Because I Miss Him

So much time, so VERY VERY missed – every day. You were here for dinner 7 years ago tonight, and I never saw you again.  I miss you and think of you so much,  Daddy! Today, and every day. …… So here’s my story again

 

Through the Door: 7 years Gone

I pull in the driveway just as the shadows are starting to lengthen and the afternoon is at its golden magical moment. Its been a long day and my feet are killing me. As I walk up the deck steps to the back door I don’t hear our two dogs barking – which is strange,  because they usually bark when a leaf blows by the window – never mind when they hear footsteps on the trex decking. But no matter – I’m tired. I open the door and take a step into the dim coolness of my kitchen – shedding my sweater as I walk in.

I’m greeted by Miss Nellie – our old greyhound, who lifts her head off the couch and grins at me, tail thumping. For a millisecond I accept this – then I freeze. Nellie’s been at the Rainbow Bridge for close to three years now.  Then I hear his voice behind me –  “What’s for supper, Donna Jean?”   Dad?  Oh, Daddy…. I spin around and RUN, fast as I can,  hugging him tightly. He’s real, and I’m not hallucinating.   “Take it easy kiddo”, he says, “I’m still recuperating. I just got the OK to drive again today.”  That’s when I know.  It’s June 6, 2007.  Its not the date I woke up to this morning – but when I stepped through my back door this afternoon it’s where I ended up.  And I’ve been given a rare gift.  One more last afternoon with my father.

I frantically try and think of any way to keep him at my house for as long as possible, as we chat about the girls and wait for them and my husband, to get home. Its surreal. My brain is telling me this isn’t possible, but oh, my heart…. my heart.  I don’t know how I manage to keep it together; as this great big lump of emotion in the center of my chest tries to work its way up my throat and explode out of me.  But I do keep it together, barely.  Dad doesn’t seem to notice. There’s so much I want to tell him, but can’t.    The crew gets home just as I think  I can’t stand any more and they prove a distraction.  I’m in for another shock – when I left them this morning they were 21 and 15. Now, they’re 14 and 8. We decide on pizza for dinner and Grandpa is highly encouraged to stay. As usual, the girls have him wrapped around their fingers,  and so he does.  I content myself watching him with them, remembering how much they mean/t to him and how much he loves/loved being their grandfather.

Time slows, I start to almost feel like this is normal – and then it suddenly accelerates as Dad gets ready to leave – he’s heading for an AA meeting – just like he did before. My heart sinks because I know he’s leaving and this is the last time I’ll see him – again. Don’t go Dad. Stay awhile. But the time arrives. I know it, and I know I can’t stop him.  I tell him unequivocally to take it easy – reminding him (as I follow him out to the car this time) that he has to see the surgeon before he goes back to mowing lawns and landscaping. But I know it won’t make any difference.   There really are no do-overs. What was, was. What is, is. And what will be, will be. The timeline is locked in, and on June 7, 2007 he will have a massive heart attack while unloading his lawn mower at a clients house and he will pass away before I can get to the hospital to say goodbye.   “I know,” he says.  “Love you.  Sayonara, Kemosabe.  Keep the Faith.”  “Bye Dad, I love you too!” And with that, he leaves – just like before.

As I turn and walk back up the driveway the light shifts back to golden for an instant.  I hear the dogs barking inside the house. I go back through the door again, back to my future. I smile through the tears I can now let loose –  because I got my chance to say goodbye, after all.

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There are no words, really… but I’ll try…

I am feeling inadequate this evening. Also very sad, and very, very horrified.  Mr Delbert Belton, an 89 year old veteran of the Battle of Okinawa during WWII has tragically been beaten to death by two individuals who aren’t worth the amount of time it takes to type their names. I am absolutely incensed by the fact that a member of the Greatest Generation has been horrifically murdered by two members of the Worst Generation – the worst generation EVER.  The Gimme Generation.  I’m not gonna play a race card here (draw your own conclusions folks) But seriously  I DON’T CARE what your income level is, or what color skin you have. There is a standard of decency and civilized behavior that must be maintained- and just because you don’t like white people does not give you the right to target and murder a defenseless old man.   Any more than just because you don’t like or trust black people gives you the right to profile, stalk, and shoot them in “self-defense”. This man did NOTHING to deserve what these two sub-humans did to him. Any more than Christopher Lane did to deserve getting shot in the back by 3 lazy good for nothing teenage idiots.

