Skip to main content

Who Am I? A Lover of People

I suppose when one stares into the face of their own mortality, they ask themselves, "How will I be remembered?".  I did.  And I realize that I haven't an iota of control in that arena.  People will judge me as they will; by deeds, or the lack thereof.  I'm not even certain how I would want to be thought of if I were granted that power.

Add caption
I would like to think that I was a pleasant person for the most part though no one can claim a lifetime of pleasantness.  There were certainly many times when I was a pissant.  I'd like to think that pleasant outweighs pissant by a ton on my scorecard and that I don't count too heavily on my intentions.

I think I would like a shot at telling my story myself rather than have it told through others whom I may not have made my views clear to.  People have tried to tell me my views my whole life.  They have often made the mistake that by not verbally opposing them that I share their views.  This is not always the case, in fact, it could prove out to be rare.  I simply preferred not to quarrel my life away nor waste time and energy on useless debate.  Besides, I always liked to see where people were coming from and to enjoy them for who they were to me and not to dwell on a political or religious point of view.

Tina at Lake Quinault Lodge - 2011
Some will see me as a chameleon or a people pleaser and that is okay by me.  Some will feel betrayed by this knowledge and that is their privilege.  I love people.  I love to immerse myself in them for a time and get a sense of who they are.  I have deeply loved a few most of whom have deeply wounded me at some point and isn't that the crux of being vulnerable?  One can be deeply wounded.  I have been those: wounded and loved.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Lashing Out

Fed up. Sick of hearing, "I'm sorry."  Apologies don't erase the pain you inflict on me. You pull my pubic hair. Your nitrile gloves pull the hair from my head. Not once in a while but day in and day out. You turn me in a manner that suits you rather than in a manner that doesn't stress my body. Why won't you use the pad and sheet to turn me as one unit? Instead, you allow my body to twist as you hold me one-handed. How good you are at your job. What part of "my muscles are dying" don't you understand?

Fall

Orange, gold, rust, burnt sienna, ochre, raw umber; the riot of fall colors, in the trees and at our booted feet; a drive in the countryside; the taste of hot apple cider on my lips; the satisfaction of a truckload of firewood we gathered and cut ourselves; elk herds on the move; hearty stews, savory soup, crusty whole-grain bread, pumpkin and gingerbread spice lattes; these are the memories I tap into the most this time of year. Cabela's fliers in the mailbox; Carhart's camo-clad hunters swarm outlying areas; mushroom garthering; huckleberry picking; logger burgers; forest service roads; cheese sandwiches on the woodstove; warm quilts, cool sheets, and flannel nightgowns; cold butt, warm heart.  Immensely grateful to have the well of memories to draw upon.

Managed

Managed care, do not get me started. It is the bane of my existence and my savior. If quadriplegia has curtailed my activities, and it has, then being in a home has curtailed even more. I've had to dumb it down and set my standards low. Gone, are the halcyon days of getting in my wheelchair to go for a stroll or sit in the sun, or even sit in the sun room. Neither the nurses, nor patient care technicians, know how to put me in my wheelchair. Seriously. My chair has head controls and it is a bafflement. Most caregivers don't even realize I have head controls. First, they hit the left head pad when they lift the armrest which turns the chair on. Next, they sling me over and place me in the chair. The problem? My head, naturally, rests on the headrest, which accelerates and drives the chair and is beyond my control. Running over a caregiver or running myself into an obstruction are very real consequences of their ignorance. What could be worse? The caregivers remain clueless abo...