The Way It Is

by Hazel Holland

Sometimes I feel my life is being lived in the ricocheted pattern of handball court.
And I’m tired of being the ball that never knows which wall is coming up next.
I’d like to be the racquet and call the shots.
Better still, I’d rather not play this kind of game at all.
I’m gun-shy.
I’m wondering what will happen next?
Because of this utterly outrageous thing that has happened to you,
I’m feeling rage!
And that is perfectly all right
Except rage can be a very destructive force if not channeled positively.
And I’m positively mad.
I’m past the point of going quietly insane.
I’m getting noisy about it!
The neighbors must think I’m mad.
The neighbors, for once, think right!
The memory of the way things used to be keeps haunting me—
Before the wheelchair when we could run and walk together.
The bike rides we’d take, the chasing on the beach,
The laughter that was carefree…
Your face is never out of my mind.
I hear your voice and I feel soothed and warm.
I remember all the beautiful times we’ve had together,
And I want it to be that way again.
I want to plan our future
But that is where I cannot go.
I know I want to be with you in our future
But how can I plan?
How can I be sure there’s not more pain around the corner?

I tried to forget my pain—our pain.
I really did.
I tried to practice forgetting today—
Forgetting to remember what struggles you face each day.
I couldn’t.
I can’t be that objective.
I feel a deep bond between us—
A bond of intimacy and of understanding.
I miss the comfort and security of the way it used to be before…
Sometimes I’m lonely for your towering figure.
I want to look up instead of down.
And I know you would rather be looking down.

Let me lean on you until I can stand a little stronger,
Because although you cannot stand, my love
You are standing far taller...
Help me up, my friend.
Dust me off.
Hold me on your lap.
I do not want to sink into the pit again!
I do not want to draw away from you in order to escape reality--
The reality of loving and suffering that seem to go hand in hand.
Loving you would be most destructive if it were only a memory
Because in loving you I am fulfilled,
But in sharing that loving I am overflowed!

____________________________
I wrote a number of poems in 1984 as I struggled to deal with my husband becoming a paraplegic as a result of being hit in the stomach by an angry camper when we were vacationing up in Yosemite National Park. This is one of the poems I wrote at that time as I tried to fight back depression, and the possibility of divorce looming around the next corner...