flew up to meet her but she wasn’t there yet. We would find out later that they had to stop and use the defribulation panels on her. After a grueling fourteen hours she was in resting in NICU. The sight of seeing your baby girl in a tiny hospital crib with an IV in the tiny head was devastating, but not as devastating as the news. Her only chance of survival was a heart transplant.
Megan was transferred to a trauma center and eventually to a children’s hospital while we got schooled on organ transplantation. The process of procuring organs for transplant is cold by design to assure the right organ gets the best chance at life in the right body. Blood match and size match where first, geography was considered as organs don’t have a shelf life, and finally the most needy, or who is the closest to death. This prevents people of higher income to snatch away organs and makes it fair and ethical. Now we had to contend with the struggle of conscience knowing someone else’s child must die for Megan to live.

From there things got more difficult. Meg had a seizure in the children’s hospital in Philadelphia. Because the neuro-doctor determined she would not live a productive life due to slowed brain activity they removed her name from the transplant list. Undaunted Maureen got her a physical therapist and the two of them worked hard and got Megan performing tasks and tracking, or following things with her eyes. She was put back on the list after being seen by the transplant team at Columbian Presbyterian in New York. After a few months we got the call, a heart for Megan had become available and the scene was set. Her transplant was successful but it still required a long rehabilitation in the hospital. After over a month of living in the hospital with her we were finally able to take Megan home and she laughed and walked and despite being behind in dexterity for her age she was progressing. This is where the happy part of the story ends and becomes the worst moment of my life.
After eight glorious days watching Megan get stronger by the moment we were hammered with another set-back. Something was wrong and Megan’s health was suddenly deteriorating. We rushed her back to Columbian Presbyterian where she was re-admitted and taken into surgery. While in a waiting room we heard an announcement on the PA system calling for STAT, which we had previously learned was Latin for statim, a call for immediate emergency. Maureen and I looked at each other with deep concern because without knowing for sure what the call was we both knew in our most primal gut feelings it was a desperation call meant for Megan. Our baby girl was about to end up back in the Neo-natal Intensive Care Unit, a place we had become far to familiar with.
The first night there one of the babies next to us passed away and I witness a father comforting his teen age daughter who had fallen apart at the news that her child had lost his struggle. I remembered seeing the intense pain in his face, having to contend with losing his grandson while having to remain strong to comfort his daughter. The pain and love in his conflicted emotions were etched deeply into a troubled face, that wasn’t permitted to show it pain despite the profound depth of torture he was experiencing internally. It was very disconcerting and a tad prophetic as I wondered if I was going to assume a similar role if everything goes to shit. I pushed it out of my mind because we had agreed at the very start with Megan that no matter how slim the thread of hope was we would each grasp it firmly with both hands and hold it tightly to our hearts. Our closest friends and nearest family gathered to be by our sides to offer support. It wouldn’t be long before we would find ourselves desperate for that support.
Megan’s health had become a see saw of emotion, one moment weighing hopeful the next weighing cautious and slim. The moment came that I can only imagine that everyone in the healthcare field must dread. The time for honest and frank discussion about where a patients health had gone and the real and practical possible outcomes. We had become far too familiar with previously foreign terms like catastrophic illness, immunosuppressant, and Cardiomyopathy as the physicians often spoke to us in ‘Doctorese.’ But none of those were what the doctor had in store for us this time. There is not a thing in the universe that could prepare you for this sort of news. We were told directly and honestly that Megan’s outlook did not look promising, that her chance of survival was getting slimmer by the hour and we should begin preparing to make a decision. Once again we had our emotions splattered on the wall. The possibility of losing Megan had become earth shatteringly real.
They monitored her health but there was a heavy sense of the worst that could happen about to be happening. Megan’s cardiologist was choking back tears as she gave us the grim prospective and let us know that there was no longer anything they could do and as hard as it is the best thing for Megan was for us to let her go. We assured her we understood and went in to see Megan. When I approached Megan she was once again attached to an assortment of tubes and cables. We could the whirring of machines and the beeping of her heart monitor. As I walked over to Megan she looked up at me and communicated with her sad and profoundly tired eyes. With those eyes she said, “Daddy, I’m so sorry. It’s just so hard to go on fighting. I’ve been trying so hard to fight for you and Mommy but it’s too hard, I’ve been through so much and I’m not sure I can fight anymore. I’m so sorry Daddy, I love you.” It wasn’t words, but I fully understood anyway. I bent low to her face, kissed and said, “it’s okay to let go baby girl, it’s okay. We love you so much.” It was the hardest thing I ever had to say or do.
I’m not sure if it was to further torture myself for allowing Megan to die or to take my mind off what was really happening but I looked up from Megan and watched as the doctor responsible turned of all the beeping machines allowing a grotesque silence fill the room. I felt sorry for him, I could see in his twisted face that doing this was the worst possible job in the world. Then it occurred to me that I was wrong about that, the worst possible job in the world is being a parent and having to say goodbye to your child for the final time.
As promised, my keyboard is overflowing with tears re-living that moment. I will return in a day or so to complete my final note and then a few more days to garner enough confidence to post it. Peace……..

