It was my 10th year of doing frontline work with virtually no break for very little money. My wife had a heart transplant the year before, changing our lives forever and dramatically complicating it.
Some people who cared about me had put some money together and arranged for me to take a month off – not as a vacation as much as a sabbatical of sorts. I would get some downtime, learn things, and do some writing. So we spent a week at the beach in North Carolina and another week on Jekyll Island in Georgia, and I went to Hollywood, California for a week to see something different and to listen to Rob Bell for a while.
Rob was legendary in the circles I moved in at the time, having been the voice of deconstruction for many of us who had grown up in evangelicalism. Books like Velvet Elvis had given us language for what so many of us had felt, and his Nooma videos and his attention to aesthetics made many of us feel known.
But he was also a gifted communicator, and after he left the ministry, he made his living writing books and giving classes on, among other things, communication and speaking. And since I made a hunk of my living giving speeches and sermons, I was glad I got the opportunity to go and sit in on his three-day class on speaking.
Rob is so ADHD; he makes me look like Yoda. However, it’s always a high-energy experience, and he is not boring at all, and he really is incredibly gifted at this, so I was excited to go. But what I don’t think I was prepared for was how confessional it was.
Public figures like Rob practice what I call selective vulnerability. I do it, too, here on the blog. I’ve decided what parts of my story are open to the public and what parts are private. And because I draw those lines in different places than some people would, it can seem dramatically open to people who have other boundaries than I do.
Sometime on the second day, Rob told of his first full year in LA after leaving the church in Michigan. The way I remember that he told it, there was a TV show in the works – think Oprah or Ellen – a talk show, but around spiritual topics. They filmed the pilot, and his people talked to their people – they had a deal and would start filming after the beginning of the year.
Rob cleared his calendar and waited for the phone to ring.
The phone didn’t ring. The new year started, and nobody called. Weeks went by. His agent assured him the deal was still on.
One day his agent called and said the deal was off.
“Sometimes that happens out here,” he said.
Rob said he had just bought a new house and had nothing on his calendar for the whole year. No book deal in progress. No speaking tour lined up—no idea how any money at all was going to come in that year.
So he sat down at his kitchen table with his teenage son’s microphone and started recording what would become his first podcast.
And then he did it again the following week. And the next.
And he said that the podcast gave him structure and made room for things to happen. It gave him something to focus on, and by focusing on that, other things became clear. Nowadays, Rob’s podcast is hugely popular, and since then, he’s written many more books and done tours, and people have flown from North Carolina to listen to his class on speaking.
“So, the moral is,” he said, laughing, “If you ever get stuck and don’t know what to do, start a podcast. Or at least start something.”
It was September of last year. I was feeling stuck. It was 18 months into a pandemic that had crushed every plan I had when I moved here. I was 10 months into a deep depression I was just beginning to move out of. I needed something on which to focus.
So I started a blog. It launched in the middle of September, and by October, I was publishing twice a week. But I started posting every day in November, and I’ve kept that up (except Sundays) ever since. I’m now 121 posts in, more than 100,000 words. More than 500 folks have signed up to get the links each week by email, plus many who read it on Facebook, Twitter, or Tumblr.
And it’s made room I didn’t have before. I now field offers for projects weekly. People want to collaborate in ways I hadn’t imagined before. Offers open up. People want to meet. To be clear – almost none of this is directly related to the blog. They aren’t wanting to meet about something I wrote – but it is as if I made room for it to happen. For example, I got asked to do my first wedding in Mississippi today – by someone who has never met me, after being referred to me by someone who has never met me.
The rest of the story: I came back to work after my trip to LA. The same hot mess I left was still there, made worse by my absence for a month. The following spring it almost collapsed, and the following year, I was done. You can’t fix systemic problems with a spa day. Or even a trip to Hollywood.
My wife Renee was born with a particularly aggressive form of heart disease – Hypertrophic Cardiomyopathy. Yeah, I have trouble saying it too.
By early 2015, she was in heart failure, and her quality of life was plummeting, so her cardiologists at Duke University hospital in Durham put her on the heart transplant list.
One of the most frustrating parts of the process for me, as her primary caregiver, was all of the things I did not know, the things I didn’t know to expect. We don’t really keep diaries much as a people anymore, and I am sure we are the lesser for it. However, I was pretty active on Facebook during that time, so I have collected the Facebook posts and Instagram pictures from that time, and put them together in a narrative of sorts.
I keep saying I will write a memoir of this time, but until then, I hope this can serve as a roadmap of one family’s experiences. I hope these can help others see they aren’t alone, and to remind us that we are loved, and that what saw us through this time was our community.
The story starts in May, when we were asked to go to Duke for a 3-day evaluation, to judge her suitability for transplant.
Transplant evaluation
Wednesday, May 27, 2015 at 11:35am: “I’m kinda famous on the Internet. If we need to raise money for her to get the transplant, we can do it.” – What I just said to the financial counselor at Duke. I think I came across as far more confident than I actually am…
Wednesday, May 27, 2015 at 5:09pm: So, back home from day one of 3 days of medical evaluations that will determine whether Renee Hollowell is a candidate for transplant. Just these 3 days have a pre-insurance cost of $60,000. I think I need to lay down. And sell a kidney or something.
Thursday, May 28, 2015 at 8:48am: On our way back to Duke for day two of Renee Hollowell’s transplant evaluation. I am in a much better place, following 8 hours of sleep. We are thankful for all of you.
Thursday, May 28, 2015 at 9:31pm: Day two of transplant evaluation for Renee went well – a few tests tomorrow, and we are done. We should know at the end of next week if she is being listed. Thankful for all of the love and support.
Just so you know, today I mentioned the overwhelming support we have on social media when the social worker asked about our support network. #LoveYouGuys
Friday, May 29, 2015 at 8:32am: Thankful the 7:30 AM tests were cancelled. Gonna grab breakfast and head in to Durham slowly. Day 3 of Renee’s transplant evaluation.
Thursday, June 4, 2015 at 4:23pm: Renee is now officially on the heart transplant list.
Cleaning up the messes
[Before the transplant, they wanted her to deal with medical loose ends – she had some dental work done, and her gallbladder out – a simple, outpatient procedure, they assured us.]
Wednesday, June 10, 2015 at 10:37am: If you are keeping track of the craziness that is the Hollowell lives, we are at Duke today to get Renee’s gallbladder taken out. For obvious reasons, I will probably be hard to get in touch with today.
Wednesday, June 10, 2015 at 4:12pm: Renee update: She has been in recovery for almost 4 hours, and they can’t get her oxygen levels to where they need to be. So, they are putting her in intensive care for observation and keep trying to get more O2 in her. I talked to her, and her attitude is good. We just need her levels to be higher.
Thursday, June 11, 2015 at 9:25am: Renee had a good night, running a slight fever but otherwise good. She has a lot of pain this morning (not unexpected) and we will know more later this morning. I have ducked into the office to get a few things done while she rests. As I know more, I will post it.
Friday, June 12, 2015 at 1:00pm: Renee is ok – sitting up, carrying on conversations and so on. Still requiring oxygen, but less than yesterday, so that is good. Still in ICU, but they are planning on moving her to a regular room if all goes well today. Meanwhile, I am sitting here in the hospital, adulting by changing banks and swapping bill pay on like 20 accounts. Nothing like doing that while in your wife’s hospital room to realize just how precarious your financial situation really is.
Friday, June 12, 2015 at 8:23pm: The doctor just came by. Renee is still on oxygen but greatly reduced. She was moved to a regular room this afternoon, and is taking her first shower since Tuesday night. If you know Renee, you know how happy this makes her. If she has a good night, she will probably be taken off oxygen completely tomorrow, and if she tolerates that, be sent home.
