“Either write something worth reading, or do something worth writing.” — Benjamin Franklin
“The goal isn’t to live forever, it’s to create something that will.” — Chuck Pahlaniuk
First some background. As my Mixed Metaphors, Oh My! readers know, I’m a writer and blogger. Friends and family, from firsthand experience, are also aware I’m a storyteller. I’m 70-years-old, yet consider myself young at heart and continue to be a student of life. I’m a work in progress, and perfectly flawed. I live alone and on the continuum of introvert/extrovert, I fall in between. I’m an ambivert.
I’ve been socially distancing and sheltering-in-place to some degree since my previous job ended at the end of February and has continued due to the coronavirus pandemic. Since May, I began working part-time at a job as an LGBTQ+ AODA Advocate that is more an avocation than vocation. I’m grateful.
Lastly, though I am healthy for the most part, full disclosure, I’m obese and have underlying health conditions, including Type II Diabetes and hypertension. The latter conditions, plus my age, put me at serious and perhaps deadly risk if I were to be infected with COVID-19. Oh, My!
Dispatches from the Hideout
I began my Dispatch from the Hideout as a one-off essay in July 2017 to describe my reaction to events in the world and my need to retreat. I was also grieving the losses in my life, the most recent at the time was my mother’s death in 2016.
“Now, before I go any further, it’s important that I share with you that my hideout is a virtual one. I don’t have a cabin in the woods, or a bunker in the basement, I only have my home, a 645 square foot apartment. It’s where I wake up in the morning, retreat at the end of the work day, hideout on the weekends when I’m writing or feeling introverted, and end my days, often falling asleep on the couch watching TV. Yeah, I’m that girl. I live alone and most days I’m happy with that choice.”
“Lately, I require more time underground at the hideout. I’ve been feeling wistful and reflective. As I’ve grieved my mother’s death (again, still, again), I’m reminded that many of us when we grieve, often grieve all the losses in our lives. For me, once the floodgates of tears are released, I remember the people and passages from the past, generations of family no longer here, the relationships and dreams I lost or let go, and the myths or beliefs I once held about myself, the people I love, or the world I live in that I no longer embrace. It’s been made more challenging by the latter. The world is becoming a place that some days I’m more likely to want to escape from, rather than live in. Don’t worry, I won’t harm myself or others.”
Soon I discovered that the Dispatch from the Hideout metaphor was a useful vehicle for me to express innermost feelings, like grief and gratitude, moments when I faced my shadow, or questioned my choices, plus the times when I reflected on the larger world of which I’m simply a member, navigating things outside of my control, yet still have an impact my heart, mind, and spirit. The Hideout metaphor served me and soon became a series.
Circling back to the end of February and the COVID-19 pandemic when I was forced to spend more time in the Hideout to protect my physical health, safer-at-home, I soon discovered that the isolation also affected my mental. emotional, and spiritual health. When the Wisconsin Historical Society launched the Wisconsin Historical Society COVID-19 Journal Project, I was all in and contributed eight installments about my experience as I sheltered-in-place.
The Dispatch series grew as I added to the four original essays predating COVID-19, plus recently, one that followed the submission to the Wisconsin Historical Society, as an addendum, Dispatch from the Hideout: Quarantine Bubble Edition. (Note: At the end of this essay, click on Dispatch from the Hideout: Quarantine Bubble Edition in the Additional Reading from Mixed Metaphors, Oh My! section and you will be able to access links to the entire series).
Dispatch from the Hideout: Letter to Loved Ones, I hope it’s not the final installment in the series, now totaling 13 with this addition, yet will serve as such if needed. It seems the Dispatch series may make a book if there’s still time for me to edit and publish it, part memoir, journal, and lived experience of the world we share.
Death & Dying
Before the pandemic changed the way we lived in community, once a month I gathered with like-minded friends, lesbian women, my contemporaries, as we explored end-of-life issues. First, we read books and articles, watched videos and Ted Talks on the subject, discussed our intentions, and explored how, what, and to whom we wanted to communicate our choices for healthcare, disposable of our bodies, and funeral services or celebrations of life. Lastly, who would make those decisions on our behalf when we were unable, and how would our material life or legacy be shared. Oh, My!
One exercise was to draft our own obituary. I failed. My attempt was more about what I did, rather than who I was in life. It was a summary of a human doing, not a human being. On my ‘to-do list before I die,’ I’ll take another stab at drafting that obituary, finish my will, and share my wishes and legal documents with my sister Tami. When I visualized the final days of my life, if I wasn’t taken out in an accident unexpectedly, and still possessed my faculties, I imagined I would have time to say my goodbyes to loved ones in-person, make any remaining amends, and yes, have a Hollywood movie ending.
The reality is that may never happen. One thing I’ve already clarified with my sister Tami is the disposition of my journals. When we first began talking about my wishes for end-of-life, Tami quickly responded that one of the first things she would do is delete my journals! “NO, I exclaimed!” She thought she was protecting me, plus family, friends, and loved ones, by destroying words or memories that may hurt people and tarnish my legacy. In fact, my words, whether collected in journals or this blog, poetry chapbooks, and books I’ve not yet written, are in fact, my most valuable legacy, the offspring of my heart and mind.
I realize now, that I may not have that opportunity to have a Hollywood ending to my life, say my goodbyes on my deathbed, finish that book, hold the hands or kiss the cheeks of loved ones. I’m not being maudlin or melodramatic, I’m simply aware that if I contract COVID-19, because of my age and underlying health conditions, I may not have the gift of saying goodbye in person. I offer this letter instead.
Letter to Loved Ones
First, if we have unfinished business, words left unsaid, or amends unmade, I’m sorry time ran out before we could complete our work. Please forgive me and know that I hold no resentments or regrets. Trust that you are loved and I’m grateful for your gifts in my life and for sharing this journey with me.
My life has not always been easy, but it’s always been worth the effort. I’ve not always possessed what I’ve wanted, but I always received what I needed, and most days it was simply the love of friends and family, and the ability to live comfortably in my own skin. The latter took work, every day, sometimes I was successful, some days not so much. Know that I did my best to live honestly, with integrity, and to acknowledge, then work, on my imperfections and shadow.
In life, I was a daughter, a sister, an aunt, co-parent, a friend, a lover, a partner, a wife, an employee, colleague, a co-conspirator, and creative collaborator. I was also a feminist, lesbian, a progressive, community activist, a recovering alcoholic, cinephile, poet and writer. I was most grateful for the love and friendship I received throughout life, the helping hand, the hug, the listening ear, the hand to hold, the passionate kisses, words of wisdom, and help when I needed it. I’m also grateful for the opportunities I had to share the same with each of you. Thank you.
In death, I’ll return to the earth, or become dust in the wind. I didn’t possess material wealth, yet my life was rich, and what legacy I leave behind in the mementos, ephemera, my words, or our shared memories, I hope they find homes with you, and that they are as precious to you as they were to me.
In my memory, make friends, make love, make babies, make art, nurture and support loved ones, ideas and values, tell stories, laugh, cry and celebrate together, lift up others when you’re able, give back as much as you take, be kind, protect our earth and democracy, live your best life. Love with an open heart.
I say goodbye in a song, Wind & Sand by Eric Andersen.
Additional Reading from Mixed Metaphors, Oh My!
Dispatch from the Hideout: Quarantine Bubble Edition
Confessions of a Blogger: Conversations with Myself
Memorial Day: Memories, Flowers & Gratitude
Who Knows What Tomorrow May Bring?
What would I do without my weekly dose of Mixed Metaphors??? Thanks so much for everything!! Love, Lewis