Archive for the ‘relationships’ Category

In Absence of Love

Alone is a simple enough word to comprehend, but for some of us it is a fact of life. We linger in a world without the recognition of our opposite sex and we only find solace in our dreams.

In our dreams, we remember the touch of a woman, but it is only an illusion. When we stir from our slumber, awakening to reality, we are again confronted by how utterly incomplete our existence has become.

In the absence if a female touch; a feminine perspective; a soft voice to soothe the spirit; I do not feel as though I have been deprived of contact with another. I feel as though a part of myself has been removed. I feel naked and afraid.

My logic tells me that it will only be for awhile longer and then all will be restored, but my heart longs for love in such a way that this day, this moment, this very second of suffering may very well last an eternity.

The world may come to an end and I will be left floundering in a perpetual state of solitude.

I pray always that the sun may rise and set swiftly before I turn to stone; that I will look up from my lowly state one day soon to find freedom just over a green hill. The question is not will I receive, but do I deserve the love for which I long. Some of you say no, that I am a criminal and I am in receipt of my requisite fate.

You are entitled to you own opinion, but please reconsider on these grounds. Until you have stood here in my shoes and experienced his life of confinement, until you have felt the immense weight of your very soul reach forth from within in an attempt to tear you asunder, do not pass judgment on me.

Until you have dwelt in absence of love, do not ever wish such a fate on another. Love is too important to the healing process. Love is the only bond that can unite the divided and to force its absence upon anyone, for whatever reason, is to be viewed in my eyes as cruel and unusual punishment.

Jeheshua

What’s your “perfect world”?
LPW

Shifting Tides

I am driven to the edge by feelings of anger and lust which consume me. Filled with shame and guilt, betrayed by a future that may only come to pass as a product of madness. Should such a price be paid that freedom of mind can only be gained by complete and utter denial of that which lies dormant within myself,–that which is innate and vital to the very core of my existence?

• Am I to believe that all I have ever felt must be discarded and forgotten?
• Where is the honor in that?
• What is the truth?

By whose laws do I persist in the world and whose will is it that my unchosen path seems to resist?

If all that is real can only be manifest at the total dissolution of myself then am I insane not to long for some solemn gesture of retreat back into the dream? Should I not loathe my awakening?

Is that not the paradox which faces every man seeking answers in the waning hours of the night? Once awakened to the light, you can never again escape into the twilight like the shadows of the early morning occurring just before the sun is born into the day.

To fight what ‘is’ no longer presents itself as a choice. The rules that governed your progress have been destroyed. You fate is no longer written in the stars. You are free!

Lifting your head up and moving forward is all that remains. Yesterday is gone and you must realize that the keys to tomorrow can only be acquired before the setting of our most local star. Who is it that has lost his way?

Who is it that is crossing the threshold and now sees his path?

Is denying the self for the benefit of the many really all that different from denying the many for the benefit of the self? At the climax of all things, was there truly ever any difference at all?

Our minds foolishly stricken with duality, our perception is flawed. Consciousness could not perceive itself and so we are divided. So, here we are at last. Why?

There is nothing…

But I still don’t understand. Don’t worry, we weren’t meant to understand.

Just be as you are and follow the shifting tides of you mind.

Jeheshua

What’s your “perfect world”?
LPW

Who is Thom DeLorenzo and why is he here? Because Thom is an activist of the highest order and goes to the mat when he finds a client, a cause or something that is of great import to him. Here’s a bit about him and then his essay. Read more about him at the end of this piece.

Thomas DeLorenzo

Until just a few years ago, Thomas DeLorenzo never would have believed he could become an HIV/AIDS activist. Before he was “officially” diagnosed with HIV in 2001 — with 60 T cells and a viral load of 300,000 — Thomas had been living in denial. And until 2006, he was too busy dealing with the many side effects of his own HIV meds to think about helping anyone else. Then he and his doctors finally figured out the perfect med combo — and for the first time in many years, Thomas felt, that he actually had a future..

I was not always this outspoken with my status. In fact, in the beginning, I was incredibly fearful. I knew I had AIDS well before the doctors made it official. I was living in denial not stupidity. I knew that when you lose as much weight as I did and you are eating McDonald’s pretty much every day, something isn’t working right. I knew that the sheets were not supposed to be wet every morning from my never-ending night sweats. I knew all that — but I still did nothing about it.

