The Shell

I was thinking yesterday about the time I spent living in Santa Cruz. I found a shell I've had since I lived there over 20 years ago. This shell was given to me by a woman whose name I do not remember, but who I remember very well.

It was such an intense time for me. I loved living by the ocean. It was the first time I lived somewhere where my parents could not be in my daily life.

It was a hard time for me as well. I was pretty poor. I lived in dives the entire time I lived there. I worked in a job that while fulfilling, was extremely hard emotionally. I spent hours walking the beaches listening to Stevie Nicks on my Walkman, pondering who I was, and where I was going.

I worked in the cafeteria at "Porter" college at UCSC, and while it was really fun, it was also a place that made me feel out of place. All those kids, going to college, while I was working. It gave me a glimpse into what I really wanted.

I also worked for Visiting Nurses Association as a home health aide, doing mostly hospice type work. Because this was the time during which Aids was just appearing, we were inundated with some Aids patients, along with cancer patients.

There are a few people I remember quite well from that time. One is the woman that gave me the shell. I suspect she was an old lesbian.

She was a marine biologist, and had done much diving off the coast of Mexico. One day, I was giving her a bath in her room, and she reached over to the nightstand and picked up this sort of ugly shell.

She gave it to me.

She was a terse old woman, not very pleasant and angry, but for some reason, we clicked. She handed me this shell, and said,

"I got this off the bottom of the ocean off Baja, and I want you to have it".

I've kept it all these years, and I still remember the look on her face when she gave it to me. She died a few days later.

Another man I remember, his name was "Michael." He was a composer and a pianist. He lived in the mountains, and only myself and one other aide would take care of him because of AIDS. I was not the primary caretaker for him, but I did take care of him often. He gave me a tape of his music back then. I've long since lost it, but I still remember what a gentle guy he was, and the horror he faced from his family that wouldn't touch him. I remember I rubbed his feet one day, and he was so grateful to just have someone touch him. I think Joan (the other aid) and myself and the nurses were the only people that touched him during that time.

Then there was the old man. It's amazing to me now that I can't remember his name any longer. I took care of him for months and months. He was grumpy and mean. It took me months to get through to him. His wife and I got along really well, and really the first few months, she was the reason I didn't bail out, because he was so mean. He wouldn't let me help him bathe or anything, so I would make his bed and clean his room while he did his own business in the bathroom.

As time went on, he did become sicker, and I had to start helping him bathe as well. By that time, he was beginning to trust me and was becoming nicer to me. We had the same routine every day. I would run his bath, help him into the bath, and then I would clean his room while he bathed himself. I would then help him out.

One day, about 4 or 5 months into this, I got there, and chatted with his wife for a bit. She said he "wasn't feeling good" today. I went in and shut the door, because he said, "OC, please close the door." He looked at me, with this look on his face, and said, "I can't get in the bath today." Which was code for, this is it.

I smiled at him, and said, "it's OK, I'll help you in here." I did, I gave him his bath in the bed that day. I changed his bed. He took my hand and squeezed it and said "thank you." I'm tearing up just remembering this. He died that day. I never saw him again after that, though I still think of him often.

It's funny, how some things, even years later, affect you so deeply.

Years later, I lost both my father and my father in law to cancer related illnesses. I was able to take some of what I learned then, to help me through those dark times in my life.

The things you do, do matter. Maybe then, maybe not, but they do matter. Do you live your life with compassion? Are you able to forgive people in your life if you are angry at them?

I know I have had a hard time with forgiveness myself. I've worked hard to get to the place where I am able to forgive.

The biggest one is my mom. To forgive her for how she was when I was a child, and realize that she did the best she could at the time. I would hope that my kids will do the same. I hope more for my kids, because I'm not lost in the same self destructiveness that my mom was when I was young.

Now I'm working on forgiving and not reacting to "Elaine", who has continued to bombard me with McCain emails.

I received one today, full of inaccuracies and untruths about both candidates. I wrote an entire email back to her, pointing out where this email was wrong, inaccurate etc...then I deleted it.

I am not going to fight with HER. I will take the highroad and ignore her ignorance, and continue to do what I can to make sure I do what I can to ensure that goodness and truth prevail.

I know in my heart, I am on the right side of this fight.

Find your shell, and hold it near.

Peace,

OC