This man Delbert Belton – this Hero, sacrificed of himself so that future generations could live in freedom.  Think about it – if the Nazis had won the War does anyone believe that people of color; or of a different culture, would even still exist? Honestly, the crematoriums would still be burning if Hitler and his cronies had prevailed.   But if you do believe otherwise,  I have swampland in Arizona I can sell you on the dirt cheap.  Delbert Belton and his comrades fought for EVERYONE – and he ended up getting his head bashed in for it.  I wonder – whatever happened to respecting your elders? Hell, whatever happened to just plain respecting each other?   I think I might be able to tell you – but you probably either won’t like it, or just don’t want to hear it….

Its all about entitlement and enabling.  It’s about covetousness.  One of the biggie major sins the Ten Commandments talks about. Somehow, during our efforts to  assist others to better themselves, those we have tried to help have got the idea that they are entitled to what the rest of us have actually worked for. And we help them to validate this by buying into the “race card” idiocy. Which – to be fair – isn’t always idiocy…. But – Tell me, please – since when does decent, caring human behavior come with a color?   A person is a person is a person. If we truly want to have a dialogue and work towards a resolution of prejudice and racism then we have to agree  AND ENFORCE a minimum standard of humanistic behavior towards our fellow man.  This does NOT include beating someone’s brains out – just so we are clear.  No exceptions or excuses.  Excuses are where we get bogged down; where we get foggy.   Here are some statistics:

48.5% of African American children are growing up without a father ( in a single parent family) http://www.withoutafather.com/facts.php  A severely disproportionate number of victims, suspects,and arrest-ees are African American – in New York City at least, as of 2012. http://www.nyc.gov/html/nypd/downloads/pdf/analysis_and_planning/crime_and_enforcement_activity_jan_to_jun_2012.pdfI I have been informed ancedotally that up to 70% of violent crime is committed by African American males between the ages of 16 and 21.  Are the rest of us wrong to be wary?  No.  Wrong to profile – absolutely yes.  But in the case of Mr Belton – Its quacking just like a duck – and loudly. This case, and the Lane case in OK, unfortunately quite solidly reinforced the stereotype.  And guess what? If you don’t want to be thought of and treated like a gangsta thug – STOP ACTING LIKE ONE!

How do we assist  single mothers to raise their sons to respect life, respect humanity – in all its diverse plumage? I don’t think we do it by throwing 50K a year (in MA) non-taxable benefits at them.  ( thats just me though and just so y’all know that’s a LOT more than I make annually!) Delbert Belton was an 89 year old widower and military veteran with nothing of value other than his dignity and a Purple Heart. Why did he become a target?  I think perhaps because we are raising a society that has no empathy, no connection to one another, no moral compass. I don’t dislike anyone based on the color of their skin. I dislike them for the demonstration of their lack of character; their lack of humanity, their stupid sense of self-entitlement, and their complete disregard for the value of life.  As John Mellencamp wrote: “Its what you do and not what you say – if you’re not part of the future, then get out of the way!”    This man was literally defenseless – and yet somehow two lowlife thugs who have extensive juvenile records for assault amongst other things – thought it appropriate to beat him with flashlights until he died. The future holds no place for ignorance, intolerance, disrespect, and injustice. Read a Book, Get Educated, Be Aware, , Ask Questions, Speak Out, Be Responsible.

At some point we need to put aside the racial baggage and start fresh – a clean slate – with the idea that all of us have intrinsic value and that no one should be a target of violence simply because their skin is a different color.  There has to be a standard of proper behavior for humanity.  Not one standard for one group, not an excuse for another. Until there is one standard for all, until the murder of any one person causes everyone to be outraged, until equality means we all play by the same rules – we are, and will continue to be – in a lot of trouble. So if you can’t play by the rules on the field – you should be ejected from the game. We can even provide housing for you – its called prison.  We can achieve true equality much easier if we hold everyone to the same standard.  Delbert Belton’s generation understood this – fought and won a war for it in fact.  And, if we don’t start seriously addressing this problem, Mr Belton will have died for less than nothing.  I, for one, will not stand for that.   Rest in Peace Mr Belton.  You are honored, and will be missed.  #JusticeForDelbertBeltonvet24n-1-web