I like to say that I didn’t make a move until I felt comfortable with my insurance. Being self-employed, I get the privilege of buying my own policy, making me vulnerable for cancellation at the insurance company’s whim.

I tell people I didn’t use my policy for the first year in fear of being cancelled for a pre-existing condition, but what really happened was I was just too scared to confront the truth. I had seen it all before and still was in complete disbelief that my body could actually betray me like this. I mean, didn’t we have some unspoken bond, that if we worked together, we would be better off?

Apparently my body didn’t get that memo.

Instead, I lied to everyone around me as to how I lost the weight, become gaunt looking, and just slowly removed myself from the social scene. As a publicist, you are expected to go out all of the time. I could barely make it through the day, much less spend the nights at endless events, and typically I would head straight to bed after work for what was only going to be a few minutes, turning quickly into the entire night. I would miss meals just because I was too tired to get up to do anything about them.

I finally opted to go and visit my long time therapist, Laura Morris. I just blurted out simply, “I am sick.” Being the Jewish mother she was, she instantly clung to other reasons than that elephant I had now sitting in the room with me. Instead of giving me advice, she simply shared her news — her breast cancer recently returned for the third time and she was in the middle of chemo treatments. I had my first survivor buddy.

Initially, I would just sit in my apartment crying, and not doing anything about what was going on. And I just kept getting sicker. At one point my father said, “Are you okay?” and I lied and said I was fine, knowing full well what was going on in my body.

Christmas that year would be a challenge, for I could barely make it through the day. I had made this bargain with myself that I would get through the holiday and I would immediately find a doctor in Los Angeles and begin treatments. I was home, and it was December 26th, 2000, and I was having AIDS symptoms as if it were 1988 all over again. I was underweight by 25 pounds, experiencing spiking fevers and rarely made it off the couch, much less out of bed. I remember praying to God, to have him give me an appetite in Christmas Eve, so my family would not notice that I was hardly eating now.

I somehow found the nerve to attend my 20th high school reunion, in spite of the fact I looked horrible. I kidded myself with the fact that I was able to fit into smaller pants than I did in high school. Never mind that at that point I weighed what I weighed in high school — something a man who was 38 should not exactly be able to say. I look at pictures of myself from that evening and just wonder what I was thinking. But yet I knew what I was thinking — I thought I was going to die soon and this would be my last chance to see these people ever again.

I finally made it back to Los Angeles and began the promised hunt for a doctor. With it being between the holidays and having only a few brain cells now fully functioning, I had a difficult time finding a doctor. I finally caved and called a friend and asked for help. I told her I was sick. She said I probably had the flu. I said, “No.” She paused.

Prior to that I honestly didn’t think I deserved to be saved, that I had caused this to happen and I had all of this and more coming to me. I thought that people would run from me and that I would become this social pariah, alone and unloved. It was only when my back was against the wall that I reached out for help.

The first doctor’s visit at Cedars-Sinai, on January 3, 2001, was, well, rather odd. I was completely scared to go alone, or be left alone at any part, and insisted that a friend come with me. This friend is a child television star. She was incredibly supportive, but everyone recognized her. It kind of made for an awkward tone for something so serious. In fact, when my blood was being drawn (for the very first time so I was horrible at it), she was busy signing autographs. It was completely absurd. My advice — don’t bring a public figure to such dramatic moments in your life.

The doctor immediately told me what I had feared so much hearing, that I was most probably HIV positive based on my wasting, no appetite and very noticeable thrush. But the doctor completely missed two major points — that I had PCP [pneumocystis pneumonia] and that “thing” on my face was KS [Kaposi's sarcoma]. He insisted that he was a KS expert and it was not KS. I would find out he was completely wrong a few weeks later, after the PCP he insisted was not there either was finally out of my system.

A week later, on January 10th I was supposed to return to the hospital for my lab report, but I felt absolutely too weak to move. I called my doctor who gave me my laboratory results on the phone: I had AIDS: my CD4 was 60 and my viral load was 300,000. My doctor instructed me to come to the emergency room immediately. A friend picked me up and I was diagnosed with PCP in the emergency room. They admitted me and I was hooked up to intravenous Bactrim. It turned out to be a dramatic rescue. After I had stabilized, my doctor told me that I had been very close to dying. If I had stayed home, I would have lasted only two to three days more.

