Tuesday, September 9, 2014
Vita enim mortuorum in memoria vivorum est posita. I'm laboring to do this, to the point of exhaustion, for you--for you alone; because I want you to live on happily. I can give this to you if I can bear the pain of nostalgia and memories. You deserve this because I love you, and because it's something you never had while embodied in this world.
Wednesday, March 5, 2014
Wednesday, January 8, 2014
still loving you, of course
Daddy, there have been so many times I’ve wanted to post on
this blog, but there’s always a reason why I don’t. None of them are
legitimate. I’ve been thinking about you a lot. It’s been awhile now, and it’s
really hard to remember the sound of your voice sometimes.
Time passes. Leaves of paper and of autumn turn, but only
the first can be revisited with the same vividness of experience at a later
time. If only all things could be like books: reread over and over and over.
I feel so alone now, but luckily I’ve never been disposed to
feeling lonely. On second thought, I think “alone” is not as fitting a
description as “tribeless”; although surrounded by wonderful people, I seem to
belong to none. Joejoe died within months of you, and now Jim is waning, too. Before
long, three of you men—all very dear to me although you are and always will be
first—who will have breathed your last in mom’s de facto hospice house, and under
her gentle care. I am the last of our Hartigs, and soon only mom and I will
remain of my family.
I bet she really surprised you with how loving she was, caring
for you after 20 years had passed since your divorce. You used to love/hate her
so much. I understand, of course. Her intensity will drive anyone mad, but not
mad enough to truly hate her. She is one of the most caring and loving
creatures God ever planted on this festering planet.
I feel like you never felt enough love from me. That’s why I
hate this human condition so much sometimes. Nothing I could have done would
have made it so that you didn’t feel that way. Mom feels it more acutely. All
humans do in life’s winter, while the generation they beget enjoys the beauty
of spring and then the fruits of summer. I don’t have kids, of course, so I don’t
really know what I’ll pine for.
Daddy, this blog is still here for both of us. I wish you
were here instead. I miss you so much.
Tuesday, March 19, 2013
Daddy, I've been doing what I meant not to do; it's just so hard to think of you. It feels like all my tears were flash frozen. Every time I think of you, they threaten to thaw and drown me.
Only you understood me, and I you. But despite all my efforts, it was an understanding without connection. These are the category of human connection most vulnerable and unsatisfying. I always suspected I knew how you felt because it's how I felt. But I never could get you to open up. It is only because I'm me that I understand how alone you felt--like the orphan of an alien species accidentally cast somewhere. You are what you are, and where you are, so you continue. But the natives eye you suspiciously, and you are only comfortable when you forget to notice you don't belong. Life is easy when you love yourself. Loving yourself is easier when you love everything else but refuse to recognize idols and pedestals. This last part you could never do, which is why I think the alien life was harder for you.
Please don't think I've abandoned you because I haven't the time to fall apart. Try to understand that I don't have the resources to put myself back together if I do. I have to be strong because nobody can come to my rescue. I haven't the luxury of testing whether I'm loved. I haven't the luxury of finding out whether anyone cares enough to save me. I have to have faith in the good. Faith does not seem treacherous to me because it keeps me from having to put myself in any real danger. Where you would stop swimming to see if anyone would jump in after you, I feel comfortable staying on the boat and trusting that if something happened, someone would be there. I don't want to put it to the test. In fact, I go to great lengths to avoid ever having to find out that truth about people in my esteem.
Why? Because we're faulty, Daddy, even when we try. It doesn't make us reprehensible; it makes us pitiful. I wouldn't ever want a friend of mine to feel shame for letting me down. That's why I try to need as little as possible. I rather like this quality, and I thank you for it.
Daddy, I wish you had opened up to someone. Every time I think of the walls of pain behind which you built your city, it tears my insides. I'm not very good at this sort of thing.
Only you understood me, and I you. But despite all my efforts, it was an understanding without connection. These are the category of human connection most vulnerable and unsatisfying. I always suspected I knew how you felt because it's how I felt. But I never could get you to open up. It is only because I'm me that I understand how alone you felt--like the orphan of an alien species accidentally cast somewhere. You are what you are, and where you are, so you continue. But the natives eye you suspiciously, and you are only comfortable when you forget to notice you don't belong. Life is easy when you love yourself. Loving yourself is easier when you love everything else but refuse to recognize idols and pedestals. This last part you could never do, which is why I think the alien life was harder for you.
Please don't think I've abandoned you because I haven't the time to fall apart. Try to understand that I don't have the resources to put myself back together if I do. I have to be strong because nobody can come to my rescue. I haven't the luxury of testing whether I'm loved. I haven't the luxury of finding out whether anyone cares enough to save me. I have to have faith in the good. Faith does not seem treacherous to me because it keeps me from having to put myself in any real danger. Where you would stop swimming to see if anyone would jump in after you, I feel comfortable staying on the boat and trusting that if something happened, someone would be there. I don't want to put it to the test. In fact, I go to great lengths to avoid ever having to find out that truth about people in my esteem.
Why? Because we're faulty, Daddy, even when we try. It doesn't make us reprehensible; it makes us pitiful. I wouldn't ever want a friend of mine to feel shame for letting me down. That's why I try to need as little as possible. I rather like this quality, and I thank you for it.
Daddy, I wish you had opened up to someone. Every time I think of the walls of pain behind which you built your city, it tears my insides. I'm not very good at this sort of thing.
Friday, January 4, 2013
are you mad at me?