Saturday, June 13, 2015 at 1:21pm: Renee is now off the oxygen, and only on “room air”. They are seeing how she tolerates it, and will be walking her around the hallways shortly. Assuming this works out, she could go home today. EDIT: After 30 minutes, we are back on the oxygen, albeit at a very low rate. #Dammit
Saturday, June 13, 2015 at 3:10pm: Just talked to the doctor. At least one more day in the hospital. Still on oxygen. I just can’t even.
Saturday, June 13, 2015 at 3:30pm: I bet I have eaten out more in the last week than I have this year. This is incredibly expensive.
It is also a mere foretaste of what life surrounding transplant is going to be like, and also I think, indicates I need to rob a bank or something. (I am also aware that I am being a bit whiny right now, and I thank you for putting up with it.)
[We went home Sunday.]
Monday, June 15, 2015 at 3:28pm: Shit is getting real. Basically, Renee is now much higher on the priority list for heart transplant.
False alarm
[We got a call at 6:30am, telling us they had a heart for Renee. Oh shit! We scrambled like mad people, got to the hospital an hour away, was there like 2 hours and got sent home – there was something wrong with the potential donor’s heart.]
Tuesday, July 14, 2015 at 1:08pm: Spent the morning at Duke Hospital, thinking my wife was going to have a heart transplant. That didn’t pan out, so now I am back at work. #EmotionalWhiplash
We Get The Call
Day 1
Tuesday, August 11, 2015 at 3:28pm: Dear friends, This morning we got a call from Duke Hospital in Durham, telling us to come in because they had a heart for Renee. I came home from work, and we ran around like crazy people, grabbing clothes and feeding the cats and rushing out the door. We have been here once before, and it didn’t work out, so we waited until we were pretty sure it was going to happen before we let anyone else know. We are now here at Duke, and if it all works out, surgery will happen late tonight and we will be here at least ten days or so, maybe longer.
Obviously, our lives are going to be hectic for the next 24 hours, while they give Renee a new heart and I pace the floor, trying to embrace my powerlessness (and failing). We are going to need lots of help over the coming weeks, and as we do, we have no problem asking for it.
Right now, though, we are focusing on the tasks in front of us and taking it a minute at a time. I won’t be super available by social media today, so don’t feel offended if I don’t respond – things are a bit nuts here. We appreciate your prayers and good thoughts today while Renee goes into surgery – we go into this knowing we are loved and blessed by our friends.
Please keep the family of the donor in your thoughts and prayers as well – we are very mindful of how much the gift of a heart for us cost them.
Peace and all good, Hugh & Renee
Tuesday, August 11, 2015 at 6:35pm: A quick update about Renee Hollowell: We are in pre-op, still waiting. It will more than likely be near midnight before the actual surgery starts. When it does, it is an 8- 10 hour surgery, assuming nothing goes wrong. In other words, don’t be shocked if you don’t hear anything from us until mid-morning or later.
Renee and I are reading your comments and notes and messages to each other, feeling very loved and supported. Thank you all very much.
Also a reminder that I run an organization that is going to be leaderless for a while. While I have full confidence in the team at Love Wins Ministries, they are going to need some help. If you are local and want to help out around the place, we appreciate it so much.
Renee on the phone with her dad, while waiting to go back for her heart transplant.
Day 2
Wednesday, August 12, 2015 at 1:32am: Keep watch, dear Lord, with those who work, or watch, or weep this night, and give your angels charge over those who sleep.
Tend the sick, Lord Christ; give rest to the weary, bless the dying, soothe the suffering, pity the afflicted, shield the joyous; and all for your love’s sake. Amen. #KeepingVigil
Wednesday, August 12, 2015 at 3:17am: Grateful for the love and prayers around the country tonight while they operate on my girl. 8-10 hours of surgery feels almost like forever. The only wealth in this world is friends. #KeepingVigil
Wednesday, August 12, 2015 at 6:33am: Renee is out of surgery and, so far, doing well. We spoke to the surgeon, and he said the surgery went well, and he feels good about her recovery.
She is going to be sedated heavily for the next 36 hours or so. Right now she is being transferred to ICU, and I will be able to see her in about 2 hours. I predict I will crash shortly after that, so right now I am going to grab some breakfast while I can.
I am grateful for all of you, and thankful especially for those who sat up part of the night, keeping vigil with me.
Weeping may endure for a night, but joy cometh in the morning.
Wednesday, August 12, 2015 at 1:59pm: UPDATE: Renee Hollowell is heavily sedated, but doing well, all things considered. The right side of her heart is having to learn to adjust to the higher pressures in her lungs, so they left the sternum open to allow it time to adjust – they will finish wiring that closed tomorrow if all goes well. The pain from that is a huge reason for the sedation.
She will be sedated at least through Thursday night, perhaps longer. I got a good 3 1/2 hours of sleep, and feel great. The staff here has been amazing, all the way around, without exception. The surgeons are among the best in the world, and the amount of concern for our well-being (not just Renee’s) is truly amazing. I am thankful for these people, who feel called or led or what-have-you to this work. They are a tremendous gift.
My best friend Brian got in the car and drove four hours after we got the call yesterday to sit with me last night and tonight, to, as he put it, make sure I remember to eat and sleep. I can’t imagine having done this without him. His presence was a great gift to both me and Renee’s family.
Starting about noon tomorrow, I will be up here by myself, so if folks want to stop by for brief visits sometime between then and the end of the week, they would be appreciated. Just send me a FB message or email (hughlh at gmail)
I am grateful for all the ways people have reached out, as well as the practical things they have done. Please know I am grateful for you, even if it may take me a while to get back to you. Renee and I are loved far beyond our deserts.
Peace and all good, HH
Wednesday, August 12, 2015 at 6:06pm: Wednesday afternoon update: Renee is doing well – neural responses are good, earlier she was running a fever but they got it down.
Still zonked out, as she will be for at least the next 24 hours, maybe more. The transplant team is happy with how things are going. I am especially thankful to all of you who have reached out to the staff of Love Wins Ministries to see how you can help while I am tied up here. Knowing that people love you and have your back just takes fear away, you know?
“Love and ever more love is the only solution to every problem that comes up.” ― Dorothy Day
Day 3
Thursday, August 13, 2015 at 9:44am: Thursday morning update: Renee is responding well to treatment. She is still heavily sedated to allow her time to recover, but they wake her up periodically to check her responses to stimuli, and those are going well. She told them (via the squeeze the hand test) that she wasn’t in pain, for which we thank the drugs. As I mentioned in an earlier update, they did not fully close her chest due to swelling (this is typical in these cases) and they thought it might happen this afternoon. That has been now pushed back to tomorrow. She will remain on heavy sedation until after that. If you want to come see us, please email or fb message me in advance, so I can make sure I haven’t ducked out to the Starbucks or something when you come. That said, we welcome friends for short visits. We are in the Duke Medicine Pavilion, on the 7th Floor (West Side). There is an amazing waiting room staffed by a helpful desk person, who will call the room and let me know you are here.
Speaking of the staff here – without exception they have been amazing, professional and, most helpful to me, non-anxious. As Renee’s primary care-giver until now, I feel largely useless here, and they have answered all my countless questions, paid attention to my many concerns and asked my opinion on things as regards to what is typical for her. I suspect this last item is to allow me to feel useful, but I am willing to embrace the delusion. I reached a point last night where I realized that these people not only are keeping her alive, but they saved her life, and have given us many more years together. I now have a near irresistible urge to hug them all, but I am pretty sure that is boundary crossing. 😉
I am grateful and appreciative of the many, many offers of help. As a person with ADHD, who has a really hard time prioritizing and sorting, but who also needs a lot of help right now, I have a favor to ask. If you could offer a specific thing I can say yes or no to (like, “Hugh, can I buy you supper on Friday”, or, “Hugh, could you use a place to come shower on Friday?”) it is much easier for me than the extremely nice, but difficult for my brain to sort, “Hugh, if you need anything, call me.” I just know me and my brain, and if you don’t give me a yes or no choice, I will probably not reach out at all.
