When we moved to Rochester four years ago, I was really sad to leave behind my life in Philadelphia. I missed my job, I missed my friends, and I missed my city. I missed being able to go home for a weekend visit. I distinctly remember driving back to the Roc from the Cities after dropping my Mom off at the airport, taking in the view of seemingly endless cornfields and soybean fields and thinking "I hate it here" and surprising myself with that thought and the depth of that emotion. Because I truly didn't want to hate it and I didn't want to be sad. I had a brand new (to me) house and a baby on the way, and life was good...so why couldn't I get with the program and just be happy? Darn it, was it so hard to just LIKE where I was living?
Well yes, it was, a bit. And after a few years of reflection, I think I know why.
If you have been through a book club with me before, you know that I love Eat, Pray, Love by Elizabeth Gilbert. And no, I don't like the movie, that sucked. And I know that some people loathe that book, including my own sister, but for me, that book, at that time in my life, was profoundly important. Anyway, this is not one of the profound parts, but Gilbert at some point mentions the idea that each place and each person have a word, something that encapsulates what/who they are in their very essence. And if your words don't mesh, you can't really get along with a person or be at peace with a place.
So recently I've been pondering Rochester and its word. And this was a hard job. Some places are easy to define. Rochester is tough. It's home to one of the best medical facilities in the world...and also to a lot of farmers, thus making it sort of a cosmopolitan and yet country kind of place. It's a city that takes its personality from a hospital, which quite frankly, is never a good thing. It's a city where eating in a restaurant beside a person swathed in bandages or making room for an oxygen tank along is totally normal. The walking wounded are everywhere and some of the sights you see in a local Target tug at your heartstrings and turn your stomach all at once. It can be rough, but it's also a place of hope and answered prayers. It's a place where big problems are fixed and survivors celebrate their victory over disease and disability. And yet it's also a city plagued by murders of crows. You see what I'm saying here? That's Rochester. A place of last chances and answered prayers that also happens to have a problem with omens of doom taking over the downtown.
So it wasn't easy to nail down a word, but after much thought, I suggest that Rochester's word might be "Perseverance".
Dictionary.com defines perseverance as:
1. steady persistence in a course
of action, a purpose, a state, etc., especially in spite of
difficulties, obstacles, or discouragement.
I love that there is a theological definition to this word too, which I confess, I wasn't thinking about at all, but frankly if residency doesn't turn your eyes to God, you will be turning to "crazy" with a quickness.
Yes, I think Rochester's word is "perseverance". And that explains why it took me so long to get along with Rochester. I am not yet sure what my personal word is, but I KNOW it's not that. I am not one who perseveres. I'm one who says "Well, to hell with this, let's get a bottle of wine". Nobody WANTS to learn how to persevere because that necessarily means doing something hard. No ones talks about enduring this chocolate cake or staying the course of their bubble bath.
I wasn't a perseverer (real word? no, but roll with it). But maybe, just maybe, I am now. And I do love it here, not so much because of the weird contrary contrastiness (also not a real word) of the Roc, but because I needed to be here and to learn how to endure, how to persist in spite of "difficulties, obstacles, or disappointment". And I needed the people here, the women who help me continue "in a state of grace to the end".
I'm not going to write about resident life because that's been done more effectively elsewhere, by people who have been through it themselves. But perseverance? Yes. They learn that. My goodness, they have to learn that or they don't make it.
Life as a patient or a patient's loved one? I've been there, sweating bullets and choking on tears in the PICU. Perseverance? Yes. It requires strength you don't know that you have and don't particularly want to have, but you MUST have it for your loved one. It's the strength to stay and the strength to face the possibility of letting them leave. And there is no difficulty like that, no thing that is harder to see to the end.
And life as a resident's spouse? I could write a novel, though don't worry, I won't do that here. But yes, you had better learn how to do it all, by yourself, and find happiness in it. Perseverance.
So now? I know that I can do this thing. This medical spouse thing, this motherhood thing, this LIFE thing. And I said "do it by yourself" but really, you don't do it alone. There are times that it feels that way, because your primary partner is gone so much, enduring their own tests, but you find people that help you, that quietly step into the gaps, and help you persevere.
One of those people left last week. My friend Melissa went back to California. She is the first of the fifth years to leave. I knew it was coming, of course. And I expected to be sad, and I am sad. I'm sad because I miss Mel and Cora. And I'm so grateful for the time we got to spend in Florida together and for Mel's sweet heart and generous nature which allowed her to like me even though I'm nothing like her and could easily drive a put-together person crazy.
And Melissa is always perfectly put together ...to the point that she and Cora are always dressed in complementary outfits. I consider myself well groomed if there are no immediately visible food stains on my outfit. When we were in Florida, she made a spread sheet comparing the prices of food and supplies at area grocery stores. I bought a balloon pump and 55 balloons for Graydon's 12 month photos, which then drifted all over our apartment for the remainder of our time in Florida. I think you get the picture.
I'm also sad because this is just the beginning of the end. The rest of the fifth years are packing up and moving out, and it's surreal to me. They're all great people and good friends. The last to leave will be Danielle, and when I think about Danielle and Sydney leaving, and not having sweet little Miss S every day, I immediately start crying.
Great, now I'm crying.
But yes, that will be a hard goodbye. There is no bigger compliment than handing your child over to someone. And Danielle is awesome, the kind of friend that lets you cry about a bad day and then brings you a bottle of wine the next day, just in case the bad mood is lingering. And she raised a luminous and lovely daughter that I will miss terribly, and Addie will miss terribly. She really believes Sydney is her sister. Sometimes on the weekend she freaks out and says "Mom, we forgot to get Sydney!" when we're leaving an activity. I'm not sure how to explain that she isn't going to get to play with her "sister" for a long while.
Soon my year will be the fifth year. And then it will be our turn to pack up and move too. All my friends already know where they are going...Utah, Canada, Alabama, North Carolina, Nevada....they are spreading out all over the States. Realtors are being engaged, houses are being prepped for sale, and "we really need to do this before we leave" lists are being prepared. So yes, it's the beginning of the end.
The end of the end is still a year away. But I've already had my first little taste of how hard it will be to say goodbye. These are my people. My family away from my family, the girls that make it possible for me to have dentist appointments and hair cuts and bring me chai lattes on bad days and take long walks and short runs with me. I spent Mother's Day with Jen and Anne because Tim was on call (as were their guys). I spent Father's Day with Laura and Nicole because Tim was on call. They're my people. My other family.
So, Rochester, I actually value you now. I don't hate you. I kinda sorta like you, maybe even love you, because you've changed me for the better. You, and the people here, you're all about perseverance. And I hope we can spend our last year here appreciating all the bizarrely oddball things about you and our crazy lives.
And the fifth years? Ladies, you did it. You did. And I bet most of you were a little out of sync with Rochester too, when you first arrived. And I bet leaving now breaks your hearts. Because your personal words, whatever they may be, they now include Rochester's word. And while I'm sad that this chapter is ending, I know you will all be OK because this place left its mark on you. I know you will all persevere.
Not least because you survived five Minnesota winters. Everything after this? It's cake, baby. Eat your hearts out.
