A Letter To Grandpa

Ray E. Tucker passed away on February 22, 2006. I think of him every day.

Dear Grandpa,

 Today I made coffee in  the white coffee mug with the flag pattern that you bought at the PX almost ten years ago, and I thought of you. I also thought of you when I added creamer to my coffee. I could practically hear you say, "Katie, you've adulterated a perfectly good cup of coffee with that milk." I remember you telling me about your first cup of coffee on the train to Parris Island for your Marine boot camp, and how much you loved it after being awake and exhausted for hours.

You were a Christian in the truest sense of the word. You thought that God loved people, and that people were basically good, and that it was our duty to love and respect those we come into contact with. You lived this despite the horrors you saw on Iwo Jima and in Korea, and lived your life in service to your country, your family and God. You were such a gentleman, always, to those that know you. Neighbors at the Bay still remark on what a fine gentleman you were, and I couldn't agree more.

 Now, Grandpa, we both know that you also weren't perfect. I used to get so mad when I'd mow your yard for two hours and you'd come out and point out the 1 foot area that I missed and make me remow it. Or when I had to surreptitiously sort the mounds of mail you received to separate the bills from the junk mail and you'd yell at me, though we eventually came to an unspoken agreement, that as long as you weren't in the room when I sorted it, you'd accept the much reduced pile as the mail you needed. Or when I didn't wash the dishes before putting them in the dishwasher at the house in town, and you'd make me redo them.

 But now, those annoyances make you still real to me. I cherish those small moments, the annoyances, or little laughs, or grocery trips, that we had that connected us. I remember when I told you I had to put Penny down, and I was so afraid you'd be mad, but you looked at me with such love and said, "Katie, you do what you can." And I knew you meant it, and understood, and loved me.

 I remember when, after Grandma died, I came to visit and found you over the newspaper, and you looked up and said, "I keep thinking she is still here, and I call out to her to read her something from the paper, and I remember she's gone." I thought that you two knew such love, and that that was such a blessing, and that I was so lucky to be a part of this family thread filled with love.

 Most of all, I remember walking the beach at the Bay with you, as a child, when I thought you'd dug out the slough for me alone, and as an adult, when you reminisced about your first marriage, and your career, or we talked about our family history, and we laughed as we looked for shark's teeth, and I told you about my boy troubles, or work, and we just enjoyed the Bay.

 You gave me so much love and joy and I learned so much from you. I miss you, but I'm mostly so grateful to have had you in my life, Grandpa. I know you didn't believe in an afterlife, but I also know that you live on in the memories of your family, and we'll never forget you.

Thanks for everything, Opa. Tonight, I'll listen to Satin Doll and Moon River, and think of you, and smile.

Love,
Katie

I went "home" to the East coast last week. It was awesome to seem Mom and Dad and also some really amazing friends. Absence does make the heart grow fonder, and seeing my friends- and also, my mom and dad interacting with my friends- made me realize how lucky in life I've been. No, I don't have a boyfriend/husband/significant other. Nor do I have babies. Both of which I totally thought I'd have by now. But I have these amazing people in my life, whom I really don't know if I'd have had time to forge relationships with if I DID have those other things. Good thing to remember.

 But then, because of a stupid burn (or a few, but whatever), I've been out of my job for a week, and have to be out for another week, which is super irritating. Actually, not even irritating, but depressing. I like my job, I like my friends at work, and I'm sad not to be able to BE THERE right now. Argh.

 Anyway, just some thoughts.

Breaking down

My body feels like it is breaking down. I managed to tear my left trapezius at a track workout, and still haven't recovered. I'm sick AGAIN, and had to call into work. I feel like I'm never going to be well. I usually have so much energy, but lately, my reserve just isn't there and it is so frustrating!! I just want to go for a run, be able to make it through 12 hour shifts and be WELL. I get so irritated with people who constantly focus on their poor health and I'm becoming one of those people. AARRRGHHH!!!!

Eagle

Today I went for the first run of the New Year. Predictably, there were way, way, WAY more people than normal at my favorite running spot around Greenlake in Seattle. I've heard people snarkily poo-poo the people that resolve to get out at the beginning of the year, spending time outside, or at the gym, and (this is what really eats them up) taking up what "the regulars" think of as "their" space, as though the people who are making the first effort towards health are less worthy of the gym equipment or running space or whatever than those who've been at it more consistently. I think that's crap. Everyone has to start somewhere, and the New Year is a natural time for reflection in our society. So as I veered around 5 times the amount of traffic at Greenlake, I smiled. Thank goodness everyone was outside, enjoying the beautiful day, with friends and family. Better to be making a fresh start of it, and enjoying the day, than sitting at home on the couch, not using your body. And I think that today, nature agreed with me, because for the first time since I came back to this city I love, a bald eagle was perched in the top of a pine tree at Greenlake, and there were so many people out to see his (maybe her?) magnificence. So thanks, eagle, for sharing yourself with all of us on a beautiful winter's day in Seattle.