Hi Daddy. I should have blogged on your birthday. I sent you a message on facebook. I love you
Saturday, September 15, 2012
Hi Daddy,
A few days ago I was feeling very sad because I thought I might forget the sound of your voice. Then I remembered I recorded you. I made a new page on your blog, mainly because I just can't handle looking at the old posts right now. I got a new dog. Her name is Lewisculpepper, and you would love her sooooo much. I can hear the way you'd sound in my head if you met her.
I wanted to let you know about something I'm doing. I'm doing it for you and me. I'm donating a kidney to a friend's dying parent.
Part of me knows that you would care for this not at all--that you'd rather somehow know that I still remember you. We only children can be a bit egocentric sometimes.
I want you to know why I'm doing it.
When you were dying, there was nothing I could give you to keep you alive. I would have given both my lungs and died. I'm serious. This world is like an ugly daughter: you have to keep looking to find the beauty; trust me--I'm ready to go whenever it's my time.
Anyway, I am proving this to you, in a way, by giving an organ to someone else's parent. I would hope that, if you had renal failure instead of lung cancer, and if I couldn't donate, that someone in this world would have done the same for you. If I can't have back my own daddy, maybe someone else can keep his/hers.
I envy you. It would be so nice not to be. In this world, something's existence entails the privation of it. As such, where there is love--in all its euphoria and splendor--there is the dark mire of abject misery when it leaves. There is good, so there is evil. There is kindheartedness, and there is is coldness. All the miserable emotions and strife, and all the feelings of elation and accomplishment, are tied to this body, this world, and this existence. Those good feelings are wonderful, but I'd trade everything just to pause existence for awhile. You know I'm not suicidal--far from it. I will get what's to be gotten out of my experiences in this world. But I don't see death as a bad or lonely place, either.
Anyway, another reason I'm doing it is to keep my faith in humanity. I can't be the only human being out there who would donate something I don't really need to save someone else's life. That makes me feel better. While living in the world, I want to make it better. Not on a grand scale, but one little thing at a time.
One day we'll be a part of the same ousia once again, you and me. In that way, we'll be together. Until then, I will make myself bear the sadness that attacks me when I think of you. I will do this so I don't ever forget you. I love you daddy.
P.S. JoeJoe died, too. I hope, if you are cognizant, that you two have met and spoken.
A few days ago I was feeling very sad because I thought I might forget the sound of your voice. Then I remembered I recorded you. I made a new page on your blog, mainly because I just can't handle looking at the old posts right now. I got a new dog. Her name is Lewisculpepper, and you would love her sooooo much. I can hear the way you'd sound in my head if you met her.
I wanted to let you know about something I'm doing. I'm doing it for you and me. I'm donating a kidney to a friend's dying parent.
Part of me knows that you would care for this not at all--that you'd rather somehow know that I still remember you. We only children can be a bit egocentric sometimes.
I want you to know why I'm doing it.
When you were dying, there was nothing I could give you to keep you alive. I would have given both my lungs and died. I'm serious. This world is like an ugly daughter: you have to keep looking to find the beauty; trust me--I'm ready to go whenever it's my time.
Anyway, I am proving this to you, in a way, by giving an organ to someone else's parent. I would hope that, if you had renal failure instead of lung cancer, and if I couldn't donate, that someone in this world would have done the same for you. If I can't have back my own daddy, maybe someone else can keep his/hers.
I envy you. It would be so nice not to be. In this world, something's existence entails the privation of it. As such, where there is love--in all its euphoria and splendor--there is the dark mire of abject misery when it leaves. There is good, so there is evil. There is kindheartedness, and there is is coldness. All the miserable emotions and strife, and all the feelings of elation and accomplishment, are tied to this body, this world, and this existence. Those good feelings are wonderful, but I'd trade everything just to pause existence for awhile. You know I'm not suicidal--far from it. I will get what's to be gotten out of my experiences in this world. But I don't see death as a bad or lonely place, either.
Anyway, another reason I'm doing it is to keep my faith in humanity. I can't be the only human being out there who would donate something I don't really need to save someone else's life. That makes me feel better. While living in the world, I want to make it better. Not on a grand scale, but one little thing at a time.
One day we'll be a part of the same ousia once again, you and me. In that way, we'll be together. Until then, I will make myself bear the sadness that attacks me when I think of you. I will do this so I don't ever forget you. I love you daddy.
P.S. JoeJoe died, too. I hope, if you are cognizant, that you two have met and spoken.
Monday, July 30, 2012
Hi daddy. Yesterday I went to get a chair. It was in Buford. When I was leaving there, TomTom did something crazy... it warned me of a 13 minute traffic delay between there and Alpharetta. So, as is typical, I rerouted to avoid the traffic. Within a mile, I was passing a place I've been only once.
I passed the place. What should I call it? It sure as hell isn't a "resting place."
I waited there for them to come get me on May 23, 2012. I had arrived early. They told me to wait in the parking lot, and they'd come around to get me before they started. An hour later I was still waiting, confused.
They finally came to get me, and I drove around the bend slowly.
I drove past the shanty-town graves littered with handmade notes and cheap plastic flowers--the kind sold in crack pipes and dollar stores.
Interspersed between them--yet worlds apart-- sit the lavishly ordained headstones of those buried with dignity. You'll know them by the smooth, cold marble. You'll know them by the size of the stone that seeks to immortalize them. You'll know them purely by virtue of the fact that the groundskeepers actually clean and tend the grassy plots.
