Friday, July 31, 2009

I remember

I Remember

I remember the intensity of her gaze
the round, full, copious words she offered
and her laughter, those rivers of laughter
cascading like the morning sun
on my dry and lonely soul.

I remember her flowing hair
playing freely with the wind,
we sang, we walked, we wrote,
Oh, how we talked!
Oh, how we dreamed!

I remember our hands entwined,
her blithe manner full of light,
and then a hug, and then a smile,
and then light slashing through the dark
through that one crack on my wall

I remember opening our hearts
to this brilliant miracle of life.
Basking in this boundless love
we were eagles soaring high,
way high in an cloudless sky

I remember whispering a hope,
the innocent brainchild that love
would always shelter us from pain,
its light would shine the dark away,
when the voice of blood said: No!

I remember her life next to the abyss
while the long fingers of blood
were writing something on her brain,
unconscious, she was free of pain,
while I stumbled in my own

I remember the scars on his hands
while he held mine in a caring clasp,
I was brokenhearted, feeling smashed,
I saw a thousand cracks spreading on my wall,
and an unyielding light seeping through them all

He said, it was through pain that he’d showed love
and walking into the abyss that he brought life.
I remember my darkness slowly turning into joy,
regardless of her broken words...

F. Carrillo

Friday, July 10, 2009


Six months and two days. That's the record for now. For the first two and a half years the seizures happened once every three months.

I feel disappointed because with a new event, Jan's hope of driving one day moves further into the future. She has to be free of seizures for one year to be able to take again the driving test and obtain a license. Her freedom of movement is on hold, although she can move in the public transit very well.

This time it happened as we were having breakfast. She began chanting as she does when she feels an aura. Five seconds later she sprang to her feet and went to the sink facing the window and continued singing, this time louder. Within 5 or 6 seconds she turned towards me with arms outstretched and began the seizure standing! I run to her and clutched my arms around her waist. I was afraid she would collapse and hurt herself. But her body was already rigid and the shaking began in seconds. I lifted her and carried her to the bedroom. I had to negotiate the doors because her arms remained in an outstretched position. I placed her on the bed and waited about a minute and a half until the seizure stopped. She was unconscious for about three minutes and then opened her eyes, but she didn’t really see anything. Hey eyes were fixed in space. She was moaning. I covered her and wiped her saliva from her face. About five minutes later, she was back, she was conscious again. She could follow my movements and shifted her body to a more comfortable position by herself. She could not talk for about an hour. She began crying more out of disappointment than out of pain. I brought some tea and lay there with her for about 20 minutes, until she fell asleep.

I had mixed feelings the rest of the day. On the one hand, I felt more decisive in my reactions and decisions during and after the seizure; on the other hand, I was pained to see my wife suffering like this. Waves of compassion and sadness came and went. I did not struggle anymore with the feeling of powerlessness I used to have. I did not argue with God or asked the usual why? I felt some resignation, and wondered what was the meaning of all this, was this a way to test our individual faith and resilience? Is this the “wilderness” we have to endure in order to be ready? I felt tired.

About two hours later, Jan woke up and said she was feeling fine. She thought that the recovery time was getting shorter, however, later in the day she felt again weak and dizzy.

We count our blessings –including the aneurysm and the aftermath- I know that we have been given wonderful lives, I just have to find the strength to focus on the blessings and not on the illness. Tough goal.