I can still remember the words that drew a line in the sand between before and after, ‘by the time you read this, she may have already left our shores.’ I remember crying and I remember not really understanding, a child myself just like my friend. 12-year-olds aren’t meant to pass, but she did, and my belief that I was invincible shattered — but that didn’t make me crumble, it made me stand taller. I began to see stars more clearly, I heard birdsong every morning and evening wherever I went, I started to stand outside at dusk and thank the world for another day. My understanding of death was limited, but as I grew I began to grapple with it more. It would have been easy to get angry and stay that way, but what mostly happened was my belief in the beauty of the world strengthened. I saw, and still see the glorious nature of little things everywhere. Her passing sent ripples through our small town but the ripples were of kindness and love that she had created and they continue to reverberate even now. My belief of what happens after death changed. I believe she is woven into the flowers planted over her grave and into the wind that makes the trees whisper and in the stars that shine light to guide me. Though she may have left these shores, she has shown me everyday to look around with intent, admiration and wonder.
And thank you every week for sharing wonderful words that help us see the world in a new light! 🌱💛
I loved my life in Brooklyn, and living in a 6th floor walkup. I was grateful to have the opportunity to support many young people's dreams. I wanted to give back, and when the opportunity came to start a program in another city, I took a chance. My learning center was left in another's hands. The program that I started was really good but the funding source left. The work was too difficult. My program in Brooklyn was run to the ground. My apartment was usurped. I was close to 60, had nothing but an old Honda, a dog and the school cat. I started anew, and thankfully had a position. Several of my students got shot--I held on eventually planted gardens and watered the lives of many. The brokenness remaned, family disappeared-dogs remained- I mean hurt remains, recalling is painful--I take responsibility for my choices--knowing some were based on hopefulness of a different outcome. I know where the cracks were way back in a childhood that was dark-however-being of an optimistic nature- I am still listening.
Thank you Suleika and Mr. Rushdie. Mr. Rushdie I’m so sorry for what you went through. I hope every day brings you to a place of healing and strength.
This is very hard for me to share but I think it’s relevant to this mornings prompt. I’m opening my vulnerability wide. And I’m ok. Please don’t feel sorry for me in what I’m about to share. This happened a long time ago and it has shaped me in ways. But I’m ok.
I was married at 23 to my French pen pal, Michel (Michael). He died 5 months later in a car crash. He was in a coma a few days. We waited for his family to fly to the U.S. from France before disconnecting life support. I was young in age and younger in mind. So immature for my actual age. I had no idea how to handle any of this. My sister was amazing. We aren’t always close but she was my rock. My parents weren’t capable of the kind of support I needed. My sister is calm. Outwardly she is so calm and methodical. I think I may have seemed outwardly calm. I don’t remember. Possibly stoic. I’m not cuddly or huggy. I may have given an impression of coolness or uncaring. Inside I was crumbling. I still carry the PTSD from this experience. I dissociated for a while. I started partying and acting like I was having a good time. I wasn’t having fun. I was escaping.
Talking in the subject of people turning on each other. That’s what happened in my workplace. When Michael was in a coma and I called into work a manager argued with me about not being at work. Really! My mother had to take the phone and she did not mince words with this woman. I think the B word was said and my referred to management as sludge. Anyway, some coworkers turned on me and made life unbearable. My mother was threatened. I was threatened. There was a lot of controversy over my choice to have Michael cremated. This decision was shared with Michael’s family. His ashes were divided and some went to France and some remained here. This also caused a big stir. These people even came to the calling hours and bullied me. It was awful. There were nice people at work too. But the bullies sucked my energy. I finally gave up and transferred to a different town. For a long time I was withdrawn and pushed people away. I really felt like everyone wanted to hurt me and I was a mad dog. I wouldn’t let anyone close to me. Even now I’m very cautious about who I let close. My PTSD still triggers. Everyone I go to Willimantic I’m triggered and go back to all this trauma. People can be wonderful and people can be monsters.