After a two-week stay at Cedars-Sinai, I finally found the courage inside me to fight this disease and move on with my life. Actually I can pinpoint the very moment — it was after I told my mom. The second you tell your mother you have AIDS; everything is all downhill from there. I started immediately to make calls to everyone in my life that had to hear it out of my mouth first. That had to be the moment I took control of my virus.

Many doctors’ visits followed. I ended up with a situation they had never seen before — it now has a name Immune Reconstitution Inflammatory Syndrome, (IRIS) — because no one had been to the brink and had come back like this before. At least not in 2001. They didn’t see PCP and KS anymore. I became a textbook case and was poked and prodded by every intern Cedars could find in Los Angeles County.

There was a moment in March that reminded me of why I fought. It was when I met my second nephew for the first time. He was born as I was flying home to see my family. I just held him in my arms and thought, “My God, I almost didn’t make it to meet you. I came so very close to not greeting you into this world.” He was just coming into this world, and I came so very close to leaving it just a few weeks before.

Now, I have amazing health, can’t keep my mouth shut about my struggles with HIV, am constantly looking for ways to help others with HIV that do not have the advantages I have — it’s a complete turn-around. I am about to do something few people attempt to do at my age, much less people with AIDS — I plan to attend law school in Fall of 2010. The idea is to study health policy law and take my activism further and get a chance to make more of a difference for many, many more people.

AIDS has taught me much. I would have never guessed that something so very horrible would have turned into an amazing experience, but it really has. It has defined the man I am today, and I like the person I am becoming. I have traveled many roads that people with immune systems don’t get a chance to — good and bad. And I am no longer that scared, insecure boy from Schenectady, New York.

Activists are definitely made, and are not born.

Now Thomas works as a producer and publicist in the entertainment industry and has been widely recognized for his HIV/AIDS activism.

In 2006, the New York Times named him an Unsung Hero in the Fight Against HIV/AIDS for his Christmas Goody Bag Project for the residents of the San Antonio AIDS Foundation Hospice; and in 2008, Thomas was the Foundation’s Angel of the Year. Recently, DeLorenzo’s alma mater, Hofstra University, named him Alumnus of the Month for his work on behalf of people living with HIV/AIDS.

DeLorenzo is the final stages for the launch of his website, SwagforGood.org, where he can continue his Christmas Gift Project for other AIDS hospice patients throughout the country, such as Joseph’s House in Washington, D.C. DeLorenzo will also be the opening speaker for the Hofstra University’s Pride Network launch event on December 2, 2009.

When not reading or prepping for the LSAT, DeLorenzo writes about the need for a national health care plan from a person with AIDS point of view for the Huffingtonpost.com. His personal life includes lengthy discussions on great works of literature with his favorite accountant

Currently DeLorenzo is putting together his annual goody bags for the AIDS hospice and is seeking donations of items that would be as helpful and uplifting to these patients. If you have a company, brand, store or project that would like to contribute to this effort, please reach out to Thomas DeLorenzo here

LPW

Occasionally Lark Lennox has posted here and she sent this to us here at Living in a Perfect World.

I met my pal Joey at an all-girls camp when we were 11. Our friendship spanned four decades (with a few gaps). When we reconnected, it was as if we’d never been apart. We spent 8 weeks together every summer, and Christmas and Easter vacations together in between. Eventually, we even went to college together.

We lost contact a few times but we were always “best friends.”

I always thought that as long as her name was in my address book, she was within reach. (Yes, that’s a lot clumsier than James Taylor’s lyric, “I always thought that I’d see you again,” but that’s what I believed.)

It doesn’t work that way. Joey died in 2007.

This is the letter that I wrote to her mother.

Dear Gloria,

I hope that you are well and that this letter doesn’t cause more harm than good.

I just learned about Joey a few days ago, and even though it’s been such a long time, I needed to write to tell you how very, very sorry I am.

Joey and I sometimes went long stretches without being in touch, but when we’d get together again, it always felt like the old days of being best friends.

