My life has taken some intriguing plot twists and turns this week as I wait to be back onstage in “Picnic” this weekend at BCT.

The most mind altering started with a call from my mother on Wednesday morning.

In such classic Jordan fashion, she left me a voice mail about something from my daughter’s school and left a PS of sorts, “Oh, by the way, John has been really, really, really sick for the last… oh, two weeks or so. When I get back to Arizona, I’ll give you more details.”

Ok. So, apparently Mom was in Southern California, and apparently my brother, who has Down’s Syndrome, has been ill for quite some time and no one bothered to tell me.

My brother and I were quite the twosome when we were little.  He was born when I was only fourteen months old, so I was just a baby when this special little guy came into our family. I never knew life without him.

Our older siblings were at school, so for the first four years together, it was John and me alone with Mom. Back in the sixties there were lots of daytime coffees for the Moms, none of whom worked, and we kids hung around in the background.

I would hear very confusing questions on a regular basis.  “Well, Nancy, have you found a place to send John yet?” people would ask.  Common knowledge then was that special needs people, folks who were different, belonged in institutions where “normal” people wouldn’t have to be reminded of genetic errors.  “Oh, Nancy, I know someone who knows someone who placed their daughter in a lovely place….”

This happened regularly and I didn’t get it.

You see, the Jordan family way was to act as if John was just like all the other kids.  Yes, he looked different, acted different and couldn’t do the things the rest of us, but that River Denial was so strong in our blood that it didn’t matter if little Julie, John’s constant companion, actually bought that John was “just like the rest of us.”

I lived in constant terror that not only would John get sent away, but that I might get sent away, too. So I became his shadow, made sure he was happy and no trouble at all for my parents. I figured if I took good care of him, he wouldn’t cause a problem, wouldn’t get sent away and neither would I.

I remember on a family vacation we went to visit one of those places where the children were plentiful, there were lots of nurses in pressed white dresses and weird hats, and no Mommys and Daddys to be seen. The grounds were beautiful, there was even a great playground, but I was petrified. So petrified I never said a word, my fear froze preschool and early elementary school concerns into a wildly pounding heart.

Life progressed and we were both “safe”. I went away to college at University of the Pacific and neglected to explain to John what was going on. When I came home for the summer, John completely ignored my existence. That is how mad he was at me for leaving him like that.

My family thought it was hilarious. Once again, my wildly pounding yet frozen heart kept my thoughts silent.

I wasn’t redeemed in John’s eyes until my Junior Year in college, when I brought home the man who was to become my husband. 

Our bond is different than that shared by any of our other siblings, so to hear two weeks later that he is so ill that they are not sure if he will make it through, yes, I would say it is life altering.

He has aspiration pneumonia - and was in the ICU at Saddleback Hospital for two weeks, on heavy duty anti-biotics, a trach, and a feeding tube.

He was transferred to another acute level hospital in Santa Ana, which is where he is now.

He is still on the trach and feeding tube, but he did drink some water today.

His oxygen levels are at 35%. They are not sure if he will make it or not.  When he got transferred to the hospital in Santa Ana, they said, "Do you want him to go to the hospital or to hospice?"

Mom is back in Flagstaff now for a week after spending two weeks in Orange County.  She said she couldn't do anything and felt bad because John was so wanting her to get him out of there... (communicating only non-verbally because of all the medical apparatus he has right now.)

I asked a lot of my Conservator type quality of care questions (this is why I worked for the county, I have decided) and apparently the medical staff is serving him well.

I was worried they would treat him like a "thing" and not communicate well with him, or explain things to him, because they assume he doesn't understand.

Mom also said she would keep in touch with me daily now that I know.

I think I will go to Santa Ana on Tuesday. That is my first open day.

What bothers me the most is thinking of him lying there in the hospital, all alone.  My sister, Sue, is fairly close by and my brothers, Joe and Jim, are in Oceanside, so I am trusting they have been to see him.

This weekend I will seek solace on stage.  I will allow the words of William Inge, the Pulitzer Prize winning “Picnic” playwright, to beckon me to peace. I will portray Rosemary with truth, with integrity, with the care she deserves.

I will perform my poetry at (burn the witch) on Saturday again. New stuff this week  I set a new goal a week ago to perform more poetry, so I was exceptionally grateful they asked me to perform for a second go-around.

Art calms my heart. It unfreezes all that stuff that is locked up in there. It connects me with those I love – across the miles, across the years, across the misunderstanding and dropped communication.

I remember the words of one of my favorite ancient poems, Rumi. He wrote, “Something opens our wings. Something makes boredom and hurt disappear. Someone fills the cup in front of us: We taste only sacredness.”

That is what I aim to create. I aim to fill the cup of one person in my audience, perhaps someone I have never met and will never meet.

Wings open, hurt disappears, sacredness fills the soul.

= + = + = + = +

"Picnic", written by William Inge and Directed by Barry Wolcott, won the Pulitzer Prize in 1953. It explores the hopes, fears, excitement and sorrow of following our dreams while we make choices that impact the ones we love. It is playing at Bakersfield Community Theatre for two more weekends. Call 831-8114 for reservations and further details.

(burn the witch) is an all woman group art show at the Empty Space Theater with an encore engagement Saturday, September 16 from 2-7 pm. I am performing my poetry and will be engaging the audience in some live, collaborative art creation at 3 pm.  The Empty Space is located at 706 Oak Street which is between Brundage and California behind Pizzaville.