Thanks for listening and I’m sorry for the negativity. I’m ok. I’m here. Thank you.🩷🪶
I was in my early fifties when I lost my firstborn child. He was 25. I died that day. We found him overdosed on drugs in his bathroom floor, and I remember very little of that time period. I was on the floor, and I could feel my boy looking at me, I told him he could go, I would be ok. He came closer, again I said, go on darling. He was gone. I lay on the floor until paramedics, police people moved me. I just cried, like an animal. The sounds were from somewhere very far away. A lot of people in and out, screaming crying. I remember when two of my other children came home from college and we all fell out in the drive way. My older boys up in Boston flew down, and we would repeat the hrs of sorrow.
The funeral was in 2 days, I could not wait, I did not think I would really survive.
But I did, seeing him in the coffin, I cut a piece of my hair and place it in his hands, he loved my hair when he was a baby. I was touching him, every inch of that empty body, I told my husband I thought they had made a mistake, I felt a pulse. The pulse I felt was coming from my fingers. He was beautiful, the funeral man, said we had to close the coffin, I leaned into kiss him, and I was ok.
Death of any one you love, is so hard. A child, I think, is unbearable.
Life altering, it’s been 17 years, I think he is proud of me for sharing his name, Ward, with so many. Our story. Broken beyond repair, yet!!! Shards of light enter, and Joy comes.
Am I a better human for having gone through it, no. Just different, with all my goodness still intact. ❤️
I broke my back and it's changed my life but in no way as life changing if aliens landed in my town square or another country started bombing the place I live. All of the things I do that help me get through the day, walking the dogs through a peaceful neighborhood, buying cute sheets off Amazon for next day delivery, spend my day making art, would disappear and what would be left is me, someone, I at times, do my best to avoid, but because of my injury, can't. What I have come to accept, is there is no reason I should be exempt from pain, fear or heartache, and the best and only way through, is to avoid bitterness and practice, as best I can, acceptance, so that I can show up and at times be of service to the ones I love.
I was a people pleaser, or more accurately, someone who worked to please everyone, but myself. I decided to put a hard stop to this behavior in the midst of recovering from a dislocated shoulder (this is about three years ago). I found myself having to ask my significant other for help with tasks like, going food shopping, making dinner...all tasks I thought he would do with the same willingness that I had before. But I was met with such anger, resentment, pushback and the moment I stopped being a people pleaser, was when I found myself crying in the cereal aisle with him. I was actually weeping in a grocery store, snot , tears, quaky voice, yelling, "Why aren't you helping me with willingness and a positive attitude???!!!" Mom told me long ago, "When people show you who they are, believe them." It is iso important to note, that my change in behavior, has created more stress in my life and I am still working to disentangle to reach a place of peace.
Both your reflection, Suleika, and Mr. Rushdie’s are beautiful. I love that you highlight that in response to calamity and suffering in our lives, we always have a choice of how we respond—bitterness or growth, forgiveness or resentment, grace and openness or wariness and fear. I also think that this choice for growth and grace is a daily choosing, a daily act of bravery. In the face of our infertility and miscarriages over the years, it was a daily choice to not let these heartbreaks make me butter or closed off to others—some days I succeeded and other days I struggled but every day was a new opportunity to let this heavy struggle shape me into a better more loving woman by choosing hope, kindness, and grace.
The word agency once referred to a business or organization established to provide a particular service. Now the word has been co opted by social science, where the term agency is meant to describe the capacity of individuals to have the power and resources to fulfill their potential. When we find our world view, our bodies, our very being plundered by events beyond our control we need more than we can imagine to heal enough to avoid bitterness. After i was rejected as a child by both parents and set adrift I was dependent on strangers for everything. Broken in a way which has taken a lifetime to heal. That happens for many children and is why I write and why I continue to write. Hope isn’t an aspirational valentine of a story. Its looking up into the eclipse and seeing for the first time.
What a meaningful read. It definitely resonated with me, as I’m sure it did for many others. The loss of my mom to ovarian cancer/dementia about a year and a half ago has been, beyond a shadow of a doubt, the biggest calamity of my entire life. It had an enormous impact on everything: my job, my relationships, my family, my emotional/mental/physical well being.
While it wasn’t the result of violence, as with Mr. Rushdie, or personally experiencing the effects of cancer as you did, Suleika, her loss has changed my life. It has most definitely remade who I am as a person. There were so many times throughout Mom’s illness that I experienced a debilitating sense of helplessness and frustration, which usually led to downright rage. Balancing those feelings with Mom’s care and my job as a music teacher in the public school system was completely exhausting.
