It is an observation of mine there seems to be one event in a person's life which overshadows and somewhat defines it. For me, it was simply called "The Move". That is not to say other events cannot compete for that ignominious crown, but they can be jewels in it. There was 2006, where the threat of homelessness gave way to the glory of God. There was 2007, when I was uprooted and transplanted. But the most ugliest time of my life has taken place within these past twelve months.
I think most of your have met Catherine Garcia. She is the one who took me in some 16 years ago. This year's review revolves around what has happened to her and, by causation, to me.
Janus' Ugly Face
The new calendar year actually didn't start very well for either Catherine or me, as we both contracted the latest strain of COVID-19 on December 30. My symptoms were mild (more to me like a moderate head cold), but recovery was longer than I wanted. It took about two weeks before I tested negative.
Then on January 14, a not so insignificant event occurred. Catherine was feeding the three cats we had their evening portion of wet cat food. She called to me into the master bedroom where they lived, "Ron, I think Willow is dead." I rushed in, and she asked me to look under the bed. There he was, a 14 year old male Ragdoll who had lost a lot of weight the past few years, rigor mortis already happening; he had died sometime during the day. The following Monday, having put him in a freezer over the weekend to preserve him, he joined the rest of the pets in our makeshift columbaria for them.
Then on January 30, another not so insignificant event occurred. Zoe, the Labrador-Border Collie mix Catherine received as a Christmas present eight years ago, was having significant trouble urinating over the previous weekend. While she had a history of urinary tract infections, this was much more serious. We took her to the vet mid-morning; an x-ray revealed a cancerous tumor growing around her bladder, severely restricting the ureters and urethra. We then took a trip to an urgent care clinic in another city early that afternoon, where a more detailed x-ray confirmed the previous diagnosis.
We were presented with three options. One was to catheterize her, but that would only alleviate symptoms. The second was surgery, but that only promised a limited extension of life for a cost which was unaffordable. I think everybody knows what the third was. And while their were times that day Zoe exhibited her energetic self, she was in a lot of pain. It was still a difficult choice, but euthanasia was the one made. Add more cremains to the collection.
But on January 27, a very significant event occurred. For the first time in 14 years, Catherine had a seizure around 1:05 PM, just as I was ready to leave for crossing guard duties. The 911 response was quick, but 30 minutes after the first, she had a second, just as the paramedics were wheeling her to the ambulance. I called my supervisor and informed her of the situation (letting her know I couldn't make this shift), then went to Catherine's workplace and informed her boss of the situation, they went to the emergency room. Once stabilized, we came home later that night.
The Bad News Items
The last MRI Catherine before this latest episode had revealed the location of the cause of her seizures, the meninges above her right ear. The MRI taken a month later after her last seizures was able to give greater detail. They revealed it was not meningioma causing them.
It was a brain tumor. In those 14 years between images it had grown and became able to overcome the seizure medication she originally was taking. The surgery to remove it, an option back then, was now a necessity. Her medical care was now under the auspices of the Huntsman Cancer Institute at the University of Utah.
Meanwhile, while I had changed locations at my position as a school crossing guard in March, the situation at the amusement park also changed. I started the year as a supervisor again. The staff was being challenged to get to know the attendants better, starting by memorizing names and faces. The perception I had, whether or not it was correct, was that knowledge was to be instantaneously retained and summoned upon command. During a shift in April, I wasn't doing it, and I was starting to freeze. After a few discussions with my manager and some time to reflect, I returned my supervisor badge and remained on staff as an attendant.
That was just a tremor. Little did I know the earthquake was coming. And, in a sense, the title of this post.
The Unmerry Month Of May
The surgery to remove the tumor was May 5. It just so happen I was scheduled for jury duty the same day; however, a phone call the day before informed me I didn't have to report. In any case, Catherine and I agreed I didn't need to be in the waiting room while she was in surgery.
The operation was successful; the surgeon was able to remove all of it save for a few tendrils which would require radiation and chemotherapy to minimize if not eliminate. I visited her later that afternoon after the operation, stuck in my head the following afternoon as she was sleeping, and spent a couple of hours with her Sunday night.
The biopsy came back a few days later. It revealed it was a Grade 4 tumor, the equivalent of Stage 4 cancer. During a pre-operation consultation, that prognosis was given an estimated life expectancy of five years.