So I drive into the mire of the grassy knell where, six feet below, prince and pauper alike are eaten by the worm. I drive to the place the state has chosen for you--rather, for your mortal shell. I drive to watch them put you in, so I can say goodbye and throw something of me in the ground with you. Yet I arrive to find that they've done it without me. The last shovel of dirt has been cast, and now they pat it down tight.
They told me they would mark it with something temporary--temporary like your time on this earth.
Yet yesterday, I passed by and there was nothing.
No plastic flowers
No handmade notes
Nothing signify you ever existed
I hate this world and this life sometimes, when I feel so inadequate. I promise you, daddy, you'll have a stone. I swear to God in heaven that you'll have a stone before the winter is here.
I love you daddy.
I passed the place. What should I call it? It sure as hell isn't a "resting place."
I waited there for them to come get me on May 23, 2012. I had arrived early. They told me to wait in the parking lot, and they'd come around to get me before they started. An hour later I was still waiting, confused.
They finally came to get me, and I drove around the bend slowly.
I drove past the shanty-town graves littered with handmade notes and cheap plastic flowers--the kind sold in crack pipes and dollar stores.
Interspersed between them--yet worlds apart-- sit the lavishly ordained headstones of those buried with dignity. You'll know them by the smooth, cold marble. You'll know them by the size of the stone that seeks to immortalize them. You'll know them purely by virtue of the fact that the groundskeepers actually clean and tend the grassy plots.
So I drive into the mire of the grassy knell where, six feet below, prince and pauper alike are eaten by the worm. I drive to the place the state has chosen for you--rather, for your mortal shell. I drive to watch them put you in, so I can say goodbye and throw something of me in the ground with you. Yet I arrive to find that they've done it without me. The last shovel of dirt has been cast, and now they pat it down tight.
They told me they would mark it with something temporary--temporary like your time on this earth.
Yet yesterday, I passed by and there was nothing.
No plastic flowers
No handmade notes
Nothing signify you ever existed
I hate this world and this life sometimes, when I feel so inadequate. I promise you, daddy, you'll have a stone. I swear to God in heaven that you'll have a stone before the winter is here.
I love you daddy.
Monday, May 14, 2012
And So It Goes
And so it goes, daddy, that I begin to see what life is like without you. History closed when your eyes closed for the final time. I hope you weren't scared. I hope it was gentle. I can't forget that look in your eyes at the hospital--it haunts me. I know how badly you wanted to live.
I was scanning pictures today. Seventy three of them. I don't want to let time destroy them--to consume them like it consumed you. I wanted to ask you if you remembered some of the moments captured there, but I'll never know. You were there with nana, dopop, mom, friends. You looked so happy and full of life.
All of us, great and small, shares a common fate--to be devoured by the worm. Those of us left behind are the ones who suffer, because we have to live with what's left of the world as people leave it one by one. We are saddled with the task of keeping your individual imprints fresh on this earth by remembering you. It's a painful task, this remembering, but it's absolutely catastrophic when the task is neglected. When we remember, we conjure up the spirit. This spirit comes as called, wearing many hats, including that of soldier, seer, and shaman. First, Memory exacts its fee in a pound of flesh--but then it lets us live, if for only a moment, in times gone forever. And it shows us how the experience of having loved you, of having known you, will help us bear the seemingly endless stream of tomorrows. If we turn the spirit away in an effort to ward off the pain, we risk losing certain memories of you forever.
It is our job, as those left behind, to adopt the habit of both martyr and brahmin. We must embrace--even welcome--the pain inflicted by remembering. We must process that pain in a way that makes us greater, a way that enlarges us. By embracing your life within our own lives and not hiding from the pain, we become more than anything to which we could aspire by ourselves.Two, by definition, is greater than one.
I miss you daddy, but I won't forget you. And so it goes. It's been like this forever and will not change. Funny how foreknowledge is powerless to mitigate feelings of regret. Nor can it stop the onslaught of rabid loose ends, devouring the soul because they cannot be tied. It's like a recurring nightmare: you know exactly how it will proceed and how it will end, but it doesn't make a bit of difference.
I was scanning pictures today. Seventy three of them. I don't want to let time destroy them--to consume them like it consumed you. I wanted to ask you if you remembered some of the moments captured there, but I'll never know. You were there with nana, dopop, mom, friends. You looked so happy and full of life.
All of us, great and small, shares a common fate--to be devoured by the worm. Those of us left behind are the ones who suffer, because we have to live with what's left of the world as people leave it one by one. We are saddled with the task of keeping your individual imprints fresh on this earth by remembering you. It's a painful task, this remembering, but it's absolutely catastrophic when the task is neglected. When we remember, we conjure up the spirit. This spirit comes as called, wearing many hats, including that of soldier, seer, and shaman. First, Memory exacts its fee in a pound of flesh--but then it lets us live, if for only a moment, in times gone forever. And it shows us how the experience of having loved you, of having known you, will help us bear the seemingly endless stream of tomorrows. If we turn the spirit away in an effort to ward off the pain, we risk losing certain memories of you forever.
It is our job, as those left behind, to adopt the habit of both martyr and brahmin. We must embrace--even welcome--the pain inflicted by remembering. We must process that pain in a way that makes us greater, a way that enlarges us. By embracing your life within our own lives and not hiding from the pain, we become more than anything to which we could aspire by ourselves.Two, by definition, is greater than one.