The school district I worked for at the time (where I had worked for 20 years), while initially helpful, seemed as though they grew irritated that my mother didn’t die fast enough, and were punishing me because of it. (Her cancer took her one year and 16 days after her diagnosis.) The stress of balancing everything combined with the grief of her loss (which still strikes at random) took its toll on my mind, body, and soul. I absolutely could have allowed myself to retreat entirely from my life, angry and bitter, and have my story go untold.
Instead, I chose to remake myself. At present, I am still teaching music in a different district (whose superintendent said publicly about a week ago that “nobody cares about music,” but that is an entirely different subject for another time). I also just published my first book, based on everything experienced after Mom’s cancer diagnosis. I would never have entertained the idea of writing a book, had I not first read Between Two Kingdoms by Suleika Jaouad and The Rural Diaries by Hilarie Burton Morgan. Suleika, your book and this Isolation Journals community have inspired and encouraged me more than you will ever know. Thank you all so much.
I also started making candles, as sort of a literal way to find light in the darkness. It gives me a sense of peace, joy, and accomplishment with every candle I make. I made one to honor the memory of my mom. I’ve been making more to represent my family members. I make some that are just fun. It evokes such a thrilling sense of adventure to try something different, like reawakening a sense of freedom I had nearly forgotten I ever possessed. Mom used to say “Life is too GD short to be unhappy.” Remembering that and realizing that I had the choice to grow, to change, and to hope for something different- something better- has made all the difference.
“But to me, there doesn’t seem to be much inherent merit in the mere act of surviving, especially something you didn’t choose.”
I feel this passage. So much.
I struggle with the word “survivor.” No judgment to this who it resonates with but for me it feels like I won over someone else who didn’t. For the most part we are all doing our best with what we are given. The outcome isn’t always in our control.
I am living with cancer, emphasis on the living. As a result I have become a Life Enthusiast. A realistic one. I appreciate life so much more than I ever did because I know all too well the fragility of it all.
Giving myself this title is a lot to live up to and to be clear it does not mean I view life through rose coloured glasses, it is not all sunshine and roses. I still have bad moments. Plenty of them. But that’s life. As a Life Enthusiast I embrace all those life moments - good, bad and ugly - because that is what living is all about. 💜
Looking forward to exploring this prompt in my journal!
I have lost my job twice. The first time was almost thirty years ago. It was my first job. I had been there for two years and was unhappy there, but I did not have the courage to leave. The agency needed to make cutbacks and I was one of the last hires so I was laid off. At first I was angry and scared. A few weeks after I was laid off I was contacted by the agency and was offered my job back. Even though I had not yet found a new position, I realized that the lay off had given me a gift by providing me the opportunity to move to something that was more fulfilling.
The second time I lost my job was over twenty years ago. I had taken a job in a hospital doing the kind of work I had never done before. I received very minimal training and as I result I made some mistakes. I was fired after only three months. I was not enjoying that job and the commute was very long. My son was in daycare near my home and it would have taken me a very long time to get to him if something happened. From that job I moved to a hospital where I worked for fourteen years and for the past ten years I have been working at a different branch of the original hospital where I have won multiple awards. I ran into my former supervisor a few times over the years, but I am not sure if she recognized me.
For twenty years I blamed myself for my failure and was very ashamed despite the fact that I did not receive the proper training at that job and was set up for failure. A few years ago I wrote about an imaginary multi-disciplinary panel that I presented on . My former supervisor was in the audience and came up to me after the presentation to congratulate me. I reminded her that she has fired me twenty years ago. She then apologized and told me what a mistake she had made. I agreed with her. Even though this encounter never occurred I felt healed after writing it. Both times I lost my job it was not my choice, but it propelled me to progress towards what I was meant to do.
When I was a small girl, our college town and the one next door were beset by a serial killer. He picked up girls who were hitchhiking, and raped and killed seven of them. Our parents were petrified, and our towns vaulted into national news. I had a carefree childhood, jumping on my bike to ride anywhere, walking alone to friends’ houses a few blocks away, going on errands. That freedom ended as more women were murdered, and my parents dialed up my supervision. I realize now that he was prowling for older women, not grade school children, but I’m so envious of people who grew up without worry of potential harm.