Through the Door: 6 Years Gone…

I know I just recently wrote this (a creative writing challenge) and posted it but…. its the date before THE date….  So much time, so VERY VERY missed – every day.  Especially this year, as his youngest granddaughter starts high school, and his oldest granddaughter gets married. You were here for dinner 6 years ago tonight, and I never saw you again.  I miss you and think of you so much,  Daddy! Today, and every day. …… So here it is again

 

I pull in the driveway just as the shadows are starting to lengthen and the afternoon is at its golden magical moment. Its been a long day and my feet are killing me. As I walk up the deck steps to the back door I don’t hear our two dogs barking – which is strange,  because they usually bark when a leaf blows by the window – never mind when they hear footsteps on the trex decking. But no matter – I’m tired. I open the door and take a step into the dim coolness of my kitchen – shedding my sweater as I walk in.

I’m greeted by Miss Nellie – our old greyhound, who lifts her head off the couch and grins at me, tail thumping. For a millisecond I accept this – then I freeze. Nellie’s been at the Rainbow Bridge for close to two years now.  Then I hear his voice behind me –  “What’s for supper, Donna Jean?”   Dad?  Oh, Daddy…. I spin around and RUN, fast as I can,  hugging him tightly. He’s real, and I’m not hallucinating.   “Take it easy kiddo”, he says, “I’m still recuperating. I just got the OK to drive again today.”  That’s when I know.  It’s June 6, 2007.  Its not the date I woke up to this morning – but when I stepped through my back door this afternoon it’s where I ended up.  And I’ve been given a rare gift.  One more last afternoon with my father.

I frantically try and think of any way to keep him at my house for as long as possible, as we chat about the girls and wait for them and my husband, to get home. Its surreal. My brain is telling me this isn’t possible, but oh, my heart…. my heart.  I don’t know how I manage to keep it together; as this great big lump of emotion in the center of my chest tries to work its way up my throat and explode out of me.  But I do keep it together, barely.  Dad doesn’t seem to notice. There’s so much I want to tell him, but can’t.    The crew gets home just as I think  I can’t stand any more and they prove a distraction.  I’m in for another shock – when I left them this morning they were 20 and 14.  Now, they’re 14 and 8. We decide on pizza for dinner and Grandpa is highly encouraged to stay. As usual, the girls have him wrapped around their fingers,  and so he does.  I content myself watching him with them, remembering how much they mean/t to him and how much he loves/loved being their grandfather.

Time slows, I start to almost feel like this is normal – and then it suddenly accelerates as Dad gets ready to leave – he’s heading for an AA meeting – just like he did before. My heart sinks because I know he’s leaving and this is the last time I’ll see him – again. Don’t go Dad. Stay awhile. But the time arrives. I know it, and I know I can’t stop him.  I tell him unequivocally to take it easy – reminding him (as I follow him out to the car this time) that he has to see the surgeon before he goes back to mowing lawns and landscaping. But I know it won’t make any difference.   There really are no do-overs. What was, was. What is, is. And what will be, will be. The timeline is locked in, and on June 7, 2007 he will have a massive heart attack while unloading his lawn mower at a clients house and he will pass away before I can get to the hospital to say goodbye.   “I know,” he says.  “Love you.  Sayonara, Kemosabe.  Keep the Faith.”  “Bye Dad, I love you too!” And with that, he leaves – just like before.

As I turn and walk back up the driveway the light shifts back to golden for an instant.  I hear the dogs barking inside the house. I go back through the door again, back to my future. I smile through the tears I can now let loose –  because I got my chance to say goodbye, after all.

The Head Table

Head Table Place Settings

Head Table Place Settings (Photo credit: VancityAllie)

Remember when you were a kid, and you couldn’t wait to sit at the grown up table on holidays?  No more mismatched chairs, paper plates and plastic cups at the rickety old card table. No sirree bub – you got the formal dining room and the good china at the adults table.  You were where it was happening. Definitely a mini rite-of-passage, at least for this chick.  As the oldest child and oldest grandchild I got to go first. Woo Hoo! Welcome to the Party, Pal!

But I want to talk about a different table.  The Head Table.  I don’t mean where Bride and Groom sit during their reception, or where the Silver and Gold Anniversary Couples get to sit. Those are cool places to be.   The happy place – center of attention and hub of the party wheel.  I want to talk about the table you get move up to – and sit at – when your parents pass away.  Its not an actual table, but its a real thing nonetheless.  And its emotional, and scary.  If all goes as hoped, you’re bound for the cemetery next. Not that anyone hopes to die, but if The Fates are kind, they take you before your children.