Much love for all of you. I read your Facebook comments to Renee. The nurses say she probably can’t hear them, but I am choosing to embrace this delusion as well.
Since the transplant means we won’t get to the beach this summer, I thought I would just take a picture of my feet now and get it out of my system.
Thursday, August 13, 2015 at 7:03pm: Before transplant, Renee Hollowell and I had a lot of hard conversations, ranging from what I am supposed to do if she didn’t come back from the OR to how I am supposed to clean the house before she comes home. One of those conversations was about how much I am allowed to share with you guys.
I don’t talk much about Renee online, because she has always been fiercely protective of her privacy, especially being married to a semi-famous gospel preacher that talks on the internet a whole lot. But one of the things she wanted – in fact, that we argued about, and she won – was for me to tell the truth, and she insisted I not shelter anyone from the hard things. She really wants to demystify this for those on the list, the same way her sister’s transplants helped demystify it for her.
She specifically told me I should post pictures of her while sedated. Even so, I only shared them with family members and gave them the choice.
This is what Renee looks like right now. I am about six feet away, trying to stay out of the way, but this is my view. The doctors tell me this is the good side of normal for this stage, but to be honest, it is as scary as hell.
Renee unconscious, post-transplant. We had to keep her sedated for 72 hours to allow her body time to heal, and to allow the swelling to go down.
Thursday, August 13, 2015 at 9:38pm: Thursday evening update: Renee continues to improve. Her fever hasn’t returned, and her blood pressure, which jumped up a bit this morning, has returned to normal levels.
Her heart is working all on its own, without a pacemaker, for the first time since she was 13 years old. Life is a miracle. They continue to say she will have her chest closed tomorrow – what they are not saying yet is when. But after her chest is closed, she will be awakened, be breathing on her own and, within a short time, on her feet, walking the hallways. And 10 days or so later, home.
I weep sometimes, sitting here, watching her chest rise and fall. The nurse saw me do it earlier and asked if she could get me a chaplain. I told her it wasn’t necessary, as I had seen three pastors today and had two coming by tomorrow. She looked at me strangely and walked out. It is the truth, though – I just have lots of friends that are clergy.
Some people have asked about my self-care in this. I walk the hallways and sit in the gardens here. I am reading a lot. And while I don’t have the words to pray much right now, I am focusing on knowing I am loved, as is Renee.
In the second chapter of Mark, Jesus heals a man not because of his faith, but because of the faith of his friends. Right now, I am counting on the faith of our friends to see us through.
As always, visits are welcomed. I am beginning to reach out to folks and ask for specific things – if I haven’t gotten to you yet, I will. The next 10 days or so we are here is relatively easy compared to the month or so after that at home. We will need so much more help then.
Grace and Peace – eventually.
HH
Day 4
Friday, August 14, 2015 at 11:26am: Friday Morning Update: No changes in Renee’s condition overnight. But the reason for the delay in this update is that, this morning, she went back to surgery and had her chest closed. It was a fast surgery, so they sort of “fit you in” as space opens up in the OR.
They have done five transplants since I have been here – our surgeon has done three of them himself. Which speaks, I guess, to the level of expertise there is here. I have no doubt that the people here are among the best in the world at what they do. The gratitude I have for them is boundless.
Among all the other benefits, closing her chest makes her less fragile and easier to care for. Last night they had to remove a cooling blanket from her bed, and it took six people to lift her to do it. Normally, one nurse could do it alone. The next step is to step down her sedation meds and then remove her breathing tube – which should happen this afternoon. And after that, it’s off to the races – they will push her to be on her feet shortly after that.
Overnight they did her neuro checks, where they wake her up and check neurological function. This is one of my favorite parts – she opens her eyes and squeezes your hand and you talk to her and you know she hears what you are saying.
So, while she was near conscious, I told her about all of you, and that the kitties were OK, and that Dave went through surgery and had an artificial heart, and that Brian had sat with me and that all of you were taking care of me, and thus, her. I hope to have more to tell you this afternoon, but it is so far nothing but clear skies here.
Friday, August 14, 2015 at 7:23pm:I’m not gonna lie. I am straight up bawling over here. #GotMyGirlBack
Friday, August 14, 2015 at 9:22pm: Friday night update: I am short on words right now – Renee had her chest closed today, she was awakened from sedation and had her breathing tube removed.
Today was a good day. She is doing great – she is breathing on her own, she is alert and talking – albeit a bit groggy. She understands what is going on and is carrying on a conversation. In short, she is, in every sense of the word, alive.
They say that more than likely, she will begin walking the hallways tomorrow. She has a lot of hard work to do before she comes home. I am, honestly, a bit weepy right now, so I am signing off and will fill you in more in the morning.
Take care of yourself, and hug the people you love. Trust me on this. HH
Day 5
Saturday, August 15, 2015 at 8:26am: Saturday morning update Renee had an uneventful night – which is good. I slept in two hour snatches, waking up each time someone came in the room to check on her, but still got more than six hours overall. After the last week, that feels luxurious.
She is alert, talking and advocating for herself. She is very tired, and is sleeping a lot, but when she is awake, she is fully Renee.
The goals today include weaning her off of some of her transitional medications, beginning to drink water again (she is currently not allowed anything by mouth), pain management and… walking! Of these, she is most excited about pain management and least excited about the walking.
The pain medication she is on helps, but the things she can take when she is allowed oral medication will work better, and last longer. After the weekend, she should be able to tolerate visitors, so please reach out if you want to come by and visit. I think it will help her spirits. Likewise, she loves getting cards – they can be sent to: Hugh and Renee Hollowell PO Box 26874 Raleigh, NC 27611 She CAN’T have flowers or plants here, so please keep that in mind.
I am overwhelmed with emotions around all of this. In one way, this part is easier – perhaps five times in our marriage I have been the husband at her bedside while she recovers from an operation, advocating for her and providing a non-anxious presence.
In short, I feel like I have been here before, and that makes it easier. On the other hand, this time is very different, as there is so much work in front of us yet. And then going home, where there will be even more work, as well as a return to real life, to work, to routine – to a new routine. To our new normal.
And recognizing that our new normal will be unlike anything we have experienced in our marriage thus far. For example: I am in New York a couple of times a year for work, and love it there. Renee has always wanted to go, but the countless blocks of walking, the stairs to the subway and the general lack of handicapped facilities have made that difficult to plan for.
So, part of our new normal means someday soon, I will be able to see the Statue of Liberty, Central Park and 8th Avenue with my girl. A new normal. Everything is new.
“Then I saw a new heaven and a new earth; for the first heaven and the first earth had passed away… And the one who was seated on the throne said, “See, I am making all things new.”
Saturday, August 15, 2015 at 10:11pm: Saturday Night Update: Renee is alert and conscious, still groggy but cracking wise with her dry wit. She has slow moments due to the pain, but they are working on pain management, and are trying to stay on top of it. She spent the first half of the afternoon sitting upright, and then they helped her stand up and walk two steps to a chair. She sat there a few hours, and then walked 10 steps to get back in bed (They had moved the chair – tricky folks). She is exhausted but pleased with herself.
She had Facebook messenger video conversations with family members – well, it was more like show and tell, since her voice is still weak – but it did her good to see them. I am tired, but grateful, basking in the glory of friendships and countless acts of love and community.
To all of you who have reached out, donated money, sent gift cards, bought my meal, sat in the waiting room with me, went with me to Starbucks and volunteered at Love Wins Ministries while I have been gone – Thank You.
Thank you for giving me this time with Renee, for letting me not have to worry about the demands of the real world while Renee experiences a medical miracle.