Death! That gets my attention. I’ve had so many young friends and family die. Have always feared death! Now there’s been so many, 2 last weekend, that I’ve made a commitment to now work on my own death. Face it head on! Suleika and Mr Rushdie bless you both
Apr 14·edited Apr 14Liked by Suleika Jaouad, Carmen Radley
I was diagnosed with AML on Aug 12, 2022 - the very same day that Salman Rushdie was stabbed. I am really feeling this entire entry from both of you. It will take time to process but it’s all deeply meaningful.
To Israel, for another two weeks of music, kindness, and celebration. Celebration.
Where now does this word, this experience live? In Palestine, I sat on a bench and played flutes together with two very young sisters. Where are they now? Gaza? Alive, starving?
Wounded, alone? Dead? Here in the US, I live in the woods, near a lovely creek. I am comfortable, and now, haunted. In 2016, there was a month of celebration. Human kindness and generosity.
October seventh, 2024.
And Gaza.
What blood dripping dragon have We unleashed, upon ourselves? 🏮
Thank you for this morning reflection, Suleika. Aside from “you are so brave” what triggers me is “God only gives you what you can handle” or in a like-minded manner “you are so strong, that’s why God gave you this (in my case) special child”. I love my son but the day he was born was the most traumatic day of my life so far. To hear at age 22 with an 18 month old already at home needing my love and attention, to hear that my baby would never walk, might have profound brain damage, wouldn’t live past his 12th birthday was overwhelming, frightening, devastating. He’s grown into a fine man and though there have been many surgeries, challenges, and crises he’s smart, funny, independent, loving and relatively contented with his wheelchair life. However, I’ve never recovered from that feeling that I need to be on my constant guard, something unexpected and life changing can happen at any moment. Anxiety follows me all the days of my life - a happy life for the most part with a wonderful second husband, a great fulfilling career, and joys of all sorts. But the anxiety remains.
I can still remember the words that drew a line in the sand between before and after, ‘by the time you read this, she may have already left our shores.’ I remember crying and I remember not really understanding, a child myself just like my friend. 12-year-olds aren’t meant to pass, but she did, and my belief that I was invincible shattered — but that didn’t make me crumble, it made me stand taller. I began to see stars more clearly, I heard birdsong every morning and evening wherever I went, I started to stand outside at dusk and thank the world for another day. My understanding of death was limited, but as I grew I began to grapple with it more. It would have been easy to get angry and stay that way, but what mostly happened was my belief in the beauty of the world strengthened. I saw, and still see the glorious nature of little things everywhere. Her passing sent ripples through our small town but the ripples were of kindness and love that she had created and they continue to reverberate even now. My belief of what happens after death changed. I believe she is woven into the flowers planted over her grave and into the wind that makes the trees whisper and in the stars that shine light to guide me. Though she may have left these shores, she has shown me everyday to look around with intent, admiration and wonder.
And thank you every week for sharing wonderful words that help us see the world in a new light! 🌱💛
I loved my life in Brooklyn, and living in a 6th floor walkup. I was grateful to have the opportunity to support many young people's dreams. I wanted to give back, and when the opportunity came to start a program in another city, I took a chance. My learning center was left in another's hands. The program that I started was really good but the funding source left. The work was too difficult. My program in Brooklyn was run to the ground. My apartment was usurped. I was close to 60, had nothing but an old Honda, a dog and the school cat. I started anew, and thankfully had a position. Several of my students got shot--I held on eventually planted gardens and watered the lives of many. The brokenness remaned, family disappeared-dogs remained- I mean hurt remains, recalling is painful--I take responsibility for my choices--knowing some were based on hopefulness of a different outcome. I know where the cracks were way back in a childhood that was dark-however-being of an optimistic nature- I am still listening.
Thank you Suleika and Mr. Rushdie. Mr. Rushdie I’m so sorry for what you went through. I hope every day brings you to a place of healing and strength.
This is very hard for me to share but I think it’s relevant to this mornings prompt. I’m opening my vulnerability wide. And I’m ok. Please don’t feel sorry for me in what I’m about to share. This happened a long time ago and it has shaped me in ways. But I’m ok.
