This Is What It Is Like

"This is what it is like," she held up her hand and showed me the tremble. Sweat rolled down her face. She had to sit. Kerry said, "I wanted you to see this. But I had to make sure I knew you well enough, first. I wanted to make sure you wouldn't run. Anytime I try to do something new -- outside my routine -- I get stressed and this is what happens. Thank you for coming with me. I couldn't have done this unless someone was there."

 When we saw the movie "A Beautiful Mind", Kerry provided commentary. Her voice was the only light in the room, yet it was bright enough to illuminate places deep inside her.

 10 years ago, at art college, a boyfriend betrayed her. He took her love and wonder without permission. She still has missing time; moments too horrible to remember. She still wakes up some nights seeing his face above her, as if it happened yesterday.

 "I don't want him to apologize," she said, "it is too late for that. I just want him to admit what he did. I want that piece of mind. I still dream of running into him -- telling him what a couple of greedy minutes had done to my life: 10 years of feeling I was drowning, suicide attempts, locked up in psychiatric wards, therapy, medication, HPV, cervical cancer, not feeling I could trust anyone ever again and having him rob me of being able to trust myself. Not being able to create for 10 years."

 When she was in the psychiatric ward, her parents had to begin to accept it: Kerry was gone. She might never be back. She might try to kill herself again -- she might be lost forever in the maze of her mind. They had to come to grips with the idea that they may never see their bright, artistic, curious, happy daughter again. The sunny girl who dreamt of being an artist. The one full of love and wonder who was about to shine so much beauty upon the world until someone tried to snuff it out.

 Doctors call Kerry's condition mental illness. I look at her and call it sensitivity and magic. I see the heart of an artist, full of the joy of life that ten years in hell could not kill. I could never understand why people tell others too be less sensitive. Is that the darkest thing that we unleash upon the world...sensitivity?

 Yes, Kerry lives in two worlds: the one everyone can see and another she has inside her. A world that stretches out forever and is smaller than a cantaloupe. I am privileged to visit Kerry's world. Everyday is another awfully big adventure. I don't control it. I go with it. I've learned so much about letting go and enjoying the moment from Kerry. To go anywhere with her is to let reality become a poem. It is a world of free association, after all Kerry is a jazz musician of the mind. And it is music to me. She rifts on an idea like Louis Armstrong playing the trumpet, but she plays with thoughts: endlessly inventive, bright and joyful. And they all tend to end with, "Oh -- I shouldn't have said that." Thank God, she did.

Her thoughts come and go so quickly. I have to always be aware. They are a golden speck -- the last ray of twilight sitting on a kitchen chair in the next room. If I hadn't looked up that second -- I'd have missed a masterpiece. Kerry showed me that there is beauty in every moment that will never be again. She taught me to stop and notice all the little shiny things in this world. You know, the things that impress kids and curious animals. The rest of us? Well, we grew up and let something deep inside die.

 During her cancer last year, she dealt with the trauma by drawing. Wonderful, compelling drawings. I can only think of one word that describes them: Kerry. She is creating again and there is a glow in her eyes. A bit of mischief too. Looking at photos of her from last year and what she is today -- we both gasp. She's come so far.

 What impresses me most, though, is that everyday she has to make a choice. Will she fight or give up. And she admits it would have been so easy to quit. This is too hard: the stress, the anxiety, the trembling hands, the possibility that people might think she's -- well, crazy. Who needs that? That is what it is like for Kerry. She could play it safe, realize how hard it is, crawl up in an attic and go into emotional hiding. But she is a fighter -- a bird that keeps getting shot down but won't stop flying. She is an artist, damn it. Start seeing artist. Imagine if Van Gogh had given up before he had ever painted. Imagine a world without Van Goghs. That is what it is like for me. I can't imagine a world without Kerry`s art. But in the end -- she is her greatest masterpiece.

 We sit in the college cafeteria until she feels better -- but it is getting noisy and crowded. We should go. I'll cook her dinner, we'll watch a movie and talk. Talk. That is always the best part. Anyway, we did what we wanted to do. We walked around and found where her classrooms were. She was going back to college Monday to earn her degree.

 "You have no idea what this means to me," Kerry said, "thank you so much for being there."

 I knew what it meant. Kerry was back

"Not in the Pink"

A drawing Kerry did the day she found out she had cancer. It is just like Kerry to see a monster and put flowers in its hair.