Peace and all good, HH
Day 6
Sunday, August 16, 2015 at 10:27am: Sunday Morning Update: I woke up in the middle of the night from a deep sleep to a sound I haven’t heard since Tuesday night –Renee, with a loud and clear voice, carrying on a conversation.
The nurse had came in to check on her, and Renee was wide awake and asking questions. I wasn’t needed, so I just lay on the bench that has been my bed the last few days and listened to the sweet sound of Renee self-advocating and taking care of herself. It has never felt so good to know I wasn’t needed.
We spent the morning looking at pictures on my phone – emailed pics of the cats, pics of our friend who had his heart removed and an artificial heart installed, pictures of friends on Facebook. She told me her vision had been really blurry until last night sometime, when it cleared up. We are walking the line between too much pain medication, which knocks her out, and too little, which renders her senseless. But when they have it just right, she is perfectly Renee – maybe more perfectly Renee than I have ever known her.
They have completely weaned her from epinephrine, which was there to aid the new heart function. The new heart is ticking away exactly like it is supposed to.
Today looks to be a busy day. They are removing medications and hoses, they are removing the Swan Catheter (a big deal) as I type this, physical therapy is coming by this afternoon to get her walking in the halls and, if all goes well, she will be off all breathing treatments by tonight. If the trend continues, she will be moving to a step-down unit tomorrow afternoon sometime.
Grateful as we are for everything, we will still need lots of help in the days ahead. And one last thing – I am passing the time reading your positive messages with her.
If you have something to say to Renee, leave a comment on this post as if you are speaking to her: I will make sure she sees it.
As the man said, “Don’t worry about a thing, ‘Cause every little thing gonna be all right.” HH
Sunday, August 16, 2015 at 10:37pm: Sunday Evening Update: Today was mostly a good day for Renee. There is some frustration that she is so groggy all the time – the current thinking is that her pain medication is too high. She feels it too – she is now insisting they only give her Tylenol during the day as a way of clearing her head.
Despite the grogginess, she still made progress today. The Swann catheter came out, she was weaned off her breathing treatments and the additional equipment that was supporting all of that has been cleared out of the room. She walked down the hall today – perhaps 50 or 60 feet – and, when she is awake, is clear and alert. She just needs to be awake more. All of the nurses and doctors are praising her numbers and how well she is doing.
It does look like at least another full day or two here in ICU, though. Renee and I discussed it and decided that starting Tuesday, I will be spending some time back in Raleigh each day. There is a lot of work to be done to get the house ready for her to come home, and most of that is on me. (The cats are totally lazy and contribute nothing in exchange for their living there. At least the chickens provide eggs.) Those of you expecting to help with that should get emails soon.
When that happens, I will probably downshift to only one of these updates per day. I appreciate all the notes and messages. At this point, there is no way I can keep up with them. Please, if I have ignored a direct question, please, try again.
It has been amazing to me the way Renee’s story has connected with so many people. I have more than a dozen messages in my Facebook Messages right now that begin with, “You don’t know me, but…”
Here is hoping for a restful, uneventful, night. HH
Monday, August 17, 2015 at 10:34am: Monday Morning Update: Overnight went really well – other than waking up at 3am for a chest x-ray, Renee slept through the night. At 5:30 this morning, she was wide awake and at 6:00, went for a short walk. At 9:30, she walked around the hallway – some 450 feet. I captured that in a picture further up my timeline.
As I write this, they are removing one of her chest tubes (leaving only one) and have already removed all supplemental oxygen. She is breathing only room air.
Renee forgot her glasses when we came here, which normally isn’t a big deal if she isn’t driving. However, when we went for a walk, she swore she saw a deer in someone’s room at the end of the hallway. This alarmed the team, as they thought she was hallucinating.
Turns out, it was just a rack of hoses and tubes, which cleared up as she got closer.
Avoiding pain meds has helped with the grogginess, and she is tolerating the pain with just Tylenol so far. She is having bad headaches, but that is probably due to being waned off all the chemicals she has been living on the last few days. And right now, they are so pleased with her progress they are looking for a step-down room to put her in later today.
So things are looking good – really good. It is hard to remember that one week ago today was a perfectly normal day for us – a day when we were just “on the list”.
We had known this was coming, obviously, but had no idea it would happen so soon. Over the preceding weekend we had ripped all the carpet out of a room that we intended to turn into Renee’s room – a sort of art studio-cum-sitting room for her to recover in. But we didn’t get finished, and so there are boxes everywhere and a pile of now wet carpet on the porch and all of that.
When Renee got the call, she looked around and said, “The house isn’t ready for this yet.” So I am going home this afternoon, and will be spending some time at home every day in the days ahead to get Renee’s room ready for her. And if you have a truck and want to carry some boxes to Goodwill for us, let me to know – I could use the help.
We know the hard work is just beginning, but we aren’t scared. With such a cloud of friends around us, how could we fail?
Renee listening to her new heart for the first time. #AllTheFeels
Day 8
Tuesday, August 18, 2015 at 12:54pm: Tuesday Update: (Updates are coming once a day now, unless something major happens.)
Life is good, and so is Renee. A week ago this morning, we got the call and arrived here at Duke. What a difference a week makes. I went home last night and slept so hard it was ridiculous. Nearly 8 hours of deep, solid sleep is a beautiful thing after 5 nights on that bench thing in ICU.
When I came in this morning, she was walking laps in the hallway- she did 2 laps in a row, or about 800 feet total. All the staff is impressed with her resilience. She walks with a walker, but here in the room can walk to the bathroom with only someone to hold her hand.
They are dropping meds left and right – she comes off the dopamine today, and had her last remaining chest tubes withdrawn this morning. Just a couple of IVs in her arm is all that remains. After a few days of dragging hoses and lines everywhere, it is pretty amazing.
Some of you may have noticed – she is on Facebook again but in a pretty limited way. She gets tired easily, so if you send her a message or post on her wall and she doesn’t get back to you, don’t be slighted. She spent most of yesterday afternoon getting caught up on all your posts and well wishes. It was a pretty emotional afternoon for both of us.
Tomorrow is a big day for Renee – it is her first biopsy (she will have them weekly for a while) and it will dictate a lot of her near-term future. It will tell us if there is any rejection, and will also, to a large extent, dictate how long Renee stays here. The absolute best case, Jesus loves us, best scenario is Friday or Saturday of this week. It could be much longer, of course.
I went home last night to work on Renee’s room. The house is still there, and the cats were excited to see me. Very little got done on the room, but that is mostly because I dozed off while sitting on the couch, and woke up and went to bed. I am home again tonight because I have something work-related tonight I can’t get out of, and from there it is 5 minutes to home and 40 minutes to here.
I have to be honest – I am freaking out a little about having the house ready for her, and all of that – I will probably stay home all day Thursday and just work on that. I am trying to focus on her positive reports, and not focus on the mounds of medical bills we are racking up and the weeks of aftercare that are coming.
Yes, I know all y’all want to help, and information on that is coming. I am just focusing right now on not freaking out. You see, I am a post-processor, which means that as long as we are in crisis, I do great. Now that the crisis is calming, I am going to have to deal with everything I have locked away for the last week.
One of the things for which I am most thankful the last week is the Starbucks in the lobby here at the hospital. It is a real Starbucks – with earth tone colors, faux leather furniture and slightly over-roasted coffee.
Inside of there, it feels like every other Starbucks I have been in – I could be in Boise or Manhattan or Memphis. It is a soothing, normalizing experience to do something so normal as to order a Grande cup of Pike’s Roast, with some room for cream. They are open 24 hours a day, so it has been my touchstone place the last week – I have been there 4-5 times a day. (And thank all of you who have sent Starbucks gift cards. You guys have helped me keep my sanity.)
