The verdict today @ Cleveland Clinic, by Dr. Paul Bryson the Great:
At 9 a.m. EST Tuesday, June 26, 2012, Dr. Bryson is permanently closing the “irreversible” tracheostomy hole that has defined/defaced my throat for almost three years now.
Permanently, as in, forever.
Permanently, as in, I can again wear my beautiful Hepburn-esque double strand of pearls.
Permanently, as in, I will be teaching my three-year-old son, William, to swim underwater in about three weeks.
Then, onward and upward to the HIGHEST DIVING BOARD I CAN FIND! Somersaults, back dives, swan dives, CANNONBALLS!!!Going underwater and staying there for as long as possible in a tub full of sea salt. BRITISH VIRGIN ISLANDS! Tortola, Hawaii, the Keys, California coast, St. Barth’s. Mexico. Ile-de-France. All, someday, i pray, with my son by my side.
My dreams and my faith that dreams indeed, come true.
Manifestation now happening. Must believe. Failure no longer an option. As if it ever was?
In my mind’s eye, I am already hurling myself into the sea at Main Beach, Maidstone, Georgica, Ditch, Toilet Bowl, Turtles, and,
most importantly and poignantly of all, TERRACE.
At Terrace, this I will do with the utmost glee and joie de vivre — to honor my long-departed beach buddy, Alexander Lowenstein.
(I know your tanned 21-year old face is smiling that big blinding grin at me, wherever you are. And that wherever you are is someplace “TOTALLY AWESOME, DUUUUUDE!”)
This I will cherish to seize the rest of my days here on this earthly plane. This I will do to make up for the days you lost by leaving us too soon, on a 747 at age 21.
Not a day goes by that I do not think of you. And laugh.
Thank you for teaching me more from a beach chair then I ever learned at school.
R.I.P. Alexi. We love you…like you loved us, if that is at all possible. You ARE love. Can you hear me?
I miss you. Like nuts. Still.
R.I.P. Alexi Lowenstein 1967-1988.
And MILLE GRAZIE from the bottom of my Sicilian heart TO ALL MY FRIENDS for holding my hand through these past horrific three years of
*outliving a purported diagnosis of “TERMINAL” (at least it got me out of my pinstriped suits and DEVIL WEARS PRADA life!)
*being pregnant alone,
*surviving two comas,
*re-learning how to walk, talk, eat, and breathe,
*living on a respirator,
*getting OFF said respirator,
*doing my best under dire circumstances to raise my son William as a single mama (WITH TONS of Help, mind you. OMG. GRATITUDE)
to be the pure love and light that he is,
*and um, er…CATCHING ON FIRE from the waist up five months ago.
PHEW!!! My, what a long, strange trip it’s been. And I would do it all again. I have learned much, been humbled, and am stronger than I ever deemed humanly possible.
I have discovered something called RADICAL ACCEPTANCE.
SUFFERING IS AN OPTION.
HAPPINESS IS A CHOICE.
I am so happy. Every day that I am breathing is a good day.
No one can take this away from me.
LIVE LIFE WHILE YOU ARE HERE! Please, please.
I have seen the face of Death three times now.
DON’T go there.
Unless, of course, your time here is done.
Then, go to the light. I did.
It is warm and lovely and tempting and people you know are there calling and reaching out for you, but
you cannot change your mind should you forget to
say to someone here,
“i love you.”
i love you.
i love you. i have always loved you. i will always love you.
Hey. I LOVE YOU! Thiiiiiiiiiissssss much!
Always, always in love. Be always in love.
the purest love of all. i would die for you, baby boy.
Be always in love, and always in joy. This, you can never buy.
Leaving on a jet plane. April 2008. Post-coma, 78 pounds, pumped with morphine. I conceived the love of my life about three weeks after this was shot.
i think i was a ghost already when this was shot. I am haunted still, every minute of every day. It’s eerie and beautiful.
bardo of rebirth brought great relief.
The present. Forget the past after it has taught you, however harshly.
You may get burned very badly if you do not listen carefully …
Listen. And then grow.
grow, little one. you are loved beyond measure.
Spirit Horse. 2004, oil and glass beads on board. 2×3.5′. Collection Karen Clarke, NYC.