Karen Koenig, 1937-1994

"In 1966, three months after the birth of her third child, Karen discovered that she had von Hippel-Lindau disease (VHL). VHL began to affect her eyes more than twenty-five years ago, and she eventually lost all sight in one eye. But it was not until January, 1992, that impairment of vision in her only seeing eye ended her career as an artist. It was out of these circumstances, and with the encouragement and guidance of my poet brother, David Koenig, that this book came into being." — Steven P. Koenig, M.D., from the introduction to Sacred Process¹

I Thank God (for Steven)

(December 8, 1991)

I thank God

For skies and trees

And gentle breeze,

For rabbits, bears,

For joys and cares,

For ice

And mice,

For vegetables and rice,

For you

For me

For I and thee.

Life here’s the best —

We are so blessed!

For merriment and sorrow

To share today, tomorrow

With YOU —

For this

I never really stop

Thanking God.

 

 

I Feel Like a Wild-Eyed Doe

(December 8, 1991, after her second son’s diagnosis and surgery)

I feel like a wild-eyed doe.

All deer know

That there are wolves out there,

But life goes on.

We do our best

To be alert,

To be careful,

To use all of our wit and instinct

And when danger swoops in close,

To fight, fight!

Use all of our strength and resources,

And to hopefully fend off the peril.

When we’re young, agile and strong,

And when we’re only needing to protect ourselves,

Evading the threat is a relatively simple thing.

But now I have a fawn—no, two—in danger!

And the wolves are close, menacing.

I hear their stealthy moves toward us now.

The tiniest crackle and rustle tell me they approach.

My heart pounds.

I strain to be ready

To protect not just myself, but now my babies.

I see glowing wolf eyes,

Their gleaming fangs!

I rear up on hind legs

And find a roar in my throat

Which I never before knew to exist.

My precious young, huddled in the thicket,

Get up on shaky legs to run/resist.

The predators bound toward us, leaping.

I rear up, eyes bulging,

Hoofs flashing, thundering.

Can we survive?

Will all we have to fight with be enough?

How much will we have

Of ourselves or each other

When this onslaught

Is over?

 

 

Thank You

(January 2, 1992, St. Mary’s Hospital, before the angiogram. Abridged.)

Thank you,

Drs. von Hippel and Lindau.

You have given me

The concrete guideposts

To a marvelously full life.

Some people have called me

"Hyper."

But I have only been hurrying

So that I could enjoy

And participate in

As much of life as possible.

 

Since age nineteen,

An insistent inner voice

Has kept telling me

My life might be abbreviated.

So I have worked hard,

Played and prayed hard,

I have run fast, yes,

Have had a wild schedule

Sometimes.

But sometimes

I have lain very still

For very long periods.

 

Some people have called me

"Intense" and "intentional."

But I have only been trying

To make meaning,

Take in the meaning of life.

When there is a small space

Or a limited time factor

Things get a bit crowded,

Condensed.

People who have more time,

Who feel less pressured,

Naturally cannot relate.

They resist, even get hostile

Sometimes.

But heavenly things have been accomplished!

Mending and washings

Of dishes, clothes, and cars,

Mundane "little things"

That weave the fabric

Of a sunny, peaceful life.

 

Love-making and pregnancies,

Blessed mystery of gestation and births.

Infinite preciousness

Of infants, toddlers,

Children growing.

Lunches with the kids

In the Morton Arboretum,

Then lying on the blanket,

Watching the clouds

Through the branches of

The amazing variety of trees.

Church school teaching,

A weekly meeting of twelve Cub Scouts

In the basement.

Batavia Little League and Girls’ Softball games,

Sometimes in three parks

Simultaneously!

Talking on the phone

While baking a cake

And making dinner

And helping with homework.

A dining room table holding

Oil paints and portrait-in-progress,

Sewing materials

For eight Christmas aprons,

And a stack of presents and wrappings

Two feet high. . . .

I have loved every minute of it,

Hectic as it has been.

I thrive on activity.

I relish challenge

It is all so precious,

So holy.

 

Some people have called me

"Weird."

I went out and marveled

At the fuzziness of new soybeans

In the spring fields.

I took my children,

And later my best friend,

To share my awe
At how the corn stalks grow upwards
In ever-opening spirals:

 

One of the countless examples

All around us

All the time

Of ultimate order —God’s handiwork,

God’s incredible, irresistible,

Artistic design,

Always ours for the taking in.

My joy was unbounded

In those fields.

I hugged trees too,

And I’m so very glad

I did.

Again,

Precious, holy.

My viewpoint hasn’t changed one iota.

This level of appreciation,

To me,

Is weird

Like ecstasy is weird.

I wish everyone this weirdness.

 

Some people have found it

Amusing, confusing,

Some very tiring, even exasperating,

How so much,

So many people especially

Could be so beautiful,

So dear to me.

I have never seen a person

In whom there is no beauty.

And I am always looking!

The unending variety of people

In New York City

Delights and fascinates me.

Whether on the streets

Or the subways,

The potpourri of faces makes me feel

Like a kid in a candy shop.

Loveliness everywhere!

 

And so I have had

This wonder-filled

Love affair with Life

All of these years.

Where will it lead next?

Wherever it is,

I will surely find

Beautiful things there.

 

Thank you,

Drs. von Hippel and Lindau.

Thank you, Lord.

 

 

Sacred Process -- As I See it Now III

(March 14, 1993)

Physical sight dimmed and threatened

Hearing diminished

Partial facial paralysis

Poor sense of balance

Post-radiation-impaired memory,

Knowledge of my disease’s progression,

Down several considerable

Body parts.

(I’ve laughingly said

It turns out they were

Spare parts.)

Pieces of my physical self

Already gone ahead of me

Into the other reality.

With all of this,

I will go on,

Loving life as I live it

With as much gusto and dignity

As I can muster.

Life continues to awe me,

Tickle me,

Thrill me,

And, yes, nurture me.

What more could I ask?

The love affair continues.