Peace and all good, HH
Day 9
Wednesday, August 19, 2015 at 2:56pm: Wednesday Update: Renee is continuing to improve. We are now one week since the transplant itself – it was 6:30am on Wednesday the 12th when she left the operation room with her new heart. They say the younger you are when you have your transplant, the faster you recover, but this seems amazing to me.
She is sitting in her recliner in the room most of the day, with excursions to walk the hallway and to get up to go to the restroom. She does easy laps around the hallway now, chatting the whole time. Renee has never, in the eight years I have known her, walked and talked at the same time – she simply couldn’t.
While I am writing this, we are waiting for her to get her first heart biopsy. This is a test she will take often – weekly for the first month and then bi-weekly for a while after that – that tells us whether her body is rejecting her new heart. The results of this test will determine when we get to go home, but we won’t know the results until tomorrow.
I am working on the house when I am not here – there are lots of things to prepare for Renee’s arrival. One of the best things for Renee’s recovery is that she maintain her physical activity – but she can’t go to the gym for a while, because of her compromised immune system.
We bought a recumbent bike today on Amazon, to put in the spare room for her to use in her physical rehabilitation. Thank God (and the many folks who have sent Amazon gift cards) we had just enough gift cards to cover it.
While I am on that subject – the bike is just one example of the many “not medical and thus not covered by insurance” expenses we are having right now, and will have for the next few years. Thank you for all the people who have sent gift cards – Amazon and otherwise. We really do appreciate it, and they help more than you know.
Tomorrow I should know more about the results of the biopsy and have a good grasp on discharge dates. #FeelingLoved HH
Day 10 Friday, August 21, 2015 at 11:24pm: Friday update: We were released from the hospital around 4PM, after Renee was disconnected from the monitors, had the last of the IVs removed and a parade of doctors, pharmacists, nurses and Physician’s Assistants came through, each with instructions and often, papers for us to take home. But finally, the last paper was signed, they called the orderly with the wheelie cart and us, many more bags than we came with, a walker and a bedside commode made our way down to valet parking to load up the family truckster and make our way home.
And now – we are home, Renee is sorting her mountain of medication and the kitties are up to their typical shenanigans. I made chicken tacos and we had dinner and everything felt remarkably… normal.
Except, it isn’t anything at all like normal. We have a pile of medicine on the kitchen table that says it isn’t normal. We have a bedside commode and a walker (both of which should be temporary) that says it isn’t normal. She fell as we came in the house, part laughing and part crying – not normal.
And Renee has a heart in her chest with no wires attached for the first time since she was 13, a heart beating so strong she says she can hear it in her ears. Nothing is normal. Scary? Yes. Amazing? Absolutely. Emotional? You have no idea. But nothing at all like normal.
The last 10 days or so have been life altering – for both of us. Renee has a new heart, I have a new wife. I told one of the doctors today that Renee walks and talks now – she never did before. I told him that I thought she was just quiet, but maybe she isn’t – maybe it was just hard for her to talk. I have never been married to Renee as a person who could be active.
She has never not needed me to help her. We are new people, in a new phase of our lives, looking forward to our new normal. We have felt tremendously loved over the last 10 days.
I don’t have the words to say everything I feel toward the folks who have prayed for us, loved us, called and texted, sent gifts and cards, donated cash and sent gift cards.
Especially the gift cards – they made survival possible. I ate my first meal at home tonight, after eating out for 3 meals a day for 10 days. Chicken tacos have never tasted so good.
The struggle isn’t over – in fact, it is really just starting. I had to call a friend tonight to sit with Renee while I went to the store – that sort of thing is going to have to happen a lot over the next few days.
Renee had the following conversation with the pharmacist:
Pharmacist: That medication is $94.
Renee: I thought insurance was supposed to cover it?
Pharmacist: Your insurance paid $1156 dollars of it.
Wow. Thanks, Obama. We are looking at so many medical bills in the weeks to come. The number of medications she is on is staggering. Just her moving around out little house is a challenge.
One day soon, I am going to have to go back to work. Life doesn’t stop just because your whole world changed.
This will be my last scheduled update – life at home moves at a slower pace (hopefully) than life at the hospital.
I will resume my regular programming – being the lovable curmudgeon whose love language is pot-stirring. I have been touched by the response to my daily posts – I am collecting them and will eventually publish a slightly edited version of them at my blog as a daily diary of such.
Given the reality of our financial situation, there will probably be a gofundme in our future to help with the medical bills. So much to be scared of. So many reasons to be afraid. But, at the end of the day, what matters to me is my girl got a new heart, and that is worth any amount of fear.
And we are always mindful that the reason she got that heart was because someone decided to donate their organs, paying the gift of life forward.
That a family we do not know engaged in an act of pure love – they didn’t love us, they just loved the idea of us – and to them, that was enough. And we are grateful.
The future is bright. And filled with fear. And so much love. According to John, love casts out fear. I am not just hoping that is true – we are counting on it.
Take care of yourself. And each other. HH
* * *
That was almost seven years ago now. Her recovery has been textbook – she hasn’t had an unplanned visit to the hospital since we left it that day, and all her signs and markers are great. She goes for a walk or swim most days, and we are now living our delightful, quite boring (in a good way) life.
On March 16th of 2020, I had a lunch meeting scheduled with a colleague. We had planned to go to Subway and eat, and then go to her office for a more formal meeting with a third person, but she was running late, so I grabbed the sandwiches to go and just brought them to her office.
I often said in the year that followed that what should have been my last meal in a restaurant for more than a year still ended up being take out. I haven’t relaxed in any public indoors space for almost two years now, and 900,000 Americans are dead.
There isn’t much more I can say about that. I mean, there is a lot more I want to say, but my saying it won’t make things easier, or better, or even make me feel better. In fact, it just makes me angry, and I’m trying not to do that these days.
But here we are.
The Buddhists tell us that our suffering comes from our attachment to a preconceived idea of how things ought to be. That tracks for me: I’m not mad I’m having many Zoom meetings every week – I’m mad because I think things ought to be the way they were this time in 2020 – when lunch with a colleague didn’t require D-Day levels of planning, when you could meet someone new and ask them out to lunch without wondering if they were science deniers or anti-vaccine folks. I believe it ought to be that way, and I’m frustrated that it is not.
* * *
One thing I like about swimming is that I can’t do anything else while I’m swimming. I can’t listen to podcasts. I can’t check my email. I can’t listen to an audiobook. All I can do is swim. And think.
I had a Zoom meeting earlier today. One of dozens I have already had six weeks into this year, as we approach the 2-year anniversary of when the world shut down.
The first six weeks or so, back in March of 2020, was a blur. The hunt for toilet paper. Essential workers. Musicians performing from home. Worksheets sent home from school for The Boy, who was living with us at the time. Zoom lunches. Working out grocery delivery, teaching people how to Zoom. Figuring out how to do church.
If I’m honest, I enjoy a good crisis. I obviously don’t like that people are suffering, but in a crisis, priorities become clear, the haze and grey areas burn away, and it’s always clear what needs to be done next. In a not-crisis time, my ADHD muddled brain often has trouble with what should be done next, but a good crisis makes things clear.
Another thing I love about a crisis is that it moves things faster. Priorities become clear for others too, and so instead of having 27 meetings, we can get things done.
But the mundane, the everyday, the slog – that stresses me out. And now we have entered the stage of this thing where we are still in crisis, but it has become routine. Sure, thousands of people die every day from this virus, but here’s a late fee for your phone bill.
I was thinking about all of this today, while swimming up and back, up and back, up and back.
* * *
I think this is just what we do now. This is just how life is. Each day feels like a Sisyphean challenge – dodge the virus, avoid people, try to stay connected, try to keep people you love safe, try to be as normal as possible while being reminded dozens of times a day that there is nothing normal about this at all.
Because normal is just another word for whatever you are used to, and I’ve exerted a lot of energy trying to not get used to this.