When you step up to take your seat at the table (if those Fates have once again smiled upon you) you’re usually middle aged – and usually with children and grandchildren by that point.  Sitting down, you get to take stock of your life to date.  You evaluate your goals, reevaluate them and maybe even change career direction. Or divorce. Or remarry. Have a full blown nuclear mid life crisis. Make a menopausally fueled Hit List. Or none of those things. But –  underlying whatever is going on is the stark reality that there’s no human buffer zone between you and the Great Beyond anymore. No safety net below you as you stand on the platform at the ceiling of the Center Ring.  Tag. You’re it.

I was chatting with my Aunt Jean the other day.  She lives near Chicago, but we try to connect with one another as much as possible. She was 17 when I was born, and she’s my Godmother.  We were discussing careers and work. She mentioned that at my age- I’m at the apex career wise.  If I’ve reached for the brass ring already – great. If not, I’d better do it soon. She didn’t say so, but I thought –  I’m approaching the Head Table, dammit.   I haven’t sat down yet because my Mom is still with us; but  I’m halfway up there as of 2007 when my Dad left us terribly, suddenly. Two of my best friends in the world – Cheryl and Martha – have a seat saved for me. Cheryl’s been sitting up there since 1999.  Martha, since last year.

I’ll be in great company, but I’m really not ready to move up to the Head Table yet. Those Fates though, they don’t deign to ask whether or not you’re ready to sit up there. And if I had to guess, I would say that NO ONE is ever ready for a seat at this particular table.  The view is probably lovely up there – friends, family etc. The love, palpable. But it seems a lonely place, regardless of the company you’re in. And, taking your seat up there acknowledges that you are, in point of fact, now an orphan.

So, as I meander towards my new assigned seating (which I FERVENTLY hope I will not have to sit in for a few years yet) I find myself asking the questions:  Am I happy? What makes me happy? Do I matter? Selfish questions, but at my age I’ve paid enough dues in life to ask such selfish questions. I also ask unselfish ones:  Have I made a difference to someone, helped someone, been a good parent?  (Don’t ask my girls that until I’ve had a chance to bribe them) Hahaha! ;). And finally: What do I want to do with the next 30+ years of my life?  I’ve certainly discovered a passion for writing and photography in the last year or so. I would like to build on that if I can.

What questions will you be asking yourself as you approach The Head Table? Or, what are you thinking about as you sit there?  Inquiring Minds…. etc.

Through the Door: Weekly Writing Challenge

I pull in the driveway just as the shadows are starting to lengthen and the afternoon is at its golden magical moment. Its been a long day and my feet are killing me. As I walk up the deck steps to the back door I don’t hear our two dogs barking – which is strange,  because they usually bark when a leaf blows by the window – never mind when they hear footsteps on the trex decking. But no matter – I’m tired. I open the door and take a step into the dim coolness of my kitchen – shedding my sweater as I walk in.

I’m greeted by Miss Nellie – our old greyhound, who lifts her head off the couch and grins at me, tail thumping. For a millisecond I accept this – then I freeze. Nellie’s been at the Rainbow Bridge for close to two years now.  Then I hear his voice behind me –  “What’s for supper, Donna Jean?”   Dad?  Oh, Daddy…. I spin around and RUN, fast as I can,  hugging him tightly. He’s real, and I’m not hallucinating.   “Take it easy kiddo”, he says, “I’m still recuperating. I just got the OK to drive again today.”  That’s when I know.  It’s June 6, 2007.  Its not the date I woke up to this morning – but when I stepped through my back door this afternoon it’s where I ended up.  And I’ve been given a rare gift.  One more last afternoon with my father.

I frantically try and think of any way to keep him at my house for as long as possible, as we chat about the girls and wait for them and my husband, to get home. Its surreal. My brain is telling me this isn’t possible, but oh, my heart…. my heart.  I don’t know how I manage to keep it together; as this great big lump of emotion in the center of my chest tries to work its way up my throat and explode out of me.  But I do keep it together, barely.  Dad doesn’t seem to notice. There’s so much I want to tell him, but can’t.    The crew gets home just as I think  I can’t stand any more and they prove a distraction.  I’m in for another shock – when I left them this morning they were 20 and 14.  Now, they’re 14 and 8. We decide on pizza for dinner and Grandpa is highly encouraged to stay. As usual, the girls have him wrapped around their fingers,  and so he does.  I content myself watching him with them, remembering how much they mean/t to him and how much he loves/loved being their grandfather.