Ol' reliable runnin' endorphins

Today I really dragged my feet to go running.

First, I had to go to get blood drawn.

Then had to take The Dog to the vet.

Then I had to eat lunch.

Then, after I finally got my running clothes on, it started POURING. Not just sprinkling, or a little rain, but POURING.

So I watched a crap TV show on Bravo and did situps and pushups. Not because I love doing them and am dedicated, but because it was doing work that avoided going out in the sludge.

Then my roommate came home, and we talked.

Then I mentioned the word 'run,' and my two running dogs went NUTS, and I was forced to head out.

But first, I needed to get a hat. And my ID. And my iPod. By this time, the dogs were giving me a look of what I can only describe as consternation, mixed with a smidgen of betrayal, as in "I can't believe you'd wear those clothes, say that WORD, and then not go do it!"

So I posted on Facebook that I ran. That did it.

And I had the most TREMENDOUS run. My legs felt loose and strong, my breathing was good, the dogs didn't tug too much, and the rain was heavenly (literally). It felt like I could've gone forever. I passed other runners, who were also smiling with the joy of the rain and the evening and being healthy enough to run. I was listening to my favorite running music, and my stresses melted away with the raindrops. There is nothing like a good run, nothing!

Gratitudes

I'm grateful when someone says, "Hey, K, are you in triage today?" and I say yes, they smile and say, "Could you come now?"

I'm grateful that when I'm out with a lovely coworker who asks when I'm working next, and I name a day he is working, he smiles and pumps his fist.

I'm grateful that there is a back way from Safeway to my house, so I can avoid the traffic brought on by the upscale shopping village near my home.

I'm grateful to my grandfather, who told me, "Fat tastes good!" when I'm eating a steak, without the fat cut off.

I'm grateful I can run.

I'm grateful for my dog, who comes and sits near me when I'm sad, and bounds and jumps for joy when I'm happy.

I'm grateful that I talk to my brothers regularly, and that we matter to each other unabashedly, that our childhood made us close rather than distant as the years progress.

I'm happy to have been there the first time my brother felt his child move in his wife's belly, and to witness his joy and wonder.

I'm happy for my friends at work, from school, and from all the various places I've lived.

I'm grateful for my parents, who have given my my foundation of strength, intelligence and love.

I hear affirmations all the time, and usually find them forced, but these are mine, and I am glad I can put fingers to keyboard today to type them.

Taking It's Toll

I love my job, but it takes it's toll. That phrasing popped into my head today as I was ruminating over some really sick, really sad patients that I had yesterday. Taking it's toll.

 A toll is a price one has to pay in order to travel a particular road that one wants be on. (More specifically, it is usually a privately funded road, but let's not let facts get in the way of my metaphor. :) I love my job. Usually, I love my patients. I can usually find a reason to like anyone I take care of, at least for a little while. Most people are redeemable, I believe. I like the teamwork and the fast pace of my job. I like when people come in with problems we can fix. I am satisfied with my life, in large part because I feel my job has meaning to me and others.

 But there is a price to be paid. I can go for weeks and sometimes months without allowing the emotion of the workplace to affect me, but sometimes, without warning, it slides into my psyche. Last night I had two very sick patients, neither of whose prognosis was known in the ER, and they and their families touched my heart and I gave everything I could into their care, more than just professionalism, but my energy. I hope it made a difference, and in some way, I think it may have, even if just for a moment. I am honored by my job and was honored to take care of them.

 But today I woke up exhausted and teary, thinking of them, and their families, and the long, long road they are going down. That's the toll. I have receive so many gifts from my job, but I also pay the emotional price. It is a trade I'm willing to make, because it is worth the price.

 So today, I watched a TV show, drank my coffee, and am now going to spend time with a good friend. I'll recover. My life isn't playing out in a hospital, at least not yet, and hopefully not for many years. I choose to recover, and regain my emotional strength, and enjoy my life. Because I know more than many, as I see every day in my job, that life can change in an instant. So, I choose energy, and friendship, and strength, and manicures and pedicures, and taking delight in the ridiculous.

This is a poor, awkward explanation, but it will do for now. Live life. Enjoy it. Know it's gifts, take delight in your relationships. Because if you can't do that, it isn't worth the toll. And if you can, and I hope you can, it absolutely is.