Like many of you, a whole lot of my time and energy these days is being spent trying to figure out how to live in this new reality. How to earn a living as a community builder when people are vectors of the virus and your family is immune-compromised. How to live with a brain that seeks variety when every damn day seems endless and repetitive. And trying to figure out, if this is what life is just like now, how to do it as well as you can, and in such a way as to bring hope to others as well.
I don’t have any answers. I am leaning in, though. I’m upgrading my office equipment – turning makeshift arrangements that have been cobbled together for the last 23 months into permanent features. I’m building new, virtual and distanced communities that didn’t exist before. I’m learning new skills that will be useful in whatever comes next. But mostly, I’m constantly trying to stay connected, to be creative, and to build a life in the midst of it all.
My personality is such that I get furious when others are mistreated, but tend to give little thought to how I am treated. I am always going to fight for someone else, even if I am largely unwilling to fight for myself. There have been times I walked away without getting paid rather than fight about it, or I have had to pay more than I should have had to rather than fight about it, yet let me see someone else get taken advantage of and I will go into full-bore Hulk-smash mode. I am a much better negotiator for you than I am for me.
This has not always led to positive outcomes for me.
For more than 12 years, I survived on rage. I was deep in the fight on behalf of people whose voices had long been suppressed, and the sheer rage I felt on their behalf kept me going, long after it was no longer a good idea for me to do so. This rage led me to fight a city, several neighborhoods, more than a handful of slumlords, at least three churches, and dozens of individuals. Rage was my fuel.
Rage as fuel, however, is not sustainable, and I burned out – literally. In the years since then, as I have been in recovery from that period in my life, I have been working hard on anger management, on acceptance, and on advocating better for myself. I’ve been trying hard to learn to survive on hope instead of rage.
Most days it seems to be working.
Today, however, it did not.
I have been involved in a local campaign around working to make sure Black-owned businesses get their fair share of the city contracts here. In a city that is 85% people of color, less than 5% of city contract dollars go to businesses owned by people of color. This has led to all sorts of interesting interactions with the business community, local politicians, and the media.
And today I got interviewed by someone in the press who managed to piss me off. As far as this story goes, it doesn’t matter how they did it or why they did it, but in any event, I got pissed. Experience has taught me that when you are angry and in front of a television camera, that is not the time to take it out on the person who has angered you, so there I was, on camera, getting angrier and angrier.
And then I got angry at myself because none of my hard-won coping mechanisms were working. I was getting angry that I was getting angry. But I survived the interview and lived to fight another day.
But I got angry. Like not the general, have-you-seen-the-news-generalized-hellscape angry, but I felt real, genuine rage, at someone else and then at me.
I let them get to me. That was… disappointing.
I’m OK. And it’s fine, really. Nobody got hurt, my passion probably moved some things forward, and I came home and went for a long walk, and watched the tiny sparrows play in the leaves that had gathered in the corners of the creek, and came to terms with the fact that I still have more work to do.
There have been times in my life when I knew a thing, innately, down in my bones, and yet I didn’t know it academically. Later, I would learn the academic or scientific basis for something that knew only in that visceral way, and then I would feel validated and sometimes comforted by now having language for a thing I only knew practically before.
I learned the other day that my style of cooking is called “Peasant Cooking”. This was not one of those times when having language for a thing you know will bring you joy.
But it’s not far off, I guess. We were working class folks – until I was 14 my Dad went to a job where he had his name on his shirt, and prosperity (and health insurance) hit our home when Mom got a job at the Walmart. (For some reason, she worked at the Walmart, but we shopped at Walmart, without the article. Vernacular is a funny thing.)
We ate good food, honest food that did not hide behind fancy names.
In my mid-twenties, I was upwardly mobile, and trying to get beyond my blue collar roots.
By chance and circumstance, I ended up at a fancy Italian restaurant with a client I desperately wanted to impress. To that point, my Italian food experience largely involved spaghetti and meatballs or Pizza Hut.
The client: They have the best polenta here. Do you like polenta?
Me: I love it.
Me in my head: WTF is polenta?
We ordered the polenta. I remember it was nearly $20 a plate, way back in the mid ‘90s.
When it came, we both dug in. It was amazing.
The client: What do you think about it? Good, huh?
Me: It’s amazing.
Me in my head: I just paid $40 for 2 plates of gotdamned fried grits and spaghetti sauce.
I had a similar experience when I first was served cauliflower in béchamel sauce. I have to give them credit – no way would I have had the gumption to pour milk gravy over boiled cauliflower and serve it to people I wanted to give me money, but people raised in town are a different breed.
Milk gravy – béchamel sauce, the French call it, and they have a word for everything – is an important thing to know how to make. If you can make milk gravy, you can eat nearly free for days and days without repeating anything. And there’s been several things I wanted to tell y’all about – like creamed chicken over rice, or sausage gravy and biscuits, or baked macaroni and cheese – that I can’t talk about without talking about white sauce, or béchamel, or milk gravy, whatever they called it wherever you happened to grow up.
Gravy scares people for some reason, but no reason it should. It’s just a series of steps, and if you follow them, it’s hard to screw up. But I will say this is a time to make sure you have your stuff all out ahead of time, because things are gonna move fast.
You will need all purpose flour, salt, pepper, whole milk, and butter. You could also use cooking oil, or bacon grease, or pretty much any fat, understanding they all change the flavor profile a bit. We often make this with the grease left over from something else (like the grease left when you cook sausage, or bacon, or the drippings from roast chicken, which is amazing) but I’m going to assume that if you don’t know how to make milk gravy, you probably don’t have a jar of bacon grease in your refrigerator, either.
In a small cast iron skillet, or a heavy sauce pan if you don’t have one, put in two tablespoons of butter and turn the heat to medium. While the butter is melting, get your measuring spoons and cups out, and then measure out two tablespoons of flour and a cup (8 ounces) of milk.
The flour you add to the melted butter – just scatter it thinly around on the surface of the melted butter and then take a whisk and stir the hell out of it. You want to mix the butter into the flour here – you will end up with a thick, clumpy sort of mush. You don’t want it to burn – now, some people like to let it “toast” a little, because some book told them to, but we don’t. I was told this was to cook out the flour taste, but their gravy just tastes burnt to me.
Once the flour and melted butter are well mixed – that’s called a roux, by the way (it’s pronounced “roo” – it’s French, but I learned it in New Orleans from Cajun folks. My people wouldn’t have had a word for it) – slowly add about 1/4th a cup of the milk, and begin whisking. The roux will suddenly start clumping up as it thickens. Keep whisking as you keep adding the milk in increments; add some milk, whisk it into the roux. Add more milk, and whisk it into the roux. Keep going until you are out of milk. Make sure you get the whisk into the corners of the pan, as the sooner you get the flour incorporated into the liquid, the better.
If you followed the instructions, you won’t have any lumps in the sauce. Add salt – opinions vary here, but I would try ¼ of a teaspoon and see how that works – and I usually add the same amount of ground black pepper.
You are going to have a bit more than a cup of gravy here, which is fine if you are putting this over rice, or toast, or mashed potatoes. The important thing is the fat to flour ratio is always 1:1. In this case, 2 tablespoons flour, two tablespoons of butter, 1 cup of milk.
It needs to cook for just a few minutes yet to thicken up. I usually put it on low and let it simmer while I set the table, but if it thickens up too much on you, just slowly drizzle water into it while whisking to thin it back down. If the opposite problem happens – if it’s way too thin because you didn’t follow the directions – do NOT try adding flour, or you will be sad. The safest way to deal with this is to just turn up the heat and cook off the liquid until it thickens. Either way, stir it periodically while it’s still over heat, as the edges will thicken faster than the rest.
Also, know that it will thicken a bit as it sets, so if you are trying to be fancy and are planning to put it in a gravy boat on the table, you will want it to be thinner than you expect it to be, or else you will have something that looks like oatmeal when it comes time to eat. But honestly, I usually make this as part of something else. It’s the basis for so many good things, but none of them involve cauliflower.