Catherine is having none of that. She is determined to see her grandchildren graduate from high school, and the youngest is three years old. Encouraged by stories of people who survived at least that long, it gave all some hope.
But it was the weekend of the surgery when my problems started. I am not going to get into any details, lest I be accused of detraction. Catherine's two adult daughters, for reasons only known to them, turned on me. They claimed I didn't love and cared for their mother and was basically being parasitical. They were making my life a living hell, especially the younger one, with threats of all types, most of all the threat to evict me from the house, seemingly by any means necessary. If they were, I couldn't call their bluff; I had to take them seriously, even though it seems they were taking the modern tact of making me defend every story they would create.
It created lots of stress. It created even more fear. After three weeks of this kind of harassment, perhaps crossing the line into bullying, the pressure finally got to me. During this time I was in contact with my sister, explaining the situation to her. She agreed to let me live with her temporarily.
The Flight Into Egypt
I formally resigned my position at the amusement park. I packed most everything I had, save for clothes, into storage and left for the Midwest where my sister lives the Friday before Memorial Day, arriving the following evening. After taking the holiday weekend to unwind a little, I restarted the job search.
The good news was there was more opportunities; I cast my net into a deeper job market. The obstacle was now a disconnect between where I worked and where I was living. The bad news was the results were still the same--nearly no interest, hardly any interviews, and almost no job offers
There were two. In late June, I was offered a position as a dealer at a nearby casino, but after 30 minutes of shuffling half a dozen decks at one time as part of training, my elbow tendonitis was telling me this wasn't going to work. I actually did accept an offer to work as a clerk at a 24/7 truck stop, but then got cold feet and changed my mind. (The thing about that was the Sunday before I was hired, I was assisting at Mass in the same city where the truck stop was located. A parishioner came up to me after Mass and said, "You belong here. God bless you." Did I ignore God's voice?)
It was this action plus another incident which put an end to my stay. My sister had put me on a short leash, reminding me this arrangement was temporary and pushing me to take anything. While she was generous enough, I violated what trust she had in me. And I had no argument.
I also had just enough money to do what I did next.
I went back to Utah.
The Return Of The Prodigal
I returned the first weekend in August, following the same timeline as when I left. I spent the weekend in a motel room, thanks to the generosity of the Grand Knight of my local Knights of Columbus Council (of which I am a member), With the aid of the Council, I started living in a long-term motel the following Monday. I was able to return to the amusement park and started work there Tuesday. Since I never officially resigned, I also still had my crossing guard position when school started later that month. I had income, though very limited.
When I wasn't working, I continue to search for a full-time position, either at a state unemployment office a short walk from my temporary home or the computers from the county library branches. Toward the end of August, I accepted what I though was a full-time position at a local office of a national testing center. I had investigated a couple of apartments I thought I could afford. It looked like I was starting to turn a corner.
My brother Knights had helped as much as they could. My stay in the hotel would end on the last day of August. I paid for an extra three nights to get me through Labor Day.
A week before the first rehearsal with the church choir with which I sing, I sent them an e-mail, briefly explaining my absence. I wrote near the end, "God is close to resolving my issues. I just have to get through September."
Little did I know I picked the wrong Latin prefix for the "-ber".
Mobile Home
After onboarding and orientation with my new job, the manager dropped a bombshell. While the position was advertised as full-time, she was only able to give me 20 hours a week at the most. She was also was not willing to work around my hours as a crossing guard. With the office a 30 minute drive from where I was, I kept the bird in hand; I resigned that job after three days.
But I had a bigger problem. I couldn't afford my room anymore. I only had one solution, as there was no one I knew who would house me.
My car became my home. For the next two months, my life took on a routine which allowed me to survive. Between 9:00 and 10:00 PM, I parked in the driveway of a neighbor who lived two doors east of Catherine's house, an area where I would be safe. (In talking to him later, he knew I was there, anyway.) The back seat became my bed; sleeping was in fits. Leaving around 6:00 AM every morning, I utilized a very gracious offer. The amusement park also had a campground with modern shower facilities; my manager made an arrangement with the campground manager to let me use them. I made sure I was in and out by 7:00 AM so as to not draw attention to myself. The cycle of work and job search continued, now with more urgency.
There had to be that sense. On October 25, the first snowfall occurred, a warning to me winter would soon be here. On October 29, the amusement park closed for the year, leaving me without that financial and hygienic asset.