She gave me a huge amount of love and support during very difficult times, helping me deal with my runaway 16-year-old daughter, the end of my marriage and other challenges.

I knew she had a series of problems associated with her illness. When she stopped answering my emails and returning my calls, I convinced myself that my issues were just too draining for her to deal with. I didn’t want to contribute to her stress. I always believed that when she was feeling stronger, we’d be back in each other’s lives full-time. I am so sorry that I wasn’t there for her or to give you some measure of support.

Over the past few days, I’ve been retrieving memories of times with Joey. I’ve been lucky to have a number of friends who counseled and comforted me during hard times–and your daughter was always one of them–but more importantly, I realized that the absolute best, silliest, most fun times of my life were spent with her as well. Over the years, we spent a lot of time being goofy and laughing uncontrollably. (Once, when we were about 16, my mother accused us of being “on drugs” because we were laughing so hard. That just made us laugh harder.)

Our last summer at Camp K, Joey and I had matching “footie” pajamas. We’d perform “Little Bunny Foo-Foo” for our bunkmates. It was silly enough at 15, but we actually reprised the roles for friends when we were in college.

I know that we could be a handful for our counselors and parents. It’s hard for me to apologize with a completely straight face, but I do hope we didn’t cause too much trouble. (When counselors told us that we were rotten to the core, rats and finks, we made up our little “Rat Cheer” to celebrate the frustration we caused. “Rats to the end, Rotten to the core, Finks alllll the way through…” We did the cheer whenever we got together, even as adults. It always ended with hysterical laughter and a big hug.)

My parents loved Joey, too. Even when he became very forgetful in later years, my father often remembered her and asked what she was up to. I guess we hadn’t annoyed him too much, because he always smiled and chuckled at the mention of her name, saying “She’s quite a character.”

My daughter went to Camp K for several summers. She loved hearing about our escapades and, much to my chagrin, she tried to recreate some of them when she was a camper. I drove her to and from camp each year–and I loved recapturing that feeling of joy that Joey and I shared at camp. (I know we sometimes acted as if we thought we were prisoners, but the kvetching was a sham. We had a blast.)

I always called Joey when I returned from those trips so I could share the experience with her. Inevitably, the conversation would turn to, “Remember when we…?” and we’d retrieve more memories of great times together.

I loved your daughter and I had more fun with her than with anyone else on the planet. Thank you for making her for me. Thank you for sharing her with me.

Love,
Poppy

Thank you to Lark Lennox for her precious memories and pain-filled sharing of love and friendship.

While in “living in a perfect world” has been dealing with the passing of a parental figure —absent and abusive though he was— the other parental type figures in life have been showing signs of rapid aging and health issues. Discussing this less than perfect situation and the probability that dealing with funerals or at the very least hospitals is in the near future with someone, prompted Lark Lennox to submit this post to Livinginaperfectworld.com

A friend wrote that he was thinking of me and apologized because it wasn’t flowers or jewelry.

Sympathy Bouquet — 1800flowers.com

This is my response:

It’s funny about the flowers and jewelry thing. Part of me still has romantic notions about stuff like that, but, truly, I already have some nice jewelry—courtesy of my mother.

My father rarely gave her jewelry, but when he did, it was exquisite—not metal and stones, but art.

I wear a locket that my father gave to my mother early in their marriage. I regret never asking what the occasion was, but when I look at family photos, she’s wearing it early on in their marriage. In her final years, she wore it almost constantly, even if she was wearing another necklace. (I hope this doesn’t sound “fancy-shmancy”. We were definitely NOT nouveau riche or any kind of riche!)

The locket contained a picture of my father.

In early 2002, shortly after my husband and I separated, my father had a “cerebral event” that left him in very bad condition. I was a mess because of the marital problems; I couldn’t eat or sleep. Going back and forth to DC and seeing my parents in such sad shape added to my angst.

At some point, my mother took off the locket and put it on me. Not to “give” but to “lend” it to me to give me strength. I added a tiny picture of my mother to the other side of the locket. I liked having my parents together like that.