I was married at 23 to my French pen pal, Michel (Michael). He died 5 months later in a car crash. He was in a coma a few days. We waited for his family to fly to the U.S. from France before disconnecting life support. I was young in age and younger in mind. So immature for my actual age. I had no idea how to handle any of this. My sister was amazing. We aren’t always close but she was my rock. My parents weren’t capable of the kind of support I needed. My sister is calm. Outwardly she is so calm and methodical. I think I may have seemed outwardly calm. I don’t remember. Possibly stoic. I’m not cuddly or huggy. I may have given an impression of coolness or uncaring. Inside I was crumbling. I still carry the PTSD from this experience. I dissociated for a while. I started partying and acting like I was having a good time. I wasn’t having fun. I was escaping.
Talking in the subject of people turning on each other. That’s what happened in my workplace. When Michael was in a coma and I called into work a manager argued with me about not being at work. Really! My mother had to take the phone and she did not mince words with this woman. I think the B word was said and my referred to management as sludge. Anyway, some coworkers turned on me and made life unbearable. My mother was threatened. I was threatened. There was a lot of controversy over my choice to have Michael cremated. This decision was shared with Michael’s family. His ashes were divided and some went to France and some remained here. This also caused a big stir. These people even came to the calling hours and bullied me. It was awful. There were nice people at work too. But the bullies sucked my energy. I finally gave up and transferred to a different town. For a long time I was withdrawn and pushed people away. I really felt like everyone wanted to hurt me and I was a mad dog. I wouldn’t let anyone close to me. Even now I’m very cautious about who I let close. My PTSD still triggers. Everyone I go to Willimantic I’m triggered and go back to all this trauma. People can be wonderful and people can be monsters.
Thanks for listening and I’m sorry for the negativity. I’m ok. I’m here. Thank you.🩷🪶
I was in my early fifties when I lost my firstborn child. He was 25. I died that day. We found him overdosed on drugs in his bathroom floor, and I remember very little of that time period. I was on the floor, and I could feel my boy looking at me, I told him he could go, I would be ok. He came closer, again I said, go on darling. He was gone. I lay on the floor until paramedics, police people moved me. I just cried, like an animal. The sounds were from somewhere very far away. A lot of people in and out, screaming crying. I remember when two of my other children came home from college and we all fell out in the drive way. My older boys up in Boston flew down, and we would repeat the hrs of sorrow.
The funeral was in 2 days, I could not wait, I did not think I would really survive.
But I did, seeing him in the coffin, I cut a piece of my hair and place it in his hands, he loved my hair when he was a baby. I was touching him, every inch of that empty body, I told my husband I thought they had made a mistake, I felt a pulse. The pulse I felt was coming from my fingers. He was beautiful, the funeral man, said we had to close the coffin, I leaned into kiss him, and I was ok.
Death of any one you love, is so hard. A child, I think, is unbearable.
Life altering, it’s been 17 years, I think he is proud of me for sharing his name, Ward, with so many. Our story. Broken beyond repair, yet!!! Shards of light enter, and Joy comes.
Am I a better human for having gone through it, no. Just different, with all my goodness still intact. ❤️
I broke my back and it's changed my life but in no way as life changing if aliens landed in my town square or another country started bombing the place I live. All of the things I do that help me get through the day, walking the dogs through a peaceful neighborhood, buying cute sheets off Amazon for next day delivery, spend my day making art, would disappear and what would be left is me, someone, I at times, do my best to avoid, but because of my injury, can't. What I have come to accept, is there is no reason I should be exempt from pain, fear or heartache, and the best and only way through, is to avoid bitterness and practice, as best I can, acceptance, so that I can show up and at times be of service to the ones I love.
I was a people pleaser, or more accurately, someone who worked to please everyone, but myself. I decided to put a hard stop to this behavior in the midst of recovering from a dislocated shoulder (this is about three years ago). I found myself having to ask my significant other for help with tasks like, going food shopping, making dinner...all tasks I thought he would do with the same willingness that I had before. But I was met with such anger, resentment, pushback and the moment I stopped being a people pleaser, was when I found myself crying in the cereal aisle with him. I was actually weeping in a grocery store, snot , tears, quaky voice, yelling, "Why aren't you helping me with willingness and a positive attitude???!!!" Mom told me long ago, "When people show you who they are, believe them." It is iso important to note, that my change in behavior, has created more stress in my life and I am still working to disentangle to reach a place of peace.