Needless to say, I was very scared.
Then God said, "Fear not. Your vindication is at hand. Your prayers are answered."
Back From The Brink
The first step was gaining a roof over my head. The landlady of one of the apartments in which I was interested had a room for rent in the same house. Security deposit, first month's rent (thanks to the generosity of a husband and wife who also sang in the choir), and proof of rental insurance later, I moved in on November 2. I spent the night before in a motel, gratefully knowing I would be off the street soon.
I needed a back-up plan to replace the income from the amusement park. That plan came to fruition when a local family amusement center hired me. I would get enough hours at the same rate as the amusement park to keep me at the same income level.
I didn't need the backup plan (although I am still on staff and squeezing in shifts when I can), I finally gained the coveted full-time position I was seeking. On the third attempt, I finally was able to land a position with a locally owned grocery store, primarily as a cashier, secondarily as a courtesy clerk (i.e. grocery bagger). Now I could safely give up my hours as a crossing guard, although I remain on staff as a substitute and am getting as many shifts as my schedule allows and as needed to cover zones.
Epilogue
I don't think it will be possible to return to Catherine's house. The situation between her daughters and I is seemingly irreparable. While she still wants my companionship, the feud with her daughters is making it almost impossible to continue any kind of relationship. The stress cause by all this does not help Catherine's well being, as her doctors want her to reduce it as much as possible.
As of this post, Catherine's tumor is in remission. She is currently undergoing a cycle of chemotherapy, seemingly keeping the tendrils under control. However, the tumor was located in a part of the brain which controls her vision; unfortunately, she is almost legally blind. As with any brain injury, her mental acuity waxes and wanes; patience is required when interacting with her. The regimen of chemotherapy leaves her fatigued. Her personality has been muted by all this. But she is fighting this. And right now, she is winning.
Aftermath
Between the stress of this situation, not eating enough, and not eating well, I lost 25-30 pounds and 2-3 inches off my waist line. Not the best way to get to a more healthier weight, I admit. Now the challenge will be to maintain it.
I have returned to a more active role with my Council. I became a "silent Knight" during the COVID-19 pandemic, mostly due to the leadership style at that time. It is the least I can do to show my gratitude and appreciation for their help, including on September 30 the removal of the deck in the back of the house that had collapsed due to the passage of time.
I did return to the choir for the first rehearsal. I also recently returned to my duties as a cantor at my home parish in December. It's another way I'm reconnecting with society.
I am doing OK with my new employer. All I ask from me is to keep improving. As my own worst critic, I am not sure how well I am performing.
But the most important thing that happened was my own Eucharistic Revival. On the Feast of Our Lady of Guadalupe, I finally was able to worthily receive the Sacrament of Reconciliation for the first time in 16 years. My situation wouldn't allow me until recently to have firm purpose of amendment, the necessary condition required for forgiveness. And at Mass that night as part of a parish celebration, I literally did "taste and see the goodness of the Lord".
His goodness had been with me all along this ordeal.
What's Next
I was working December 21 as a courtesy clerk. As I was assisting a customer, I looked up and saw a former supervisor from the amusement park, five years removed. It was someone I thought I would never see again because she was moving on with her life. We briefly conversed. I asked her if she had heeded the advice I had given her, as she was wrestling with some inner turmoil. When I reminded her what I said, she briefly explained she had.
And what did I say way back when?
"Reclaim you."
(Is this why we crossed paths?)
It is now a case of "physician, heal yourself'". While the journey to recovery started last month, it still needs definition. The financial side is obvious. But it is my inner being which has been shaken to its very core. My psyche feels battered, bruised, bloodied, broken. All types of doubts and fears seem to be haunting me even more than usual, even as I start to dream again. The trauma of the past twelve months has made me ask if I need mental health therapy. While prayer will be the cornerstone, I wonder if counseling wouldn't be a worthwhile idea.
Speaking of which, please add or keep Catherine and me in your prayers for a while. Ask God for healing and the grace to bear our crosses. They are a part of my petitions.
And so ends this review of 2023. The lyrics from the song " So This Is Christmas " by John Lennon sums up my hope and focus:
"Have a very Merry Christmas
And a Happy New Year!
Let's hope it's a good one
Without any fear."
Go Forward. Be Bold.
Reclaim me.
Amen.
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