Lessons from Bees

The bumble bees
know where their home is.
They have memorized
every stalk and leaf of the field.
They fall from the air
at exactly the right place,
they crawl under the soft grasses,
they enter the darkness humming.

~Mary Oliver

On the day Mike and I married I read this poem and gave Mike a small rhinestone bee pin that had been mine since I was very young. I vowed to use bees as our life's example and to learn lessons from them. I told Mike I would always know where my home was as long as I knew where he was. I vowed to work hard at making a home for us. I vowed to be fiercely protective of that home and I asked the same same of him because with that hard work would come sweetness.

Yesterday I was in the garden with my morning coffee - the huge, glowing, yellow-orange blossoms of the pumpkins had called me outside. Bees were busy humming between flowers; singing with their wings as they gathered nectar to carry home. Each bee had a different sound which changed pitch from flower to flower as more pollen began to cling to legs and thorax. The more load the deeper the hum. Each bee also carried varying amounts of pollen between flowers. One bee, except for his mahogany colored wings was completely covered in yellow. He glowed in the morning light as he flew away, particles of pollen trailing him like fairy dust.

But bees aren't fairies, ask my daughter-in-law Mandy. She was pulling weeds beneath the squash blossoms in the afternoon and got stung. It happens with bees. A misunderstanding of sorts. Each of us doing our job and focused on our own task. An unintentional disregard of the other occurs, we get in each others way, become a bit bothersome and the next thing you know someone gets stung. That's how it's been here at the Flats for the past few days. Mike has been focused on his discomfort and has become withdrawn. I've been a little hovery trying to help, getting too much in his space, taking things a little too personally. I'm just trying to work here, trying to keep my home together but sometimes it feels like there is a bear lumbering a 100 yards off in the field and closing in to rip our hive to shreds.

That's what this cancer feels like some days and yesterday was one of them. I'm just trying to protect what we have. Pieces of hive are falling off. Little things have been getting lost to this cancer bear. First there was my spot to the port. The pump and tubing are still in the way; it's whirring a constant reminder of the bear in the field. Mike's mouth and lips are becoming dry from chemo so kissing is going by the wayside, well, the big long sweet kisses anyhow, there are still these little pecking kisses which aren't nearly as satisfying. Then there's the roid thing which causes Mike pain and with the pain the withdrawl. Along with the roid there is underwear to bed and reduced intimacy. We won't talk about white bread. He's developing a few GI issues now too and he's been tired this weekend - pain will do that to you.

I don't blame Mike for these things. I blame the cancer. But because the cancer is part of Mike I think it's hard for him not to blame himself. It's pretty frustrating for both of us. Neither one of us can do a damned thing about it and finding patience is sometimes pretty hard. Pollen builds up. It's hard to fly under the extra weight. The nectar seems heavy and we both want to unload. Stingers stand ready and sometimes someone gets stung.

Yesterday while I watched bees in the garden one flew up, landed in my hair and shook himself off before flying away with his honey, humming. And there was my lesson delivered by a bee: Work hard, shake off what you don't need and sing on the way home. Nice.

Peace
and
Don't worry
Bee happy
Don't worry
Bee happy now!

Karen