I miss you daddy, but I won't forget you. And so it goes. It's been like this forever and will not change. Funny how foreknowledge is powerless to mitigate feelings of regret. Nor can it stop the onslaught of rabid loose ends, devouring the soul because they cannot be tied. It's like a recurring nightmare: you know exactly how it will proceed and how it will end, but it doesn't make a bit of difference.
Friday, May 11, 2012
We're the Same, You and Me
Hi daddy. Now that you're gone, I think I'll just send messages into the void and hope you can hear them. Or maybe I don't. I'm not sure. I'd like to think that since you're disembodied, you're free from the confines of this life and from self. I wouldn't want to bring you back just for me.
Oh, how I envy you. It isn't that I want to die, don't get me wrong. I haven't yet begun to really live. I'm still digging my way out of the hole I dug for myself and jumped into a long time ago. You know. You were there; it was your hole, too.
Anyway, I think a lot about being in the mountains. When I'm there, I have this understanding of what heaven is like. It's almost like being disembodied.
It takes so much energy to be a sentient being. So much struggle, so much turmoil, so many jealousies, loves, feelings of sadness and inadequacy. Every day, as a thinking entity, we form opinions and send out connective messages all around us. And we process the ones we get back. All this takes so much time--produces so many emotions. All these make us who we are. We are just a collection of our experiences, in a way. Our minds, especially minds like ours, tend to eat away at themselves by feeding on regret. All these regrets remain fresh like open wounds, and remain as such for years.
Is it important that you loved the Pastoral and Sci-Fi? That you loved Dune? That you loved my mother and it broke your heart when she left you? That you loved everything new and electronic? That you loved salads with Italian dressing? That you were always in a depressed hole, waiting for someone to save you? Whenever someone tried, you got the feeling they cared about you. All these things made you who you were. So many things made you miserable for such a long time--crying out to be heard. I loved you daddy, and I was always ready to listen.
I know that you left this life feeling like you didn't accomplish what you were capable of. But that's okay.
I know what it's like to have all those feelings. When I'm in the mountains, it's like there is no self. It's the closest thing I've ever experienced to what you must be feeling now. Everything becomes part of that primary ousia that everything has in common. It isn't matter--it's more matter's spiritual counterpart. It seems to me that when we die, our essence escapes like a breath to become one with everything good in the universe--this ousia, or God. In that moment, all the struggles and turmoil associated with corporeality are simply left behind with what belongs to this earth, and what will return to dust.
Daddy I know this life for you was mostly misery. I'm glad you're at peace now. Don't come back for me, I'll be fine. I love you.
Oh, how I envy you. It isn't that I want to die, don't get me wrong. I haven't yet begun to really live. I'm still digging my way out of the hole I dug for myself and jumped into a long time ago. You know. You were there; it was your hole, too.
Anyway, I think a lot about being in the mountains. When I'm there, I have this understanding of what heaven is like. It's almost like being disembodied.
It takes so much energy to be a sentient being. So much struggle, so much turmoil, so many jealousies, loves, feelings of sadness and inadequacy. Every day, as a thinking entity, we form opinions and send out connective messages all around us. And we process the ones we get back. All this takes so much time--produces so many emotions. All these make us who we are. We are just a collection of our experiences, in a way. Our minds, especially minds like ours, tend to eat away at themselves by feeding on regret. All these regrets remain fresh like open wounds, and remain as such for years.
Is it important that you loved the Pastoral and Sci-Fi? That you loved Dune? That you loved my mother and it broke your heart when she left you? That you loved everything new and electronic? That you loved salads with Italian dressing? That you were always in a depressed hole, waiting for someone to save you? Whenever someone tried, you got the feeling they cared about you. All these things made you who you were. So many things made you miserable for such a long time--crying out to be heard. I loved you daddy, and I was always ready to listen.
I know that you left this life feeling like you didn't accomplish what you were capable of. But that's okay.
I know what it's like to have all those feelings. When I'm in the mountains, it's like there is no self. It's the closest thing I've ever experienced to what you must be feeling now. Everything becomes part of that primary ousia that everything has in common. It isn't matter--it's more matter's spiritual counterpart. It seems to me that when we die, our essence escapes like a breath to become one with everything good in the universe--this ousia, or God. In that moment, all the struggles and turmoil associated with corporeality are simply left behind with what belongs to this earth, and what will return to dust.
Daddy I know this life for you was mostly misery. I'm glad you're at peace now. Don't come back for me, I'll be fine. I love you.
Wednesday, May 9, 2012
Rest in Peace. I'll be Angry for You.
Rest in peace Dad. You passed away at noon today, May 9th, 2012. You will not live to see if the world ends on your birthday. (12/21/2012 btw) I'm sorry I wasn't there. It makes me so incredibly angry, but things work out the way they work out, and there's nothing left to do but pick up the pieces. Tiny little jagged pieces, like glass all over the floor. No matter what method you try, you can never get all the pieces.
So I took time to study for Evidence. I was up all night long and went to sleep at around 8 am. Around 1pm, I wake up with Mitch staring at my face. I was confused, because he's supposed to be at work. I kept asking him, "why are you here?" Then he hits me with "your dad passed away." I look at my phone. No missed calls. Apparently I'm not to be trusted with this information firsthand from the people who were there. They sent Mitch.
"Well, your mom and I worked it out that I would be the one to tell you if it happened."
"Did anyone think to ask me whether I'd want to know right away? Because I would have. Which you would have known had you fucking asked me. I'm not a child."