Both your reflection, Suleika, and Mr. Rushdie’s are beautiful. I love that you highlight that in response to calamity and suffering in our lives, we always have a choice of how we respond—bitterness or growth, forgiveness or resentment, grace and openness or wariness and fear. I also think that this choice for growth and grace is a daily choosing, a daily act of bravery. In the face of our infertility and miscarriages over the years, it was a daily choice to not let these heartbreaks make me butter or closed off to others—some days I succeeded and other days I struggled but every day was a new opportunity to let this heavy struggle shape me into a better more loving woman by choosing hope, kindness, and grace.
The word agency once referred to a business or organization established to provide a particular service. Now the word has been co opted by social science, where the term agency is meant to describe the capacity of individuals to have the power and resources to fulfill their potential. When we find our world view, our bodies, our very being plundered by events beyond our control we need more than we can imagine to heal enough to avoid bitterness. After i was rejected as a child by both parents and set adrift I was dependent on strangers for everything. Broken in a way which has taken a lifetime to heal. That happens for many children and is why I write and why I continue to write. Hope isn’t an aspirational valentine of a story. Its looking up into the eclipse and seeing for the first time.
What a meaningful read. It definitely resonated with me, as I’m sure it did for many others. The loss of my mom to ovarian cancer/dementia about a year and a half ago has been, beyond a shadow of a doubt, the biggest calamity of my entire life. It had an enormous impact on everything: my job, my relationships, my family, my emotional/mental/physical well being.
While it wasn’t the result of violence, as with Mr. Rushdie, or personally experiencing the effects of cancer as you did, Suleika, her loss has changed my life. It has most definitely remade who I am as a person. There were so many times throughout Mom’s illness that I experienced a debilitating sense of helplessness and frustration, which usually led to downright rage. Balancing those feelings with Mom’s care and my job as a music teacher in the public school system was completely exhausting.
The school district I worked for at the time (where I had worked for 20 years), while initially helpful, seemed as though they grew irritated that my mother didn’t die fast enough, and were punishing me because of it. (Her cancer took her one year and 16 days after her diagnosis.) The stress of balancing everything combined with the grief of her loss (which still strikes at random) took its toll on my mind, body, and soul. I absolutely could have allowed myself to retreat entirely from my life, angry and bitter, and have my story go untold.
Instead, I chose to remake myself. At present, I am still teaching music in a different district (whose superintendent said publicly about a week ago that “nobody cares about music,” but that is an entirely different subject for another time). I also just published my first book, based on everything experienced after Mom’s cancer diagnosis. I would never have entertained the idea of writing a book, had I not first read Between Two Kingdoms by Suleika Jaouad and The Rural Diaries by Hilarie Burton Morgan. Suleika, your book and this Isolation Journals community have inspired and encouraged me more than you will ever know. Thank you all so much.
I also started making candles, as sort of a literal way to find light in the darkness. It gives me a sense of peace, joy, and accomplishment with every candle I make. I made one to honor the memory of my mom. I’ve been making more to represent my family members. I make some that are just fun. It evokes such a thrilling sense of adventure to try something different, like reawakening a sense of freedom I had nearly forgotten I ever possessed. Mom used to say “Life is too GD short to be unhappy.” Remembering that and realizing that I had the choice to grow, to change, and to hope for something different- something better- has made all the difference.
“But to me, there doesn’t seem to be much inherent merit in the mere act of surviving, especially something you didn’t choose.”
I feel this passage. So much.
I struggle with the word “survivor.” No judgment to this who it resonates with but for me it feels like I won over someone else who didn’t. For the most part we are all doing our best with what we are given. The outcome isn’t always in our control.
I am living with cancer, emphasis on the living. As a result I have become a Life Enthusiast. A realistic one. I appreciate life so much more than I ever did because I know all too well the fragility of it all.
Giving myself this title is a lot to live up to and to be clear it does not mean I view life through rose coloured glasses, it is not all sunshine and roses. I still have bad moments. Plenty of them. But that’s life. As a Life Enthusiast I embrace all those life moments - good, bad and ugly - because that is what living is all about. 💜
Looking forward to exploring this prompt in my journal!
