nausetlight

documenting
life through lyrics and natural law

take this burden away from me.

cold is the night without you here,

just your absence ringing in my hear. 

long is the road that leads me home,

and longer still when I walk alone.

i ran like a speeding train,
cut my hair and changed my name,
only had myself to blame,
for the company i was keeping.

—the oh hello’s

lessons on loyalty and love

70 year old female has an elective pancreatectomy for a possibly malignant tumor.

"…so my husband and I decided it was my decision. I didn’t really care to do it, but when he found out there was a 70% chance of cancer, he was scared to death. I decided to have them take my pancreas out. Would I do it again? To be honest… no, I don’t think I would. Not for myself. But for him? Yeah, I would do it again for him." 

45 year old wife hasn’t left the bedside of her husband on the liver transplant list as his liver suddenly fails again 10 years after his first transplant.

me: “you’re doing an incredibly impressive job of keeping up on his care. I don’t know how you do it.”

her: “well… I do it because I love him. when his liver first failed we never thought we’d be able to have another child after our son. now we have two daughters, 4 and 6. It was a miracle. I still believe in God. I still believe in my husband. I still believe he’s going to get through this.”

lone star.

Tell me, are you sleepless still tonight?

las cartas, to a friend, to the aspens.

Go on, live vibrantly. Grow your presence, proud and strong, quiet and humble. Unabashedly beautiful, daring, feeling. Feel with no words, infinite sensations no language can translate.

Sadly, they do not know your magic, the greatest gift and a terrific tragedy. To be pushed so far your toes curl over the edge. Nothing to hold you but a gentle breeze curling around your curves. To fall back, come crashing to the ground, never so solid, and never to fear again. What can scare you now?
Go on, live vibrantly. A gentle soul sits with a smile and eyes of admiration. Nothing can stop you now. 

Una carta a la esposa de mi paciente.

I write to you in the language of your husband’s home. A language of love, romance, and tragedy. A language that has told the stories of the greatest triumphs, struggles, and the greatest love on Earth. Tonight your husband told me he wanted to be home. He wants to keep fighting, but he wants to be home. I spoke to him tonight in spanish thinking that I might be able to bring a piece of home to him. 

Your life, and his, is not a happy one; it is so much more than that. You (plural) have a beautiful life. The way you kissed his fever away is more than Earthly life can offer. You found something more beautiful than life on earth. You found great love- the most challenging blessing one can bear. It is not something you can have then lose. It is not something you can hold or hide. It is the burning core of a great system. Something bigger than life: you, him. his home, your home. your families. your experiences together and apart. 
You have a beautiful life ahead of you and behind you. This is all part of it. You may not see it or feel it right now. You may feel incredible sadness, anger, or maybe  numb. But there is so much beauty around you. He is part of that and always will be. You are a part of his beauty, his great love, and always will be. 
I apologize for the times I stared at him blankly, not knowing what to do. We all have those moments. That is a part of our great system of love and life. Sometimes you can’t do anything but feel. Take moments during your day not to translate your  feelings into any language… or any words. Feel your life together and apart in your great system, your great burning core. It is what it is. It is beauty, and tragedy and love. 
No words in any language can express my feelings. I’m so sorry.