Hope

Often, when working with patients and families who are facing life changing illness, the question of hope comes into play. If I am honest with people about prognosis or the seriousness of an illness, will I somehow take away their hope? I have always contended, I am not that powerful.
For a long time, I have thought that by sharing the truth with those that are asking the hard questions, my response gives them the opportunity to accomplish some of the tremendously important end of life tasks they may have.
I thought that this interview, recorded at StoryCorp was a beautiful example of the human spirit, and also, what it means to reframe hope.

Ice love

I've been spending some time crawling around on my belly, trying to see things from a different perspective.

Just after arriving back home last summer and getting settled in, and getting accustomed to the desolate, burned surroundings (the result of the high park fire),  we had another natural disaster here in the canyon.
The rain began on that September morning, and fell, and fell. And then, fell some more, until the river could no longer hold onto the water. The water rose, the trees began loosening from the charred landscape and then falling into the river. When decades-old Ponderosa  Pines began rushing past the back door, I knew we were in trouble. After a harrowing drive down to town, past car-sized boulders and through rushing water coming from the canyon walls, we hunkered down in town. Then, after 6 days of being displaced, we were finally allowed back, to find that once again our little patch of riverfront had held on.

Now, we see this first winter back home, how the river corridor has changed. Before, the river grew quiet and small as it slept though the cold months. Now, we have soft beach sand on our lawn. The water has run high and wide, making it seem so much bigger than it ever was before in the winter months. 
It is hard to tell what spring run off will hold. For the boaters, certainly a new course to navigate.

Well, you found me.

Weeks turned into months, months into years? Is this possible? New chapters, old friends, new friends. Old haunts, new gigs and old digs. And here we are. Right back where we started.

Wanderlust. Purely mine. Jeff came along for the ride. What a partner to have in this life. We left our established routine on the river for Alaska, in July of 2006. We intended on a two year adventure, it turned into almost 7. 
Oh Alaska. You are such a contradiction. Your beauty and ugliness, the enormity of your sky could feel so limiting! The isolation was immense, and yet the familiar faces everywhere gave you a such small town feel.
What an awesome adventure it was.
In the end, the draw of the sun was just too much. Sun. Sol. Soleil. Colorado with your bluest of blue skies. Azure, in fact. Oh how I've missed your sweet, warm, love.

So, we have settled back into a new routine that feels quite right. Like a pair of well worn gloves.