To See and Be Seen

           

A favorite song of mine is Mr. Cellophane from the musical Chicago. So much so that I think I’ve quoted it in this blog before.

Cellophane! Mr. Cellophane

Shoulda been my name, Mr. Cellophane

‘cause you can look right through me,

Walk right by me

And never know I’m there.

This song is a lament, not a celebration.

Being invisible hurts.

Ok, so this being a favorite song is maybe more related to my non-existent self-esteem/social anxiety thing that plagued me for years.  Well, that and that it is a great soft shoe number.  I wanted to be a part of things but EVERYTHING WAS TERRIFYING AND I WAS SO AWKWARD. All capital letters awkward.  In social situations words left me completely, and I floundered, sputtering and incoherent.  I remember in high school the boy I liked once asking a friend if I even talked.

My husband would undoubtedly find this question hilarious, based on the word tsunamis he endures when he gets home from work each night.  

Being invisible hurts.

Honestly, I think this is partly why the lack of closure at my old job rankles, that sense of being unseen, unworthy of engagement hurts.

I have been reading a fair amount about people in America who feel invisible, who exist unseen by those with more economic means, educational opportunities, social stability. My heart hurts for how so many Americans feel like cellophane, like something invisible and discardable. 

I have been guilty of not-seeing people when they have hurt me—of using that same disregard as a weapon. I am not proud of these times. Intentionally NOT seeing people is hurtful and there really is no excuse for it. I am sorry for those times.

On the flip side, being SEEN creates profound joy and connection.

My third-born and I trekked up to Maine last week to see my survivor kid on her 21^st birthday. When we entered the camp where she was volunteering, we were overwhelmed by the love, joy, and greetings of friends galore. Hugs, smiles, cheers—it was like we were the long lost travelers returning from dangerous journeys abroad. Like the Grinch, my heart grew three sizes in about the first 10 minutes.

SO MUCH SMILING!

Buoyed, strengthened, flooded with positive emotion and connection—being SEEN just for being THERE in all our goofy glory--not for doing anything or bringing anything or anything other than just BEING THERE-- had a powerful effect on my spirit. It is hard to explain, but the connection and solidarity of being seen made me feel like I could get through another year. I could do the hard things. I could keep going.

I felt heart-full in a way I rarely experience.

What if we could do this for each other all the time? What if we could practice seeing those who are often unseen? The poor, the immigrant, the sick, the elderly, the cashiers, the baristas, the sanitation workers or linemen working in our towns? What if through a little smile and friendly comment we could foster those connections and make people feel SEEN?

What hurts could be healed? What hard things could we all do if we knew we all truly SAW each other, not just the good parts, but the tough parts too? 

             Certainly the folks at Camp have seen me at my neurotic worst (yeah not listing these), at my most vulnerable (Exhibit S for Sorafenib, aka Crazy Crying Lady 2012), at my weirdest (Exhibit O, head banging ORFFAPALOOZA!!).  And yet they do not turn away. They see. They embrace. They celebrate.

I just read Dignity by Chris Arnade, which explores those “unseen” in America. While a bleak sort of book, Arnade does suggest that if we really listened to each other, REALLY saw/heard what those in different parts of American society had to say, maybe we could fix some of the hate swirling around.  I have to agree. Seeing is the first step to connecting, which can grow into solidarity.

I am not sure how to make this happen on a broad scale, especially in the current climate of name-calling, “alternate facts”, and different moral priorities. But I know that on a small scale, I can practice truly SEEING those around me without judgement, without fear, with friendly curiosity and cheerful camaraderie. No cellophane on my watch.  Maybe, just maybe, we can figure out how to move right along with those we have not seen before; and that, I think, will make this world a better place.

The Boy With the Cobalt Hair

So this blog is different. This summer has been a different kind of Movin’ Right Along,  and I have struggled to put into words all the things in my mind (which is so connected to my heart—herein lies my struggle). But I had to write something, so…here we go. Inspired by a recent trip to VA to see an old and dear friend and her mighty boy…I wish I could wrap them in all the love and support and make the horrors they are facing go away.  I can’t. I know this. But if even one word here can encourage more folks to support this family through prayer, good thoughts, donations, happy mail, whatever, that is a tiny light in a very deep darkness.

This kid is really, really special; we love you, mighty Levi.

Peace. --k




The Boy with the Cobalt Hair

--my favorite color!--

Smiles,

Snoogles his kitten,

“His name is Flash” he says,

As kitten leaps

And bounces and springs and pounces,

Climbs the curtains!

Topples a shelf!

All claws and cuteness

A Flash of motion!


The boy with the cobalt hair

Laughs

At kitten’s antics

At silly videos

At stepdad’s fun--

Quiet joy sprouts everywhere and anywhere

Defying pain.


The boy with the cobalt hair

Loves

With gentle, unwavering trust,

His momma, her hair in cobalt, too, to match her mighty boy.

Her strength his strength, her love his love—

Reflecting each other

Bright and pure.

A bond that at first sight

Shines as eternal.


The boy with the cobalt hair

Battles

In quiet strength, in stoic silence

The cancer beast within;

Monsters that terrify and baffle

Insidious and perplexing--

“Just don’t worry about it,” he says

His gentle drawl speaks out his courage

When momma asks how can she be more like him--

His transcendence – supernatural?


The boy with the cobalt hair

Eats pizza!

Plays at the arcade!

Wins tickets!

Picks his prize!-- a blow up hammer—to bop his stepdad or his dogs

With gentle humor.


The boy with the cobalt hair

LIVES.

Unbound by diagnoses, 
anchored in 
his momma's love,

Freed from fear by her tireless care.

(He is the apple fallen near his momma’s tree,

her love his lifeblood,

Though she protests,

his strength reflects her own).


The boy with the cobalt hair

Knows he is loved.

This confidence shines true,

Beyond the cobalt hair,

Beyond the creeping signs of illness,

Beyond the quiet hugs we mommas share, 
our tears shed out of sight.


The boy with the cobalt hair

Teaches

That gentle goodness and purity of soul

Are NOT extinct,

That love gives strength to walk whatever road.

Stay close to those who love you,

those you love,

And you will overcome the darkness.

Momma Melina, Mighty Levi, Flash the Kitten, G & Me 

(I am not really an Amazon, just playing one in this pic??)

 To learn more about how you can support mighty Levi and his family, please visit Operation Love for Levi or Levi’s Superfriends on Facebook.  Please pray for our dear friends as they travel this very difficult road.