Most readers know this, but I wanted to state it clearly for anyone who is still here: I am now blogging exclusively over on my new website called Humidity and Hope. I am currently posting there six times a week, so if you have been missing your Hugh fix, you can get it there.
This site will still be here as a sort of virtual business card and a hub for my various online presences, and will use this as a place to store copies of sermons I have given, but I will no longer be blogging here.
I hope to see you over there! If you have questions, just shoot me an email at hughlhgmail.com and I will be happy to answer them.
I was 15 years old when I wrote my first short story. I have no idea what the impetus was for choosing the short story format, but if I had to guess, it would be because it would have seemed like less work since, you know, it was short. I wrote most of it in Study Hall and finished it at lunch, so, perhaps 2 hours was spent on this.
The experience was magical. Scenes and words were in my head and flowed from my fingers, pouring out like a gushing stream. I was so proud, and I showed it to three adults, all of whom I trusted, and all of whose remarks involved how violent it was, and I was made to see the guidance counselor as a result. I had no management.
I wish I could talk to 15-year-old Hugh. I wish I could tell him, as someone whose writing has appeared in magazines and newspapers and published books and other esteemed places that he had really good instincts. That his 800-word story that involved *checks notes* three scene changes, drug use, three homicides, teen pregnancy, and suicide was probably a little ambitious for his skill level, but that the plot was great for a first time effort, and that the plot twist at the end was ambitious as hell and something he should be proud of himself for trying.
I would tell him that he told when he could have shown, and that if all his knowledge of drug culture came from Miami Vice, maybe that shouldn’t be central to the story. I would also say how proud of him I was that he took a moral position in his writing, even if it is heavy handed, and that giving the drug dealer a Hispanic name was a bullshit move, but was no doubt also learned from Miami Vice.
Then I would have hugged him, and told him he could, at 15, do things and see things other people couldn’t, and that he could already tell a good story; that the people we trust don’t always know what to do with people like us who make things, and that sometimes they are afraid of us, and sometimes they are afraid for us, and because of that, we have to be careful who we let see the things that matter to us.
But mostly, I would have told him to keep going.
Content Warning: The following story is pretty violent to have been written by a 15 year old virgin who couldn’t bring himself to write out the word “fuck”, even if that is clearly what he was thinking, and involves depictions of murder and descriptions of suicide, but is pretty tame by modern movie standards.
* * *
David had been my best friend since kindergarten and I am a senior in high school now. David’s and my parents were out of town together and left us there so we could go to school Friday.
It was Friday night when, after drinking a ton of beer, David told me about his “enterprise”. He was taking cocaine and cutting it with roach poison so he could make more profit. I was appalled. The very idea of drug use repulsed me, let alone something as deadly as this. I knew David had been doing coke since 10th grade, but I couldn’t have believed him to be capable of so sadistic a crime as this. However, out of ignorance or fear, I ignored it.
Saturday afternoon, I went to his house and then we went over to the mall. That night, about 1AM, we pulled into a Circle K for gas.
“You pump the gas, Johnny,” he said. “I’ve got to use the john. Pull up and wait for me when you’re through.”
I pumped $10 worth and pulled up to the front of the store to wait for David. Rstless, I got out nd was pacing in front of the store when a move caught my eye.
Why was the store owner holding his hands in the air? Why was the woman screaming? WHY GOOD GOD? Why was David holding a gun? The old man handed David a wad of money, and David shot him in the forehead. His wife never stopped screaming. Wet sticky pieces ofher husband’s skull sliding down the wall and all this woman can do is scream.
“Shut up!” David yelled.
The woman continued to scream.
“Shut up, I said!”
David emptied the gun into her chest. The woman, not willing to die, lay writing on the floor.
I know all of this could not have taken more than 5 or 6 seconds, but everything seemed to be moving in slow motion.
David hopped in the truck.
“Drive, dammit! Drive!”
David gave me directions to his “place”. As I drove, my sphincter muscles were clenched tight with fear. Here I was, sitting next to a double murderer, who was calmly sitting there. Every time I would look at David, I instead would see that old woman, writing on the floor, spitting up pink blood.
David’s place was an old beat up shack at the old railyards I had heard about it for years, but this was the first time been there.
David was bad off. It had been six hours since his last hit and he looked pretty bad. He was shaking and breathing fast. Even though it was November 8th he was sweating like a cold water pipe in the middle of July.
“Did you see them? Did you see that woman scream,” David asked?
David had went pretty far before, but this was it. He had done the unthinkable. He had killed 2 innocent people in cold blood. I made up my mind. In the morning I was going to call the cops. I had a load of scholarships, and I did not want this to mess them up.
“Johnny”.
He was whimpering, crying with joy from the money and pain from his habit. It was too much. I flew into him.
“Dammit, why did you rob that store?”
“Why not?”
“You killed 2 people for…” I counted the money “245 dollars. Why?”
“I needed the money to buy a rock. I can make over $2,000 with that.”.
“Damn.”
I was disgusted. Then it was about the same old thing. Money.
“Look Johnny. Go to the mall. Just outside the door is a guy named Ramone. Tell him it’s for me, and give him the money. He will give you a package, OK?”
Why I agreed, I’ll never know. Maybe I was still in shock over what happened. Or, maybe I already had an idea of what would happen.
Well, I went to the mall and got his package. I also stopped by the hardware store.
I went into the shack. David was sweating bad. I gave him the package and he tore it open like a kid at Christmas. He cut a line and snorted his life-giving powder. Revolting how one’s life could be dependent on something so terrible.
He stood up, euphoric, for about 30 seconds. Then he toppled, fell, face first onto the floor, writhing and hacking at the fluid in his lungs. Amazing what effect roach poison and coke will have on a person.
If I live to be 100, I will never forget how he looked at me as if I had betrayed him. Well, maybe I had, but what I have done is wipe a little of the scum off the earth. Is that so bad? I know I must answer in hell for what I’ve done, but my girlfriend is pregnant, and I want my kid to grow up in a decent world.
The above was the author’s last words, found in a sealed letter beside his body. He shot himself through the head at approximately 4AM Sunday morning.
I tend to be very pragmatic. It’s not that I don’t have room for the supernatural: It’s just that it has, in my experience, often been used as an excuse by people who don’t really want to actually take tangible action.
Many is the time when I have been faced with needs that surpassed my abilities and have asked for real, tangible help – Help me get this person fed. Help me pay this person’s light bill. Help me get this person a job. Help me get this person some clothes. – and I have been assured of their prayers.
They often reply to my Facebook request with a hasty “Praying!”, apparently in such a rush to get on their knees and beseech the Almighty on our behalf that they can’t use sentences. The fervent prayers of the righteous may avail much, but in my experience, landlords require negotiable tender.
My friend Kathy once wrote a fundraising letter, and when someone replied that they were praying for her organization to have the resources they need, she replied back that their prayer team was full, and they really just needed somebody to write checks.
That said, I have had experiences I cannot explain pragmatically. As my buddy Brian said, I hate it when my experience of God contradicts my theology. So, I try to be open minded, especially as I strive hard to not yuck somebody else’s yum, and I never want to take away something that brings somebody comfort.
This has led me to interesting places over the years. Meditation retreats. Sweat lodges. Pentecostal worship services. Folk slain in the Spirit. Other folk speaking in tongues. Prayer walks. Beads. Dream catchers. Familiars. Teas and tinctures. Spells. Healing services. Oil anointing. Tibetan singing bowls. Sitting with the dead.
All of which is a preamble to my friend Amy, who several weeks back mentioned she was starting up a book group around The Artist’s Way, and did I want to be part of it.