I have lost my job twice. The first time was almost thirty years ago. It was my first job. I had been there for two years and was unhappy there, but I did not have the courage to leave. The agency needed to make cutbacks and I was one of the last hires so I was laid off. At first I was angry and scared. A few weeks after I was laid off I was contacted by the agency and was offered my job back. Even though I had not yet found a new position, I realized that the lay off had given me a gift by providing me the opportunity to move to something that was more fulfilling.
The second time I lost my job was over twenty years ago. I had taken a job in a hospital doing the kind of work I had never done before. I received very minimal training and as I result I made some mistakes. I was fired after only three months. I was not enjoying that job and the commute was very long. My son was in daycare near my home and it would have taken me a very long time to get to him if something happened. From that job I moved to a hospital where I worked for fourteen years and for the past ten years I have been working at a different branch of the original hospital where I have won multiple awards. I ran into my former supervisor a few times over the years, but I am not sure if she recognized me.
For twenty years I blamed myself for my failure and was very ashamed despite the fact that I did not receive the proper training at that job and was set up for failure. A few years ago I wrote about an imaginary multi-disciplinary panel that I presented on . My former supervisor was in the audience and came up to me after the presentation to congratulate me. I reminded her that she has fired me twenty years ago. She then apologized and told me what a mistake she had made. I agreed with her. Even though this encounter never occurred I felt healed after writing it. Both times I lost my job it was not my choice, but it propelled me to progress towards what I was meant to do.
When I was a small girl, our college town and the one next door were beset by a serial killer. He picked up girls who were hitchhiking, and raped and killed seven of them. Our parents were petrified, and our towns vaulted into national news. I had a carefree childhood, jumping on my bike to ride anywhere, walking alone to friends’ houses a few blocks away, going on errands. That freedom ended as more women were murdered, and my parents dialed up my supervision. I realize now that he was prowling for older women, not grade school children, but I’m so envious of people who grew up without worry of potential harm.
Death! That gets my attention. I’ve had so many young friends and family die. Have always feared death! Now there’s been so many, 2 last weekend, that I’ve made a commitment to now work on my own death. Face it head on! Suleika and Mr Rushdie bless you both
I was diagnosed with AML on Aug 12, 2022 - the very same day that Salman Rushdie was stabbed. I am really feeling this entire entry from both of you. It will take time to process but it’s all deeply meaningful.
Welcome to this house of my mind,
Come in, the door is ajar.
October seventh, 2024.
A day like so many days, now, turned
Into a nightmare.
In 2016 I lived midst kindness
And generosity, playing music with
People from around the world,
In a festival of sounds, in Palestine.
After two weeks of such celebration,
I shouldered my flutes and traveled
To Israel, for another two weeks of music, kindness, and celebration. Celebration.
Where now does this word, this experience live? In Palestine, I sat on a bench and played flutes together with two very young sisters. Where are they now? Gaza? Alive, starving?
Wounded, alone? Dead? Here in the US, I live in the woods, near a lovely creek. I am comfortable, and now, haunted. In 2016, there was a month of celebration. Human kindness and generosity.
October seventh, 2024.
And Gaza.
What blood dripping dragon have We unleashed, upon ourselves? 🏮
Thank you for this morning reflection, Suleika. Aside from “you are so brave” what triggers me is “God only gives you what you can handle” or in a like-minded manner “you are so strong, that’s why God gave you this (in my case) special child”. I love my son but the day he was born was the most traumatic day of my life so far. To hear at age 22 with an 18 month old already at home needing my love and attention, to hear that my baby would never walk, might have profound brain damage, wouldn’t live past his 12th birthday was overwhelming, frightening, devastating. He’s grown into a fine man and though there have been many surgeries, challenges, and crises he’s smart, funny, independent, loving and relatively contented with his wheelchair life. However, I’ve never recovered from that feeling that I need to be on my constant guard, something unexpected and life changing can happen at any moment. Anxiety follows me all the days of my life - a happy life for the most part with a wonderful second husband, a great fulfilling career, and joys of all sorts. But the anxiety remains.