Epilogue

Today 21 people will die waiting for a transplant.
On average 10 people a day are added to the waiting list
Donating your organs can save or make better 10 lives

Having become part of the transplant community I have come to know some successful transplantation families that became filled love and deep gratitude to the donor. I met incredible donors and donor families, and was fortunate to watch as Maureen became an altruistic donor on a friends behalf which ended up in an eight kidney donation chain effecting multiple families. Organ donation is a cause we both believed in long before it became a reality for us and the time we spent with Megan after her transplant only serves to motivate us further. Please consider becoming an organ donor if you’re not already, and if you are thank you. There are a number of organizations you can look up for more information. UNOS, Donate Life, Gift Of Hope , among others. You can also go to http.orgndonor.gov

Final thought
People often say it must be so hard losing a child. I think painful is a better way to describe it, and like most pains it never fully goes away. You always retain an echo from such profound pain. I think the hard part was having to hear from so many well meaning but misguided attempts at putting it in perspective for me. No one really knows what to say or how to react to you. They awkwardly attempt to help me make sense of it but when your in that much pain making sense is just an unreal concept. It’s my pain and if I refuse to find deeper reasoning or understanding then let me. Don’t assign your concepts of coping to me. When a child dies telling the parent that it was gods will, or that she’s with the angels now does nothing to apply any sensibility to the loss. It isn’t something I will get through, it’s a huge sack of pain I carry everyday. Some days the sack is far heavier than others, but I carry it none the less. Its pain and like any other pain it needs to be treated. It will never be cured but it can be managed to a degree. To my thinking life is a long series of pain and relief, joy and sorrow, happy and sad. Opposites help us to appreciate the depth of each emotion and I just hope that my relief, joy, and happy moments far outweigh my pain, sorrow, and sad ones…….One World, One Peace….Save a life, donate your organs

She Cant Remember

dream

She forgot how to cry
Or maybe forgot why
Just cant remember when there was sadness in her eye
The story of her life and every eye is dry

But she remembers how to feel
How all the pain was real
A painful world of weight
No tears will infiltrate
Wishing to remember weeping before it gets too late

Until there no time left to choose
Or tear ducts to defuse
Using booze to pay her dues because she knows she’s gonna lose
Lose as panic nears
To realize her fears
She just can’t seem to remember what its like to shed some tears

Dry Hurtful Eyes

dry hurtful eryes

(A Stream Of Consciousness narrative)

These tired dormant eyes
Dry and hurtful
Need to apologize
Because these sorry eyes
Water in anticipation
Of her livid provocation
Agony yet to come
Outweighing the pain present
Leaving me frightened
Anxiety tightened
Like a noose
At the end of my rope
Been such a dope
Still I’m frightened
Fear is heightened
She’s been enlightened
Her anger tightened
Across my heart
I rebuff!
Is I’m sorry enough?
Get us through this stuff
Or is it too late
Too late to imitate
A faking lover at her gate
Can it possibly abate
Ease her irate
Her irate zeal unconcealed
I’ll shiver a liars spiel
No deal!
No I must reveal
What is real
Her sex appeal is at my wheel and she’s driving me to kneel
Apoplogize
For having dry hurtful eyes?
Shed a tear
With that certain air of saviore faire
And show I care, say a prayer, make me swear
I’ll clear the air?
That’s all she wants
Show her some compassion
My face all ashen
Ashamed
Ashamed I fell prey to passion
What?
That’s so old fashioned
My libido was flashing
My loins were thrashing
My sense went crashing
So I was thrashing
In the wrong bed
How can I make this up?
What can I do to prove my love to you?
Cut my heart in two
Both halves just for you
I will if you want me to
I’d walk the walk of shame
Accepting all the blame
I’m begging on my hands and knees please let me now reclaim
The love we once knew
My love for you is true
I wish I never strayed
Look at the price I paid
A fate that I deserve
But please let me preserve
I’ll never stray again
Please let me say again
I’m sorry and I love you
And though I’m undeserving of you
Please let me appologize
Free of all disguise
I want you to realize
I have dry hurtful puupy eyes
Please take me back inside
I’ll do whatever it takes
Forgive me