Diary of a Real-Life Veterinarian: purgatory

Purgatory is that place between places. The place where bad outweighs otherness. "The place of temporary suffering," as Webster notes. It is the word I used in Ukraine when the group asked me what my thoughts on being there were? I said "purgatory." When I did I got back puzzled faces? I had to define it for them. They were Romanian, Ukrainian, or long time UK military. It wasn't a word any of them used, knew, or could place in the reference I had given. I had used it because it was the best word my mind could find to express my deep concerns for the plight of the animals I saw there. The animals we were all taking care of. The animals we were all risking our lives for. But now that I am home I think it defined the whole mass of the entire experience.

I was reading the New York Times, (one of my bucket list items from COVID), and in it I saw that there is a new series by Stanley Tucci (something about food? I think? and Italy?). It caught my eye as I have developed a serious crush on him. On the 10 hour plane ride home from Bucharest to Dulles I watched Supernova. It is an intimate love story between Stanley Tucci and Colin Firth, who are quite possibly the sexiest over 50 duo to land on the big screen. Their story, their ability to capture their characters, draw you within them, and keep you suspended within hopeful curiosity to a story that can't possibly have a "happily ever after" captivates. Watching that film in the dark, seated in 23D, (middle row, who booked this seat for me??!!), was one of the few escapes from purgatory that trip permitted me. It's a story that pits dying within the despair imbued within trying to live through the saying goodbye. It is two men destined for one another and dealing with the end to their love story on their own terms. I got lost in it. I cried. I cried buckets for them and to purge my purgatory sentence. It was the beginning of my onboard movie marathon. The "jump in and drown yourself in tear-jerkers" to see if you can just purge yourself of the ocean you are drowning within. Next up with 2 hours down and 8 to go, was, Land. Robin Wright putting herself in the middle of the harsh, brutal, winter woods of northern Colorado to be mercilessly faced with dying alone at the unmerciful hand of nature she was excessively ill equipped to face solo. It almost appears as if she has a death wish she dares to claim her. It is a bit of a love story with forgiving herself for the life changing, heartbreaking series of horrible losses she has faced. It is also a bit of a finding yourself as you cannot permit suicide based on a promise she made with her only remaining close relative, her sister. It is about accepting loss as you find out who you are and what you are made of. An intervention based on facing survival alone. My favorite quote, "only a person who has never known hunger would chose to die of starvation." Can one outwill themselves from their own purgatory? Robin did. Why can't the rest of us? Specifically at this moment, why can't I?

Hour 6 was yet another chick flick meant to wet your face. I rode that horse into running the tear well dry. I had hoped I could cry it all out before I got home. Last move, "Eat, Pray, Love." 'Cause why not watch a movie about another woman with a lost purpose who dumps, runs, journeys far away and tries to find herself within the muddling, meandering, and muck? (Why didn't I just have a Minions marathon? Laugh that crap out? I always feign to my feelings. Do I always choose cry over laugh? Glutton).

I was shocked to hear an NPR news interview driving to work about how it is believed crossing a large pool of water cleans all your woos. I swear it was true for me to. Something about crossing the Atlantic, crying through three movies, 6 plus hours of tear-jerkers and I felt better. Here's my entry from my journal as we trekked along at 30,000 feet above the great big blue..

"Maybe it is this wretched ocean? The Atlantic Ocean. (I spent a decade sailing this ocean, it's a legitimate adjective in my hands). Where so many years were spent washing away the time. Suspended life while the world still turns and others live theirs. A parallel existence with the same measure of time, and yet, mine was stuck. Away at sea is stuck. A purgatory of its own, with the exception of being so busy with the work at hand you are too tired, too focused on catching rest while you can, that you cannot see the purgatory for the absence of self. Going to sea is an endless cycle of home, push play and begin to live, to pause-pack a seabag and head offshore. Play-pause-play-pause-repeat. The continuum you cannot fit your life into off season. Big gaps of time passing with the currents and tidal changes of the oceans you cross. And now I cross it again, this time headed home, and as I do I just feel better. washed clean. Absolved. Christened. Baptised. Home calls and the ocean absorbs the tears of loss, abandonment of those faces I cannot suppress, nor bury, nor leave behind. Maybe we are square now? You the ocean, and me the lost soul bobbing back to dry land.

Even if I don't feel like I am wearing that cape of despair the Ukraine trip brought me to the same degree, bending under the weight of the pain, suffering, despair and dismal chance of any of that changing anytime soon, that cloak isn't so weighty any longer. The ocean crossing with the movies of other misplaced/lost souls seeking validation/acceptance and inner forgiveness seemed to bring some resolve. But the perception of purgatory now having a place on the map, a feeling of tangible faces with names and unknown, unsettling possible futures, the sights, the smells, the sounds, that kind of purgatory still lives on Ukraine. Defining it is only a matter of finding your place within its borders. Crying your way home to buy your way back into heaven is the cost of a plane ticket without sleep.