Obviously my genetic disease wasn't real and I was just sick because my parents were bad, or because I was a bad kid or something.
That reminds me of John 9 ( http://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=John+9&version=NIV ), where Jesus's disciples asked him whether a man blind from birth was blind because of his sins or his parents'. Jesus replied it was so the works of God could be shown through him, then promptly cured his blindness 'cause that's how the Jeez rolls, yo.
Though I'm not a Christian anymore, this chapter still resonates with me not because of the whole magical healing aspect (which I've never taken literally, not even back when I went to church) but because of the message that a person's inborn harships are not a punishment but a potential for greatness and meaning.
That's what the spiritual agnostic, or more accurately lover of story, in me says anyway. The rational and scientific part of me says it's just random chance and could just as well be anyone or their loved one so shut the fuck up you science-ignoring ignorant ignoramuses.
Evidently the rational part of me has a bit of a temper. And a low tolerance for stupidity.
"If you really loved your parent/spouse/child/whatever it wouldn't be a burden" bullshit.
I hope for the sake of their souls that those horribly hurtful words were a misguided and ignorant attempt to get her spirits up. Which makes it no less wrong, just helps me feel less stabby.
It's all the more wrong because the barest glimmer of common sense should tell anyone that love makes it harder, not easier, to watch loved ones suffer and fear constantly for their safety. In my planned essay about Eowyn facing down the Nazgul as a metaphor for caregiving (your sharing your mother's story gave me the impetus to write it--you're making me all kinds of productive here), the title is in fact "Love as a Battle" and the argument is that love is the risk Eowyn is taking in that scene. The Witch-King's threat is specifically that he will not kill Eowyn, just Theoden. Surviving a loved one after pouring one's time, energy, and spirit into their care really is the kind of spiritual flaying and eternal torment that the Nazgul promises her, one that Eowyn can walk away from by not committing to protect and care for for her uncle.
She refuses to do so because she knows her spirit is stronger than any torments Mordor can threaten: Yes, the loss is hard and it will never really end, and yes, maybe she can cut her losses by refusing to commit herself completely to this difficult and terrifying process. She knows that it will be a compromise of herself to give anything less than her entire self, though, and though others will be completely understanding of her choice she could never forgive herself.
It's also significant that the prophecy set things up so that the Witch-King would be afraid of a woman but not a man. (I also read a humorous fanfic that pointed out that hobbits, Dwarves, Elves, Ents, Gandalf, etc. etc. are also not Men. I really should hunt down the link for the essay.) Caregiving has been primarily, though far from exclusively, a woman's domain, and it makes sense that the Nazgul as a sickness that inflicts the mind should fear a woman. He had even better reason to fear this particular woman who had been caring for her ailing uncle for years, something that may have given her the courage to look unblinking into the eyes of fear itself.
I'd like to dedicate the essay to your mother when I write it, would that be okay? If you'd like I could send the draft to you first to make sure I didn't misrepresent anything or accidentally share details you wouldn't want me to, though I don't think I know anything more than what you shared on LJ.
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branchandroot
no subject
Date: 2013-02-19 01:54 am (UTC)That reminds me of John 9 ( http://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=John+9&version=NIV ), where Jesus's disciples asked him whether a man blind from birth was blind because of his sins or his parents'. Jesus replied it was so the works of God could be shown through him, then promptly cured his blindness 'cause that's how the Jeez rolls, yo.
Though I'm not a Christian anymore, this chapter still resonates with me not because of the whole magical healing aspect (which I've never taken literally, not even back when I went to church) but because of the message that a person's inborn harships are not a punishment but a potential for greatness and meaning.
That's what the spiritual agnostic, or more accurately lover of story, in me says anyway. The rational and scientific part of me says it's just random chance and could just as well be anyone or their loved one so shut the fuck up you science-ignoring ignorant ignoramuses.
Evidently the rational part of me has a bit of a temper. And a low tolerance for stupidity.
"If you really loved your parent/spouse/child/whatever it wouldn't be a burden" bullshit.
I hope for the sake of their souls that those horribly hurtful words were a misguided and ignorant attempt to get her spirits up. Which makes it no less wrong, just helps me feel less stabby.
It's all the more wrong because the barest glimmer of common sense should tell anyone that love makes it harder, not easier, to watch loved ones suffer and fear constantly for their safety. In my planned essay about Eowyn facing down the Nazgul as a metaphor for caregiving (your sharing your mother's story gave me the impetus to write it--you're making me all kinds of productive here), the title is in fact "Love as a Battle" and the argument is that love is the risk Eowyn is taking in that scene. The Witch-King's threat is specifically that he will not kill Eowyn, just Theoden. Surviving a loved one after pouring one's time, energy, and spirit into their care really is the kind of spiritual flaying and eternal torment that the Nazgul promises her, one that Eowyn can walk away from by not committing to protect and care for for her uncle.
She refuses to do so because she knows her spirit is stronger than any torments Mordor can threaten: Yes, the loss is hard and it will never really end, and yes, maybe she can cut her losses by refusing to commit herself completely to this difficult and terrifying process. She knows that it will be a compromise of herself to give anything less than her entire self, though, and though others will be completely understanding of her choice she could never forgive herself.
It's also significant that the prophecy set things up so that the Witch-King would be afraid of a woman but not a man. (I also read a humorous fanfic that pointed out that hobbits, Dwarves, Elves, Ents, Gandalf, etc. etc. are also not Men. I really should hunt down the link for the essay.) Caregiving has been primarily, though far from exclusively, a woman's domain, and it makes sense that the Nazgul as a sickness that inflicts the mind should fear a woman. He had even better reason to fear this particular woman who had been caring for her ailing uncle for years, something that may have given her the courage to look unblinking into the eyes of fear itself.
I'd like to dedicate the essay to your mother when I write it, would that be okay? If you'd like I could send the draft to you first to make sure I didn't misrepresent anything or accidentally share details you wouldn't want me to, though I don't think I know anything more than what you shared on LJ.