Over the next few years, the locket went back and forth between us. When she got sick, I insisted that she keep the locket. Finally, of course, the locket came back to me. On the day of my mother’s funeral, just before the service began, I realized that she should have it one more time, so I laid the locket on the casket.
(Things like that are probably very inappropriate for Jews, but, as my sister-in-law said, “She’s your mother. You can do anything you want.”) Janet took a picture of me, with the casket in the background (also a no-no, you can be sure), but I am comforted by the whole thing.

How can any gift of jewelry even try to compete with that? (Though I would love for my heart to be so thoroughly taken by someone that even a Cracker Jax trinket could trump it.)

So the only gift I really want is time—time with my loved ones, time in good health, time to gather more people to my heart.

Lark Lennox

My deepest thanks and appreciation to Lark Lennox for the thoughtful commentary. Living in a Perfect World

Why is it that we are so interested in the death of others until it hits close to home? It’s suddenly the sight of our mortality that makes people wonder about the meaning of life. Suddenly certain things like the topics generally covered here seem so less important but perhaps at that particular time it’s because the brain is trying to wrap around the loss of someone— even if they weren’t close— and the body has to adjust physically, chemically, emotionally to that absence.

New Orleans Cemetary, photo by Donna H.

My father died on Dec 6, 2008 and he has spent the entire year dying. Struck by a heart attack that left him severely brain damaged, he’s been on a respirator since January with a feeding tube in his stomach. Though we were not close for many years— more based on his actions or lack of actions— I felt the need to have a mental picture of him that was more pleasant than the last one I had of him from 8 years ago when I saw him at a funeral for another family member. Today I go to celebrate his life, mourn his passing and actually feel relief that he has died from a life in the past year that he didn’t want with visits to the ICU every month because of internal bleeding or pneumonia, coming closer each time to the end but still managing to come back.

While we all think we are living forever, we know that’s not the case. Time passes by and those lines we try to erase via Botox or peels or skincare don’t erase the actual time that is marching on in our bodies. The body and human brain knows it— and while we think we can hold back the sweep of the hands of the clock, it’s the reality that it’s merely the appearance of that and that time will and does go on.

As one who has come very close to death twice, I appreciate those fluffy things that I write about as a breath of fresh air yet the import of the economy, job losses, and events in Mumbai and other places keep reminding me that life is not a straight line but a zig-zag of plusses and minuses that remind of the value of what we have. You can’t have the joy without the sorrow.

Particularly at this time of year, when various religions celebrate major holidays, it seems that the death of a family member or friend bites a little deeper— putting a meaning that tears a bit more into your psyche and heart.

While I never quite had the father that I wanted or needed (and if you did, I am very happy for you), I came to terms with it a long time ago. Though the hurts I have experienced haven’t been fun, they taught me the meaning of creating my own family— which includes friends far and near— and those online are just as meaningful because at some moments you need to reach out and they are there.

As parents age and seem to wither away, as friends who have desperate illnesses seem to shrivel up before our eyes, it’s time to realize that we should be appreciating the lives and time with those who are important in our lives. If relationships need mending, be the first to reach out and build that bridge. It will make you feel better.

While I deal with the funeral today, it makes me realize that there is so much I have to be thankful for but also so much more to live for as well. I need to be there for myself as much as I do others. I thank God that my uncle is such a fine man to manage everything he has for several years but particularly this last year seeing his last brother dying by inches in front of his eyes and dealing with it weekly and often daily. While I saw my father and did other things to help keep the wheels oiled, even just by talking to my uncle, it was he who bore the brunt of taking care of my dad.

While my father no longer is in pain, the rest of us get to deal with the aftermath and realize that we are freed too from dealing with someone who didn’t understand quite how to love those closest to him but that they still were there. For me, it’s a less than perfect world. My perfect solution would have been to have him slip peacefully into death in 3-4 months past the incident and the entire estate/situation would be done and buried by now (pun intended).. That’s not how life goes and unfortunately it’s a sad thing to deal with when faced with holiday shopping and it sucks the very life from me as I dealt and continue to deal with things for an entire year.

Take this time at the holidays and look for what’s happening in your life— it’s meaningful and important. Thank you to all of you out there — my friends, my surrogate family— who have learned of my pain, my loss and been there to listen to me or just offered. It’s really very much appreciated.

Happy Holidays. LPW.