|
|
|
 |
|
|
|
|
The First Book: We Want to Live! the Primal Diet
I feel as if my muscles, like my thoughts, are stirred up. I can
sleep. I thank whoever invented flannel sheets. The softness feels
comforting. The digital clock reads 1:02 a.m. I get up and go to the
kitchen. I pass by my packed luggage at the door. A tinge of fear rushes
up my chest. The lonely luggage makes the unknown so foreboding. I spread
a slice of French bread with a half stick of unsalted raw butter to calm
me down while thoughts of Jeff keep coming. It s been nine years since
I ve thought about Jeff this much. How little I know him. I left Mary
for the second and last time a few months after Jeff s first birthday.
For the next year, Jeff and I were together on Sundays, or for weekends. I
graduated from computer-programming trade school, and in September, two
months after the divorce, I moved to Los Angeles to pursue a degree in
architecture. I ll never forget the day before I left. Jeff s second
birthday was six days away. I had bought him a swing and slide set. Mary
and Jeff were living with her parents in a two-bed-room house in a
lower-middle-class neighborhood. Willy, Mary s father, and I were
putting up the set in the backyard. Willy, or Pawpaw as Jeff called
him, was about five-feet-four-inches tall with black hair receding on
either side of his widow s peak. He was very shy, a gentle man. When he
smiled with his large mouth, his head tilted shyly, playfully. Jeff loved
to swing and slide. He bounced, danced, laughed, shrieked and giggled
around us because he couldn wait for Willy and me to finish setting up
the swing. Finally, when it was built, Willy, Margaret and I stood
watching Mary swing Jeff. She pushed him too hard once and Jeff swung too
high. His eyes opened wide, his arms stiffened, his hands gripped the
chains tighter and his mouth made a donut shape. He lost his breath. When
he swung back down he giggled, relieved he d made it okay. He dragged
his feet enough to slow himself down and took a deep breath. I guess
that was too high for you, huh boogie? Mary said. Jeff nodded
dramatically. He swung forward again and his mouth took on the donut shape
fearing that he might sail too high. He didn and he laughed. Mary did
too. We all laughed. Mary and Jeff had similar mouths and they had the
largest smiles, after Willy s. Once again I wanted to ask Mary to come
with me to California but I knew she d refuse. No one could guess which
way I wanted things from one week to the next, especially me. It came time
to say good-byes and I stooped down to Jeff. You re the man of the
house now. You take care of Mommy, okay? You be back, Daddy.
Soon. He smiled real big. No, sweetheart, Daddy s going to the
other side of the world, sort of. I ll only be able to see you about
every six months or so. I m going away to school in California. He
cried. I cried. Even Margaret cried. We all hugged and I left. I didn
return for two years. I get up from the dining table and return to the
kitchen. I have a taste for something sweet. I get some unheated honey,
fresh strawberries and cream to help my digestion and raise my blood sugar
level to a happy balance. I take a drink of the raw cream, dip a
strawberry in the honey and take a bite. I remember that Jeff and I had
been together on only four separate occasions since the swing set and we
rarely spoke on the phone. I recall that the first of the four occasions
was in August. Jeff was four. I had a form of leukemia called multiple
myeloma (cancer of bone and blood). I had already undergone surgery for an
ulcer. Three months later I received radiation therapy because the scar
was keloidal. Four months after radiation I was diagnosed with leukemia. I
was told that I would die by Christmas. I was supposed to have begun
chemotherapy that August. I postponed it until September because my family
was having a reunion. I didn want them to know about my illness
because: back then most people were afraid that somehow cancer was
catching like the Black Plague; Mom had a weak heart and had suffered a
heart attack when I was ten or eleven (telling her I was dying could have
killed her); and men in my family were expected to be strong and tough.
Because I had always been sickly, I put on a tough front. The clan
gathered in Cincinnati from all over the continental United States. I
thought I was seeing everyone for the last time. I hid the radia-tion
therapy burns under my clothes. As I was driving to pick up Jeff to bring
him to the reunion, I noticed a tall dark-haired father holding the hand
of his golden-haired son. They walked along the sidewalk. Drops of joy
filled my eyes because I would soon be holding Jeff s hand. The father
was a giant compared to his son but gentle. He carefully moved at the pace
of the boy s little steps. I held back more tears. I thought red eyes
would look unattractive and immature to Mary. I pulled up to the large
apartment complex, parked and went up to Mary s apartment. She greeted
me courteously. We both felt awkward. I was especially uncomfortable
because I hadn had enough time to adjust to the fact that Mary had
remarried over a year ago. Mom wanted to protect me and had told me only a
week ago. I blushed, facing Mary and thinking that several months ago I
had asked her to move out to Los Angeles so we could be together. Mary
didn tell me then she had remarried. I hid the pain, but, oh, God, I
was wounded. Jeff ll be here any minute. He and Ben went for a
walk, Mary said. The door opened behind me and in walked the gentle
giant and the golden-haired boy, Jeff. his is Ben, Mary smiled
proudly introducing her husband, and Jeff s new father. My heart sunk.
Ben must have been six-foot-four inches, dark, rugged-looking and very
handsome. I felt like drab wallpaper. Ben immediately let his head drop
shyly, painfully. He left the room without a word. I could see the fear
and hurt he felt with me coming to take Jeff for the day. Jeff called him
Dad now. My presence was chang-ing all of that. I felt like a schmuck.
Do you remember him? Mary asked Jeff as I crouched down to greet
him. Jeff s face winced as he tried to remember but didn . I was
crushed. Here is a change of shirt in case he makes a mess, Mary
jested to break the awkward moment. No bag with diapers and bottles and
all, I said playfully. I tried to appear unaffected. Yes, it s
been a long time, she said somewhat scolding me. But I could see she
was relieved that Jeff didn remember me. In my mind I could hear her
telling Ben as soon as we walked out the door, See? Jeff didn even
remember him. And knowing that Jeff s not-remembering me was going to
mean some solace to Ben, gave me some solace. At the reunion, I set Jeff
free to play with several cousins, aunts and uncles. Then, when I thought
I was emotionally detached enough, I played with him. We tossed a ball and
frisbee. I tickled him. We giggled. I swung him around and laughed, until
we were exhausted. It was time to drive him home but he wanted to stay.
That made it a great day. We parked in the lot outside Mary and Ben s
apartment. Jeff wanted to get out with me on the driver s side. Just as
he was about to put his arms around my neck for me to pick him up he said,
You helped Pawpaw put up my swing! A wave of joy passed through me.
He hugged me very tightly. It appears Jeff s head went partially
through the driver s side of the windshield when his car flew down the
ravine and hit a tree. The car spun and jolted him back inside. The car
hit another tree and Jeff s head went through the passenger s side of
the windshield. The car spun and hit the ground at the rear end, jolting
him back into the front seat. Finally the car smashed into another tree on
the passenger s side. His head went completely through the passenger s
door window. His body was found draped over the car door, Mom s words
echo in my head. I lie down on the still warm flannel sheets. Will I be as
unable to help Jeff as I was when he was an infant? Will I become hostile
wanting to help but not knowing how? Will I be able to stand up to the
medical professionals who ll think I m a fanatic? Jeff is an accident
victim! I haven dealt with any serious accident victims. Yet, healing
is healing, I remind myself. I know what the body needs to heal itself.
|
|
|
|
|
Copyright 2004, 2005, 2006, 2007, 2008, 2009, 2010.
The Nutritional Foundation for Well Being. All rights reserved.
Contact us at (866)736-8503 or rawfoodresults@gmail.com
|
|
|