Apparently I deal with grief, to some extent, by getting very angry. However, it makes me so mad to know that he took a turn for the worse last night and nobody called me. I've been there for weeks. The one day it mattered, they wanted to let me study. My father asked for me and I wasn't there. This is not the way this story should end, and yet it concludes.
Don't bother Krisi. She needs to study. This has been really hard on her, but she needs to focus.
No, you assholes, she needs her daddy. Thanks for trying to be considerate, truly. However, I've found over time that consideration is much more aptly placed when it involves considering the wishes of the person to whom the sentiment is directed, at least as much as possible. My point? I have been forthcoming about the fact that I wanted to be there with him. Yes, it was uncomfortable. Yes, it was pure hell at times. But knowing that my daddy left this earth without me there, knowing that he was asking for me, makes me want to pull out my hair in large chunks.
So I took time to study for Evidence. I was up all night long and went to sleep at around 8 am. Around 1pm, I wake up with Mitch staring at my face. I was confused, because he's supposed to be at work. I kept asking him, "why are you here?" Then he hits me with "your dad passed away." I look at my phone. No missed calls. Apparently I'm not to be trusted with this information firsthand from the people who were there. They sent Mitch.
"Well, your mom and I worked it out that I would be the one to tell you if it happened."
"Did anyone think to ask me whether I'd want to know right away? Because I would have. Which you would have known had you fucking asked me. I'm not a child."
Apparently I deal with grief, to some extent, by getting very angry. However, it makes me so mad to know that he took a turn for the worse last night and nobody called me. I've been there for weeks. The one day it mattered, they wanted to let me study. My father asked for me and I wasn't there. This is not the way this story should end, and yet it concludes.
Don't bother Krisi. She needs to study. This has been really hard on her, but she needs to focus.
No, you assholes, she needs her daddy. Thanks for trying to be considerate, truly. However, I've found over time that consideration is much more aptly placed when it involves considering the wishes of the person to whom the sentiment is directed, at least as much as possible. My point? I have been forthcoming about the fact that I wanted to be there with him. Yes, it was uncomfortable. Yes, it was pure hell at times. But knowing that my daddy left this earth without me there, knowing that he was asking for me, makes me want to pull out my hair in large chunks.
Saturday, May 5, 2012
If There's a God, Televangelists Are Going to Hell
(this is actually from around 1am)
I can’t believe they give terminal cancer patients access to this channel. Fuck! Now there’s a lady with terminal lung cancer on there crying. If he picks up the phone to call this number, there may be a snotty alice cooper in my future. The televangelist is telling this lady that, despite being eaten alive with cancer, Jesus will heal her. I'm not trying to say that Jesus doesn't heal people. I am making no statement whatsoever on that subject. What I am saying is that this particular show is almost undoubtedly a set-up. Yes, I said almost undoubtedly. To understand my use of "almost," please think about the fact that birth-control pills are 99.9999999999 (or whatever)% accurate. In reality, if you take them, they work. Here, the "almost" is like that teeny-tiny-non-existent-in-the-practical-world chance that you'll get pregnant even if you never miss a pill.
If anyone's going to hell, it's this guy. I hope to god I die of like a heart attack or something quick, and don't have to experience the inner torture and conflict that undoubtedly accompanies grasping at straws.
Holy shit now he’s watching church. No pun intended
with the holy part. Make no mistake, this isn't Charles Stanley or Joel Osteen. This is more like Jim and Tammy Faye Baker, add snakecharming. Also, this guy's probably not as successful as the Bakers and Tammy Faye's rivers of mascara. This guy has chrome toilets, not gold-plated. However, somewhere out there right now, some sad-hearted, lonely person just picked up the phone, trying to buy a sense of fulfillment with her social security check--trying to buy hope with her Charles Schwab account. Somehow this asshole has managed to convince himself that he's working for the greater good. That is why I am terrified of rationalization--couldn't it happen to any of us??
This one's worse than most. It’s one of those “I’m healed” shows. There’s an old lady on there saying just that: "I'm HEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAALED." Praise Jesus. Yes, I've got a bad feeling about how this will turn out. "HELLO CALLER! What can Jayeezus (love it when they pronounce it like that) do for you today?" Then there’s a guy who’s been “unemployed for a year and a half” and has “die-bee-tees.” Preacher interrupts him at first: "What's your first name, sinner?" "Steve."
“Steve, check your voicemail at 9am and you’ll have a job.”
Thank god these callers are actors, because giving real people false hope like this is one of the worst crimes against humanity I can think of right now (of course, now that I say that, I think of a million more. you get my point).
This one's worse than most. It’s one of those “I’m healed” shows. There’s an old lady on there saying just that: "I'm HEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAALED." Praise Jesus. Yes, I've got a bad feeling about how this will turn out. "HELLO CALLER! What can Jayeezus (love it when they pronounce it like that) do for you today?" Then there’s a guy who’s been “unemployed for a year and a half” and has “die-bee-tees.” Preacher interrupts him at first: "What's your first name, sinner?" "Steve."
“Steve, check your voicemail at 9am and you’ll have a job.”
Thank god these callers are actors, because giving real people false hope like this is one of the worst crimes against humanity I can think of right now (of course, now that I say that, I think of a million more. you get my point).
