more on breathing

yesterday, i visited my grandfather in the icu. last week, he was having trouble breathing and my mom noticed it on the phone. a couple days after my mom mentioned her concern, he fell over in his house, hitting his rib cage, collapsing his lung. while in the hospital for that, they discovered some sort of serious intestinal infection that has rendered him almost unconscious for the past 6 days. my grandmother, who he normally takes care of full time since he retired, was released this week from the hospital after what they thought was congestive heart failure. because grandpa can't care for her, she's now staying in a retirement village alone until grandpa can join her when he is released from the regular hospital.

walking into the icu, i didnt have a clue what i would see, except the warnings from my family that he "didnt look good" and they'd never seen him this way and i didnt have a clue how i would feel, except perhaps sad and maybe overwhelmed, but i think if you expect overwhelmed, its hard to get there.

entering his room, i saw my aunt standing next to him and how he moved his eyes from her to me, but it was only just the slits of his eyes. and he moved his mouth, but just the corners, up a bit, "hi kris." and i wanted to touch him, but we can't, he might be contagious. and i wanted to hug him, but there were all these tubes in and out and monitors beeping, warning. and i wanted to say something, anything, to make it different, but i can't, because there wasnt anything.

"hi grandpa"

and his head was back and forth and he ached a bit from all the tubes and discomfort and he wanted to say something, to be something else, to be the man i knew, who never even had a cold and who took care of everyone else and who wasnt this.

we exchanged a few words, but it took him a long time to respond to anything i said, his mouth just open, wanting to form words.... but it only just short breaths, just stifled air.

"grandpa.," i said, scared that what i would say would go nowhere, "this week, we were just learning about how the name of God, when spoken in the language of the bible, sounded just like these short breath sounds. and how breathing was a really important part of representing our faith... and how some people think that in some mysterious way, just our breathing is speaking the name of God. So dont worry about saying anything to us, or to him, just work on your breathing. Cause He can hear it, He knows your breaths." and he just scrunched up his face like he wanted to cry, saying my name, "kris, oh kris" and i want to think he got it, that somehow inside, he understood.

"i love you, i love you."

"i love you, so much."

he was having a hard time not talking, and was in so much pain, needing medication, needing rest. so we started to go. i leaned over and prayed for him, prayed for strength and healing and peace. and thanked God for the way this man, who has spent the last 20 years caring, many of them full time, for my grandma, whose diabetes have caused a very slow decline of her body.

two things kept going through my mind.

i kept remembering his rosary, which he kept by his armchair-- evidence of his faith, which he spoke about only a little bit, and acted on almost all the time. so i knew this prayer meant something to him.

and i kept being reminded of the fact that he has laid down his life for my grandmother, just as Christ laid down his life for the Church. he laid down his life for her, he laid down his life for her... i just kept hearing it.

breathe

I found out recently that I don’t know how to breathe.

We watched rob bells newest nooma video, breathe, at our prayer meeting this past Monday night. It was the third time I had seen it, and its all about the spiritual significance of breathing… how the greek word for Lord was "YHWH" and the way it was pronounced or spoken was as vowels, essentially as breathing sounds, as breath. And so rob bell does, as only rob bell can, an incredible job of weaving an engaging narrative/stream of conscious monologue around this metaphor/reality (are spiritual metaphors only metaphors to our practical minds? Are they, in fact, not metaphor but the simple reality of our existence as creatures of God? Is breathing itself speaking the name of God?). And as he spoke about the fact that most of our breath should be from our stomach (deep breath) and less from our chest (shallow breath) and that it gives us 90% of our energy, but the average person only taps in to 10-20% of the energy breath offers, and about how as a whole, our society is so harried and so busy and so stressed, that it takes 4 times more breaths per minute than we are supposed to, I found myself unable to even breathe just thinking about it. I became suddenly conscious of my most basic bodily function (one that, perhaps, in some mysterious way is simply speaking the name of God constantly, from my first to last breath, just breathing his Name) and realized I don’t think I know how to breathe. Because when I started paying attention to my breathing and where it comes from (mostly my chest) and how often (too often), I began to confuse the natural rhythm I thought I had with the learned way I actually breathe. Am I breathing too shallowly? Am I breathing too fast? Am I doing it wrong? Have I learned to do it wrong from the beginning and now I need to relearn? Shouldn’t this just come naturally?

This was the third time I had seen this video in a week, and each time, I got self conscious about my breathing, trying to breathe well, but not being able to think my way through it. and still writing this and suddenly being conscious of it again,

I am worried I don’t know how to breathe.

answers

i feel like i have been answering a lot of questions... for work, mostly, because i am the go to girl for most anything. but when people come to you with those deeper questions- concerning tragedy, direction, possibility, hope, clarity, clarification, confusion- i begin to wonder if i am in any place to say a thing.

i think, in all my desire to fix the world, i want to have the answers. but to continually perpetuate my worldview and my experiences (which are the thing with which i have shaped my answers by), i get worried.

cause what if my worldview is wrong?

what if my experiences don't cross all the divides between us?

what if what i see right now is nothing compared to what i will see then?



cause this person i am now is so far from what i was even just a year ago.

can i settle on leaving things at a question mark?

the inability to stop hoping

in coming out of something you expected to work- a relationship, a job, a friendship, anything of true significance to the heart- you have a hard time letting go of it. even if you logically understand that it was not good for it to continue, or that it had to end, or that you had no choice for whether it ended it or not and you have to accept where it is right now- you still hold on to the hope it promised you at the time of it being good/healthy/present. why? can't our logic overide our emotion here? why do we cling to hope in something that is finished?

i am watching that in many ways, in many people i know, in myself- that inability to stop hoping. even after so much time has passed, even after all discussion has been had, and all conclusions drawn, the tiniest bit of hope can still remain. you have reasoned every reason, but light still shines somewhere in that dark room with the door closed, uninvited. unexpected.

though painful in so many ways, because it can rob you of whats right now, i realized last night that i actually should find it inspiring, this inability to stop hoping. maybe hope is so strong, so powerful a force, that when you have it for someone, something, some situation, it takes time for that hope in that thing to change.

perhaps, hope is so powerful, that it never really goes away. maybe when you have hope in what was good at one time, its a hope in what is good at all times.

maybe we need to learn to hope transfer. i hope i dont lose my inability to stop hoping.