Time slows, I start to almost feel like this is normal – and then it suddenly accelerates as Dad gets ready to leave – he’s heading for an AA meeting – just like he did before. My heart sinks because I know he’s leaving and this is the last time I’ll see him – again. Don’t go Dad. Stay awhile. But the time arrives. I know it, and I know I can’t stop him.  I tell him unequivocally to take it easy – reminding him (as I follow him out to the car this time) that he has to see the surgeon before he goes back to mowing lawns and landscaping. But I know it won’t make any difference.   There really are no do-overs. What was, was. What is, is. And what will be, will be. The timeline is locked in, and on June 7, 2007 he will have a massive heart attack while unloading his lawn mower at a clients house and he will pass away before I can get to the hospital to say goodbye.   “I know,” he says.  “Love you.  Sayonara, Kemosabe.  Keep the Faith.”  “Bye Dad, I love you too!” And with that, he leaves – just like before.

As I turn and walk back up the driveway the light shifts back to golden for an instant.  I hear the dogs barking inside the house. I go back through the door again, back to my future. I smile through the tears I can now let loose –  because I got my chance to say goodbye, after all.

Reflecting the Light

I’ve been doing a lot of reading and thinking lately.  There’s certainly much (too much) going on in the world  and on a smaller scale, within my circle. My struggle, my goal, is to take control back, empower myself, and become a better reflection of the light.

The Cyrkle – Red Rubber Ball

Authenticity and Truth go hand in hand.  If I had to guess, I’d say Authenticity is a daughter of Truth.  One facet of it, at any rate.  I want, I NEED – to live a more authentic life. To be a reflection not only of the good things and people that surround me (I’m discovering more of them every day) but also to be a reflection of what’s inside of me.  And since I’m trying to be more authentic I’ll say that it might not always be pretty, or positive.  And that’s OK.  That’s real.

Truth is what it is. Sometimes it involves fear.   If there is a giant funnel web spider under my bed I don’t do myself or anyone else any good until I admit that Shelob is, in fact, under my bed – makin “friends” with the dust bunnies.  If I allow my fear to paralyze me I cannot admit there is a spider. Once I acknowledge the spider, then I can take steps to deal with it. If I don’t, then  I’m going to be living with that stupid nasty spider under my bed for eternity.  And those of you who know me know that I really, really, REALLY don’t want to have Shelob taking up residence in my house – never mind in my bedroom!

When we acknowledge truth – whether that be our fears or our anger; our achievements or our missteps; whatever  – we are then freed to respond.  When we respond, we are in control – and that brings balance back to us.  I can take karate, become the Fist of Goodness and run across rooftops! (I’m just not into that whole crashing the dinner party thing though…. obscure TV commercial reference: finished., thank you.) Truth is uniquely personalized.  My truths are not yours – although they may be similar.  I have an obligation to present my truths respectfully, to present myself respectfully and with consideration towards others. Being genuine does not mean I have a license to be hurtful.   I also recognize that I can help no one if I am not refreshing my spirit when it needs to be.  That’s a hard thing for a parent, a wife, a sibling, a friend, a daughter. But I will make time for me, because if I don’t I won’t have anything to give myself or anyone else.    Multiple roles create multiple stressors, demands – and opportunities. I have unique opportunities all the time. I get to decide how I respond to all of them.  Pretty cool, if you ask me.

I’m pretty proud of myself today.  I had a situation that I could have let completely ruin my day at work and much of my evening.  I made some mistakes.  (Alert the Media! cuz that NEVER happens, right?  HA!)  Now they weren’t earth shattering ones – and others played their parts. But it was my responsibility to catch that stuff. And I didn’t.  So, I had to have the dreaded talk  with the boss.  Guess what?  I owned the responsibility and freely acknowledged that.  Which allowed my boss and I to have a very constructive dialogue; and for me to come up with a plan of corrective action that not only makes sense but will benefit us immensely in the future.  By CHOOSING not to point fingers at others, CHOOSING not to get upset, CHOOSING to think creatively – and in fact asking some others for ideas when I got stuck – I became the Fist of Goodness and ran across that rooftop!!  GO ME!!!  It’s all about the attitude, baby!