I can’t believe they give terminal cancer patients access to this channel. Fuck! Now there’s a lady with terminal lung cancer on there crying. If he picks up the phone to call this number, there may be a snotty alice cooper in my future. The televangelist is telling this lady that, despite being eaten alive with cancer, Jesus will heal her. I'm not trying to say that Jesus doesn't heal people. I am making no statement whatsoever on that subject. What I am saying is that this particular show is almost undoubtedly a set-up. Yes, I said almost undoubtedly. To understand my use of "almost," please think about the fact that birth-control pills are 99.9999999999 (or whatever)% accurate. In reality, if you take them, they work. Here, the "almost" is like that teeny-tiny-non-existent-in-the-practical-world chance that you'll get pregnant even if you never miss a pill.
Practically speaking, this guy is a SHAM. That's why he comes on at 1am. If you could call into a show and be healed, CNN primetime would be all over it and doctors would be out of work. When dad asks for the phone, I tell him that the show isn't live, and at the bottom corner it says it's prerecorded. No one will be there to answer. Crisis narrowly averted by a surprisingly-quick and on-point falsehood. I know that was the right thing to do, but it makes my conscience hurt to tell lies, even like that. These times are not making me feel good about myself. I guess they aren't supposed to.
I'm racking my brain to figure out how anyone could ever fall for this kind of bullshit.
Dad:"Will I be alive tomorrow?" [My heart breaks a little bit more].
Then it hits me like an anvil in a cartoon. When you're so lost, so lonely, so sad, so desperate--you try to come to terms with what happened or what's happening. But this coming-to-terms is the final stage. First, you try everything you can to change it. Everything. At first, you know exactly what to try, and the task list makes sense. But increasingly, your need for hope drives you to grasp at straws. It's the paradigm slippery-slope, just like the rationalization process responsible for this televangelist's ability to sleep at night in the bed he paid for by ripping off granny.
- Example: Doctor tells you that you have cancer. First you get chemo, and if that doesn't work, then radiation. In the meanwhile, you read up on cancer and find out that certain diets, pills, natural herbs, etc. have helped/cured this type of cancer in the past.
- Resulting task list/thought process: Okay, so I'm on chemo. Next I have radiation. Meanwhile, I'm eating only raw vegetables and drinking plenty of fluids. If that doesn't work, I have those pills.
If anyone's going to hell, it's this guy. I hope to god I die of like a heart attack or something quick, and don't have to experience the inner torture and conflict that undoubtedly accompanies grasping at straws.
Ok, So Now He Remembers He's Dying
Dad: I think I’m dying
Me: What?
Dad: I think I’m dying can’t you hear?
Me: What’s wrong?
Dad: I’m dying.
Me: But not right now.
Dad: Yeah, right now.
Seriously? He’s been sleeping all day. He woke up and dropped that bomb on me. He just scared the
crap out of me, and then nodded back out. He looks so scared, so I want to convince him he's not dying. I can't watch him be scared like that.
Me:How are you daddy?
Dad:DyingMe:But we’re all dying
Dad:Yeah
Me: Does it make you sad to think you’re dying?
Dad: No.
It's funny because now he tries to stay awake all the time when I'm here. He also gets mad when I leave the room for any reason. He always tries to call me with the bedside clicker connected to the nurse's station. I went outside for a little while earlier. When I came back, he pressed the button. The nurse comes in, asking what he wants.
Dad: "You already did it."
Nurse:"Did what?"
Dad:"I was trying to call my daughter"
Me:"But dad I'm right here"
Dad: "That's what I just told her."
The nurse leaves, giving me a sad look.
Me:"So how are you daddy?"
Dad:"In love with my daughter"
Me:"I love you too daddy"
Dad:"It's very important. They were waiting on you while you were gone. They were waiting for you so you could watch me die."
It's becoming clear to me that the one thing he wants in the world is for me to be here when he passes. I've always been here for him in this life. He's always been able to count on me to make sure things go right for him. It's the same type of thing now; he's afraid to go on without me holding his hand, telling him it's okay, and telling him what he needs to do next.
I am so scared that I somehow won't be here. God. What a terrifying thought.
Friday, May 4, 2012
Delusions of Grandeur, Part II
It's so sad to see someone's mind gone. It really is. But his hallucinations tear my soul in halves for other reasons as well--more specific reasons. The content of his new reality displays a delusional hope not only for recovery, but also to be a part of my life during a time when he'll certainly be gone. It's hard to articulate what I mean. In diction, precision always eludes me. I guess I'll just let him talk.
Dad: "As I understand it, I had a very dangerous biomedical drug--took a shot in my hand last week. Now there's a very good chance that it will kill me very quickly. But if it doesn't, I'll be out of the woods."
Me: "daddy do you know why you're here?"
Dad: "To see my baby. and it worked. If I make it a year, I can be with you as you start your practice-- doing really important stuff like answering the phone calls. Help my baby out in her business. What's going to happen is that literally I'll be answering phones."
[I don't want my own practice, probably ever, but whatever]
Now, some might be expecting a Snotty Alice Cooper Part III after what happened a couple of nights ago, but I actually held it together pretty well. I was even able to play along. I told him that, in addition to his very important telephone duties, he also needed to be pleasant and give people sodas. I've grown alot in one day, apparently.
By the time I die, I hope that my sincere effort to seek and face the truth has paid off. If so, maybe my brain won't kick into survival mode and start creating some new world to help me make peace with myself before myself is no more. More than that, I hope otherwise generally-honest people won't have to lie to me--in some twisted act of love--to keep me believing my own lies.
He looks so scared, like a tiny child lost in the dark. His eyes have that look as though a flashlight just turned on, shining right into them. I wish I could make the fear go away for him.
Dad: "As I understand it, I had a very dangerous biomedical drug--took a shot in my hand last week. Now there's a very good chance that it will kill me very quickly. But if it doesn't, I'll be out of the woods."