Which is how I have ended up writing three pages longhand every morning for the last two weeks as I lean into the program, which involves, among other things, writing three pages longhand every morning, in a ritual they call Morning Pages.
Now, I will confess, it seemed somewhat silly to me, but I am doing it. And because I have learned that rituals are important, and the more I take a ritual seriously, the more value I will get from it, I have tried to ritualize it as much as possible.
The same time, every morning. The same notebook, that I don’t use for anything else. I bought a special pen that I use for writing these pages, and I always start them the same way. In short, I am taking it seriously.
Now, I don’t know if this will “work”. In fact, I am unsure how I would know if it did work, or define what I expect it to do. But I can tell you that somewhere after day 7, it ceased to be a chore, and now I actually look forward to it. And the other day, I kept going after my three pages were done, because I had more stuff still waiting to come out. And Friday morning I had an idea for a book come to me while I was doing it, for which I have since done a rough outline.
And I’m just getting started – I committed to another 13 weeks of this. And while I can’t make a pragmatic case for it, I guess it doesn’t hurt to be open to the woo-woo, either.
For a while in my 30’s, I lived in Midtown Memphis. It was a magical place, and still the best “scene” I have ever belonged to.
I had friends who were authors, musicians, lawyers, doctors, shopkeepers, poets, and gallery owners. I routinely went to art gallery openings, CD release parties, and book signings. For part of that time I owned a small coffee shop, and on Saturday nights we would have live music, so I came to know jazz piano players, bass guitarists, and plain old rockabilly vocalists.
And one of the people I knew was an Elvis impersonator.
Now, I don’t know what your mental framework for an Elvis Impersonator is, but he probably wasn’t that. For one thing, he didn’t look terribly much like Elvis, and he preferred the title “tribute artist”, anyway.
But man could he sing. He had the whole range, so he could do Hound Dog, or Jailhouse Rock, or Blue Christmas, or even In the Ghetto. He was pretty popular, and stayed busy enough that he made a living from his performing, which few folks do.
He never performed at my shop – we were too small for him – but he often came by if we had a band in, and one night he hung till we closed the doors. He and I closed the place down that night, sitting in the corner table, drinking red wine from plastic cups and soaking the night in, neither of us willing to break the spell and have it end.
He told me about his career – how he had tried to make a living as a singer-songwriter, and had almost had a record deal, when the guy he was dealing with committed suicide and it all went away.
“And so now you make a living singing someone else’s songs.” I said, sounding more judgmental than I meant to. “Does that ever bother you?”
“Most people sing other people’s songs,” he said. “The difference is, I make a living doing it, and most of them don’t. And I get to make a living making people happy, and using my voice, and it’s lovely. It isn’t what I had planned, but it’s good. And besides – it never works out how you think it will, anyway. And that’s OK.”
There is a long list of things I cannot do. That isn’t negative self-talk – it’s just the truth. My attempts at drawing have always fallen prey to my hand-to-eye coordination, and my mental box of colors is the 9 color box of crayons, not the 64 crayon box. Grey literally is my favorite color. I cannot sing or, heck, carry a tune. I’m tone deaf.
In short, visual and musical arts are both closed worlds to me. I don’t understand them, and I mean that literally. When my wife listens to music, she actually hears things I do not. When I was about 8 years old, my mom’s friend offered to teach me the piano, and that lasted 3 lessons, until my tone deafness became obvious.
And so, I came to believe that I was not “creative”.
Which is, objectively, silly. I mean, just today, on my day off, I have drafted a synopsis and first draft of an outline for a book I want to write. Then I spent time building out a new website to sell the items which I hand carve, and then went to the church to sketch out plans for part of the renovation there I am spear-heading. I came home and planted a rose bush, which will be the cornerstone of a memory garden I am planning, and I’m now writing a blog post, which will contain a story and which will finish out around 700 words, and what’s more, I’ve done more words than that daily for months now. And after I eat, I will go out to my workshop and carve some spoons and spatulas of my own design, which people will pay me money for.
I’m creative as hell. I’m just not a musician.
I guess what I’m saying is, it doesn’t always work out how you want it to. And that’s OK.
I was talking to a friend the other day about the challenges of blogging every day. I told her that sometimes, I am unsure what I ought to write about.
“But you have lots of stories,” she said.
“Oh, sure,” I said. “But not all stories are worth telling, and I don’t want to just tell a story to tell it. It sort of has to mean something.”
“Well,” she said. “I wish you would tell that story about the Bible.”
“Which story from the Bible?”
“No,” she said. “Not from the Bible. That story about your Bible. You know, the one on your desk.”
“Oh.”
The Bible on my desk is nothing to look at. If you were looking for a generic idea of what a Bible should look like, it would look like this one. It’s black leather, with gilt edges and a black ribbon to mark your place, and in gold script in the lower right-hand corner, has a name embossed that is not mine.
This Bible is nothing special on its own, but it is very important to me. Thoreau said the value of a things lies in what of we have to give up to obtain it. By that measure, it is one of the more valuable things I own – not from what I gave up, but what was given up for it to come into my possession.
It’s the King James Version – a no longer fashionable version first published in 1611, with archaic language that uses thee and thou as pronouns. In my experience, two kinds of people still use the King James Version. The first is people who grew up using it, who find the language comfortable and soothing, who relish the poetic notes as the language of devotion. The second is people who desire a scripture that is fixed in time, an immutable authority that does not change.
I am the first sort of person. Matt was the second.
He first came in my office perhaps nine years ago, just off the bus from Virginia, where his marriage had ended because of his chemical addiction. He had an ex-wife and a daughter, neither of who would talk to him, and he had been raised by a grandmother, now dead. She had given him the Bible he carried everywhere, with his name embossed in gilt on the front.
Matt would come to the church I was at in those days and lead us in hymns he knew, which were the most strict sort, involving lots of blood atonement and proclamations of our unworthiness. He believed in a wrathful, powerful God in a way I have never believed in anything. He could cite obscure scriptures to “prove” his points, and when he was sober – which came and went – he was a kind and gentle soul.
He would go away (several times) for a while in rehab, and he would write me letters filled with Biblical citations and affirmations of his complete recovery when he was released. Sadly, his aspirations always exceeded his abilities, for Matt never lasted more than a month outside of rehab before he was using again.
One day he walked into my office. He looked like hell, and had his Bible in his hand.
“Preacher, this is my Bible. My granny gave it to me when I got saved at a revival when I was a teenager. I don’t want to lose it – will you hold onto it for me?”
Of course I would.
Matt began a steady descent after that day. I wonder sometimes if the responsibility of keeping track of his one prized possession hadn’t been good for him. I don’t know – I just know that after that, he spiraled down quickly.
One day he came in, relatively sober, and asked if I still had his Bible. I told him I did, and asked if he wanted it back.
“Not yet,” he said. “You keep it for me until I am ready for it.”
That was the last time I saw Matt. He disappeared, and I later learned he had died one night in a storm, drowning in a drainage ditch while high on paint fumes.
Matt didn’t make it, but I still have his Bible. It sits on my desk, and I will pick it up most days and thumb through it – sometimes looking for comfort, but other times when I need to be reminded of truths I know, but am prone to forget.
The page at the front of the Bible where marriages are to be recorded has Matt and his wife’s names written in, but her name marked through and obliterated, serves to remind me that things don’t always go like we wish they would. The underlined verses about the wrath of God and the power of God (but never about the love of God) remind me that people like Matt, who in this life was powerless but loving, needed a God who was what he wasn’t. The embossed cover with his name on it, a gift from his Granny, reminds me that as broken and discarded as Matt was when I knew him, he was once loved and prized by his family, and that all of us have a back story – none of us are the worst thing other people know about us.
But mostly, this old Bible reminds me that you don’t always win. When I read from it, I am reminded that no one ever wanted to be sober as much as Matt, and that just wanting it is never enough.