In other news on the more personal front:  I’ve decided I can assist my loved one(s) best at the moment by providing some humor. I have made it my mission to find and pass along funny memes and jokes every day  to a precious someone who truly needs the healing power of laughter right now. I want to hear and make a Joyful Noise  – and Laughter is the most joyful of all – along with song.  So please, feel free to send along stuff. Just in case I’m not as connected to the internet “vibe’ as I seem to think I am…   😉

I continue my journey towards being a better reflection of who I want to be, living a more authentic life and loving the minutes – and the people – in it. I’ve really met the nicest people on my road to ruin. Seriously. So to that end,  “Let me explain. No, there is too much. Let me sum up.” (name that movie!)

Acknowledge What Is – be it fear, anger, failure or triumph.  But do it in a respectful context.

Take a Deep Breath – before you respond.  You’ve given yourself the gift of time, to think.

Think–  Actions have a ripple effect. Tread carefully.  That stone, the one you chucked into the pond.  That displaced water splashes back….

Be Kind – It costs nothing and hurts no one.

Pay it Forward -. That also costs you nothing, and creates positivity in the universe.

Be Good to Yourself –  In our everyday busy-ness we (women in particular) can easily lose sight of the fact that we can’t take care of others when we’re sick or needy ourselves.  Its OK to give ourselves permission to be selfish – and then (GASP!) actually do something for us alone.  The feminist movement of the 70’s helped us roar.  But its alright to admit we have laryngitis sometimes.

Cowboy Up – it’s OK to be fallible.  We’re human after all.  Admitting when we make mistakes really is liberating if we let it be.

Choose –  Are you going to promote peace or create chaos, help harmonize, or enable entropy?  Its up to each of us.

There’s so much darkness in the world.  We can choose to be a light in that darkness – a “shining beacon in space ,all alone in the night”  Oh wait, that’s Babylon 5…..But you get the idea.  I just want to really try to reflect that light – inside me and around me.  I’m creating a Light Reflections category on the blog.  I hope it’ll be visited and commented on often. Lets be a “light in dark places”, together, “when all other lights go out”  (LOTR moment) Join me on the journey. I’ll put on the coffee….. See ya!

All photographs are my own, even if not watermarked as such – please ask me if you want to use them. Thanks!

  • The truth (ladylightningtarot.wordpress.com)

Enough Already!

I’ve really tried to avoid posting a lot of bitchy or angst-y stuff on here – because I do realize that nobody likes a Debby Downer. Negativity pushes people away – right when one might need them the most.  So I try not to be negative very often with my posting. Oh I’ll editorialize – I’m an opinionated Swamp Yankee after all – but I try hard to keep things positive.   But lately I’ve been lead towards thinking that perhaps  I am not being as authentic as I should be with my friends and readers. The truth is powerful, yet sometimes its a stinky, suppurating, bloated, uncontrollable mess. The truth’s power is resurrective, but in order to do that, the truth first has to become a corpse.   And there’s nothing “magnificent” about THAT- unless I’m being wicked  sarcastic.  And I do that well, in case anyone is wondering, or had any doubts.

So yeah, the last few months have been on and off hellish, and this last week has been an absolute nightmare.  A nightmare  I have absolutely no control over and limited influence with.  Several people in my personal circle are dealing with serious illness right now; or are awaiting confirmation or an “all clear”.  The issues with my mother and step dad continue to spiral up and away – and I still have a front row seat to all that. Then there’s financial stress, always fun…. I’m also dealing with the dreaded M word  and while so far the hot flashes have not shown up – my mood is all over the place and my reserves of patience deplete quickly.  Let’s just say I am not suffering fools gladly these days, shall  we? All of which makes the communication dynamic with my mother quite “lively” at times. Several of you I have messaged, so you know the deets. I appreciate your thoughts, advice, support and good wishes more than you know.