Me: "daddy do you know why you're here?"
Dad: "To see my baby. and it worked. If I make it a year, I can be with you as you start your practice-- doing really important stuff like answering the phone calls. Help my baby out in her business. What's going to happen is that literally I'll be answering phones."
[I don't want my own practice, probably ever, but whatever]
Now, some might be expecting a Snotty Alice Cooper Part III after what happened a couple of nights ago, but I actually held it together pretty well. I was even able to play along. I told him that, in addition to his very important telephone duties, he also needed to be pleasant and give people sodas. I've grown alot in one day, apparently.
By the time I die, I hope that my sincere effort to seek and face the truth has paid off. If so, maybe my brain won't kick into survival mode and start creating some new world to help me make peace with myself before myself is no more. More than that, I hope otherwise generally-honest people won't have to lie to me--in some twisted act of love--to keep me believing my own lies.
He looks so scared, like a tiny child lost in the dark. His eyes have that look as though a flashlight just turned on, shining right into them. I wish I could make the fear go away for him.
Thursday, May 3, 2012
Odd Outburst
Ok, so he just bolted out of his bed tried to fall on my chair. He threw his oxygen down and almost ripped his IV out before falling down (sort of).
"I've gotta pee on something," and it's all over the floor.
Now he's panting
"Sorry, once I started moving, I had to finish moving."
"I've gotta pee on something," and it's all over the floor.
Now he's panting
"Sorry, once I started moving, I had to finish moving."
Delusions of Grandeur
I was waiting for him to say something funny, but alas, nothing came. He's much more delusional now than before. I'm transcribing everything, and also recording it, in case I forget.
He thinks that a bad "drug" has been unleashed on mankind, and that he's invented a "good" drug to counteract it. He's been going on about it all day long, and despite periods of intermittent sleep. This worries me, because it's like his entire reality has been replaced by one his afflicted brain created.
I'll tell you what makes me sad about it. I can tell, by earlier conversations, that he feels like his life was wasted--that he screwed it all up. It's actually pretty true, if you look only at the objective facts (and if you're one of those black-and-white people who likes to file everything into a neatly-fitting category). [uh oh, I feel a rant or a tangent coming on.... a rantgent?]
To me, it's never that easy, and I never want to oversimplify anything. Many of life's lessons go completely undiscovered without a conscious effort to understand the experiences we can't help having. For a long time now, every time a seeming catstophe befalls me, I try to cull it for little pieces of wisdom. It's like sifting for gold. You have to sift through all the dirt to find it. When I find these little gems, I keep them with me always. They are my most prized possessions, and they are more valuable than anything tangible I will ever own, had I all the money in the world. Finding them requires a lot of pain and effort. I have to look at myself honestly, without attempting to rationalize my behavior or beattify my motives. For someone who hates mirrors, constantly putting one in front of my soul is almost never pleasant. Finding them also requires that I hear and accept the truth from other people, instead of trying to twist reality so it matches what I'd like it to be. I told someone this the other day, I think, but I called these life lessons "little oracles." I think it captures the essence. They foretell where life is going, based on my response to encountering them.
Anyhow, back from my ramble. Yes, I suppose dad messed up his life from an "objective standpoint" [for lack of a better term]. He was working on his doctorate when he screwed up and quit. He was a pretty successful as a programmer eventually and much later. Many times, he screwed up and his parents bailed him out. Then they died. He blew his inheritance on crack and lost the house I grew up in, and everything else, in a little over a year. I think, actually I know, that he was waiting for me to save him that last time. I didn't do it. I tried.
So now his afflicted brain (haha, finally she gets to the point) is creating this false reality where he's doing something worthwhile and important. He's about to save mankind. He invented--he created--something of paramount importance. It's his way of dealing with death. I wish he could understand that his life, flawed as it seems, was of utmost importance and value. He loved me so much, and I would not be who I am without him. I know it isn't much, but it's true. Had he not made exactly the choices he made, I would not be where or who I am. No one can possibly understand this last bit, but I'm not going into it. I would not be in law school without his decisions. Also, I probably never would have discovered that he could live on his own without my taking care of him. I'd still be living with him in his house, as no one was ever crazy enough to marry him after my mother. Sure, when he went to Baton Rouge he didn't live well, but he made it. Had he not lost the house, forcing us both out, I would never have left. Whew.
Anyway, he's important to me. Everything happens for a reason. He doesn't need to save the world. He just needed to be in it. The same is true for everyone.
He thinks that a bad "drug" has been unleashed on mankind, and that he's invented a "good" drug to counteract it. He's been going on about it all day long, and despite periods of intermittent sleep. This worries me, because it's like his entire reality has been replaced by one his afflicted brain created.
I'll tell you what makes me sad about it. I can tell, by earlier conversations, that he feels like his life was wasted--that he screwed it all up. It's actually pretty true, if you look only at the objective facts (and if you're one of those black-and-white people who likes to file everything into a neatly-fitting category). [uh oh, I feel a rant or a tangent coming on.... a rantgent?]
