It is personal

The night is black and cold, a throwback of winter, reclaiming its fading territory after Spring let it be known she is coming, coming soon. New flower beds grace the front yard, configured from the monstrosities that had been present there, cut down to a managable size. Apparently the builders thought we would do nothing but flower gardening through the hot summer months. The new ones guarantee we can beautify our home every year and season for years to come, a prospect that makes me happy inside. I like flowers a lot. So the semester creeps along, and yet flies - the kind of furtive activity that reminds me of old cartoons, where something looked directly at is motionless to the point of hidden, but then darts far forward when the head is turned. Eight more months and I graduate from this phase of Project Sheri and into another, which looks remarkably like this one. I have two job offers now for after graduation, which is gratifying. That neither is in the field where I swore up and down I was meant to be (oncology and hospice) is borderline seen as a sign by me. I do not know now where I belong in terms of a specialty. I suspect landing in cardiac stepdown, where I am doing my externship, can only serve me well in the future, no matter which way I go. I wish I could say I am handling things better this semester, but I suspect this entire Spring into June will just plain suck. I am prepared for and accepting of it. Joseph would have graduated this June, along with all the usual fluff that comes with that rite of passage, and I feel his absence acutely. But when the heart is open (or just desperate enough, take your pick), life provides. I have been doing some reading, some spiritual exploration and some downright blasphemous thinking (Calling Jesus Jess or Jessie makes it easier for me to talk to Him), and this has helped me. Nick and Alex are growing and part of me is all "hurry hurry hurry!" when they get complicated and "Wait! Wait! Wait!" when they are surging forward. I hear I am not alone in this. I suspect teenagers are the labor part of an 18 year pregnancy that theoretically produces an independent adult. If you didn't go through it you would never be able to say goodbye. I am fortunate to be honest. Neither of my boys have ever (thus far) allowed themselves to be disrespectful or truly over the top in the way I hear from others. Of course, they aren't done yet. The very fact that I put that in writing on the Internet probably guarantees Alex will come home with an eyebrow pierced next week or something. I wish so much I could talk more here about my patients without violating HIPAA regulations. I am learning so much, both as a nurse and as a human being. It is late and I am tired, but I worried if I don't update this blog it will shut itself off or something - and of course the idea of losing my very own private forum is distressing to my ego. I am alive. Pensive. Waiting. Hopeful.