I find it helpful to vent, but some of  those I vent to often misinterpret it. They don’t like to see me upset, and it gets them upset.  I’ve told them that I’m just venting, then I feel better and can cope. I need to get all that crap out of me- but it still gets misinterpreted.  Plus, now they are dealing with their own issues and I do NOT want to cause them any additional stress. Soooo  yeah – here I am, frantically rowing the boat with one oar while it slowly sinks. Translation:  locking myself in my room, screaming at top volume,  and then curling up on my bed to sob quietly. (so far I have avoided sucking my thumb, but I’ve been tempted) And the Viking, the one I should be able to rely on, well he seems to “get” it sometimes.  Other times, I feel like I’m dealing with a 2 year old….  The girls know enough to just let me be- or just hug me, but the supposed “grown up” is becoming the uber-needy one.  I don’t like being needed as much as I seem to be these days.  Especially when I feel like few are listening to what I need.

This image was selected as a picture of the we...

. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

It feels to me like people just don’t understand I’ve got nothing left at the moment.  There’s a HUGE empty pit of blankness inside me now.  Reserves of strength and happiness occasionally trickle in – enough so I can function through my days anyway.  But I’m going nowhere fast.  There’s little to look forward to – and very little money to do much of anything I consider fun.  “Going for walks in my neighborhood” is not an option with the weather  we have been having anyway (I can’t breathe soup) and I’ve lived here a long time – seen it already – BORING – also, few of my neighbors speak English and I don’t speak Russian.  I can’t visit with them very much. I did bite the money bullet and book an overnight trip to stay in Gloucester next weekend with the Viking and go on a Whale Watch  (a birthday present for him – he turns 47 on Thursday)  However, I may have to cancel those plans in order  to be available if those in my circle need me bedside.  This person has already told me there’s no real need for me to be there, and yet I want to be. Which would leave me/us stuck here, and I’m selfishly, bipolar-ly a bit put out by the thought.  The SECOND I try and do something that makes me happy, that goddamn Murphy has to show up and invoke her stupid law! Of course I shouldn’t project – and just wait to see how things play out.

So here I sit, in the rut of day to day boring sameness. Stuck.  Feeling more than a little sorry for myself.  And I haven’t even started discussing the sandwich generation issues yet…. Oh boy!  Talk about frustrating.  Wondering just who the heck that woman is living down the street from  me,  and what in hell did she do with my mother???  There are a multitude of aging and substance abuse issues to address there.  I can view them fairly dispassionately using my “professional filter”.  I can and have offered viable solutions – as if to a client.  My mother wants no part of my ideas. She wants things her way and her way only, and cannot, will not change. Which leaves my stepfather, unfairly, on a slow boat to nowhere.  She doesn’t want to deal with his aging issues and illness, it would mess up her routine (ie her drinking schedule) too much. For example, my sister and I have suggested they make their small unused dining room a second bedroom/sitting area for him so that he can putter around and not disturb her if he can’t sleep.  But… NOOOO!  She’s flat out said numerous times  “I can’t take it, I’ll just leave.” – which leaves me speechless and wondering if she ever took her  marriage vows seriously at all.  I find myself increasingly angry with her and at her.  I straight up told her she’s not coming here if she leaves, and suggested she just cut to the chase and get a divorce if she can’t handle it. She doesn’t want to, yet she’d just abandon her husband – who shouldn’t be left alone – but who presents no danger to himself or anyone else. My mother refuses  to believe that  (“I don’t know what he’s going to do” – because he won’t do what she wants him to on HER schedule).  Visiting nurses and home health aides? Sure, but according to my mother, for too few hours. (she’s already decided that, without even trying it first). She won’t talk to a therapist either.  So… “whatever, Ma”  I guess I’ll just sit back, shut up and get ready to clean up the mess after the situation implodes.  And I’ll literally be able to watch it all from my deck, oh happy day!!

So I say ENOUGH ALREADY! I can’t get away from anything, but need a break. I get up, go to work, deal with all that  work stuff, come home- to the same house, same dishes in the sink, same laundry, same set of unsolvable issues, address what I can, get the chores done – go to bed, get up and do it again…. AMEN. So tired and emotionally depleted.  Yet I’m still needed – and I just haven’t got it to give.  I’m uncomfortably numb, a deer in the headlights of an oncoming diesel truck. Which is part of the reason the Viking is having “berserker” fits on occasion, just adding to the stress.   I feel a little better now that I’ve verbally virtually vomited all through this post.  No easy solutions – but that hovering SH*T Fairy- (her name is Brigid Murphy by the way) she can leave anytime now. Really… Seriously… Right Now.

Awake Groa Awake Mother illustrated by John Ba...

(Photo credit: Wikipedia)