To me, it's never that easy, and I never want to oversimplify anything. Many of life's lessons go completely undiscovered without a conscious effort to understand the experiences we can't help having. For a long time now, every time a seeming catstophe befalls me, I try to cull it for little pieces of wisdom. It's like sifting for gold. You have to sift through all the dirt to find it. When I find these little gems, I keep them with me always. They are my most prized possessions, and they are more valuable than anything tangible I will ever own, had I all the money in the world. Finding them requires a lot of pain and effort. I have to look at myself honestly, without attempting to rationalize my behavior or beattify my motives. For someone who hates mirrors, constantly putting one in front of my soul is almost never pleasant. Finding them also requires that I hear and accept the truth from other people, instead of trying to twist reality so it matches what I'd like it to be. I told someone this the other day, I think, but I called these life lessons "little oracles." I think it captures the essence. They foretell where life is going, based on my response to encountering them.
Anyhow, back from my ramble. Yes, I suppose dad messed up his life from an "objective standpoint" [for lack of a better term]. He was working on his doctorate when he screwed up and quit. He was a pretty successful as a programmer eventually and much later. Many times, he screwed up and his parents bailed him out. Then they died. He blew his inheritance on crack and lost the house I grew up in, and everything else, in a little over a year. I think, actually I know, that he was waiting for me to save him that last time. I didn't do it. I tried.
So now his afflicted brain (haha, finally she gets to the point) is creating this false reality where he's doing something worthwhile and important. He's about to save mankind. He invented--he created--something of paramount importance. It's his way of dealing with death. I wish he could understand that his life, flawed as it seems, was of utmost importance and value. He loved me so much, and I would not be who I am without him. I know it isn't much, but it's true. Had he not made exactly the choices he made, I would not be where or who I am. No one can possibly understand this last bit, but I'm not going into it. I would not be in law school without his decisions. Also, I probably never would have discovered that he could live on his own without my taking care of him. I'd still be living with him in his house, as no one was ever crazy enough to marry him after my mother. Sure, when he went to Baton Rouge he didn't live well, but he made it. Had he not lost the house, forcing us both out, I would never have left. Whew.
Anyway, he's important to me. Everything happens for a reason. He doesn't need to save the world. He just needed to be in it. The same is true for everyone.
Snotty Alice Cooper Part II
I think the Snotty Alice Cooper look is good for me, so I figured I'd keep it up. It was easy to do for two reasons. First, he forgot he was dying. Second, he thought he was going home.
He thought that he was at the hospital for treatments. He had such a hopeful look in his eyes that I couldn't bring myself to remind him--there are no more treatments. Treatments equal living to him. For five years they kept the disease at bay, killing it back each time. Then it just stops responding. Yes, then it spreads everywhere, including the brain. It's mercy, really, that his brain tricked him into having hope again for a minute. But I think it almost killed me to have to watch it.
"I want you to promise me two things: that you'll get in touch with your mother, and that you'll take responsibility for making sure I'm out of here tomorrow."
Really? Why not just charge me with curing your cancer. Sorry dad, I have to go.
My crying was scaring him. I couldn't stop, it was terrible. It kept getting worse because he knows I never cry. It was telling him what my lips would not, namely that he's on his way out. Imagine having to learn that more than once. I can't really think of anything more terrifying, because it seems like he would have to start from scratch with whatever strategy he'd adopted to come to terms with his mortality.
I'm not sure what makes me feel more guilty--that my life necessarily must go forward, or how badly I wish I had a place I could go to pretend like none of this exists. I used to come home on the weekends, and I could not wait to get here. If I didn't have to be at school, I was on my way home. I get this feeling of dread, now, knowing I will have to deal with this when I leave school. Everything is in disorder, everything makes me want to head back south. But being in Macon has no solace either, because there is nowhere to just be at peace. It feels like being homeless.
And life must go on. I have to take exams. I need to be outlining, not blogging. But I can't concentrate, and he needs me, just like he always has in the past. Oh well, it works out. It always does. And things fall apart. They get put back together in a different order and become reality. Of course, this new reality--this new state of order--it is just as doomed as its predecessor. It's a cycle of death and rebirth, of ashes and newly-planted seed. It doesn't make it any easier to know how things will end up. It really doesn't do anything at all.
Holy shit that's enough. I forgot I told people where this is, and people might read this. VERY scary, and sorry, potential reader, if that's the case. Warning: the Alice Cooper entries are not recommended. Hopefully Dad will be lucid in the morning.
"Promise you won't leave me stranded here." yes, he went there. Yes dad, I'll promise you. Of course I will. I wish you could promise me the same thing and follow through. Or maybe it would be good enough if I could just believe it.
He thought that he was at the hospital for treatments. He had such a hopeful look in his eyes that I couldn't bring myself to remind him--there are no more treatments. Treatments equal living to him. For five years they kept the disease at bay, killing it back each time. Then it just stops responding. Yes, then it spreads everywhere, including the brain. It's mercy, really, that his brain tricked him into having hope again for a minute. But I think it almost killed me to have to watch it.
"I want you to promise me two things: that you'll get in touch with your mother, and that you'll take responsibility for making sure I'm out of here tomorrow."
Really? Why not just charge me with curing your cancer. Sorry dad, I have to go.
My crying was scaring him. I couldn't stop, it was terrible. It kept getting worse because he knows I never cry. It was telling him what my lips would not, namely that he's on his way out. Imagine having to learn that more than once. I can't really think of anything more terrifying, because it seems like he would have to start from scratch with whatever strategy he'd adopted to come to terms with his mortality.
I'm not sure what makes me feel more guilty--that my life necessarily must go forward, or how badly I wish I had a place I could go to pretend like none of this exists. I used to come home on the weekends, and I could not wait to get here. If I didn't have to be at school, I was on my way home. I get this feeling of dread, now, knowing I will have to deal with this when I leave school. Everything is in disorder, everything makes me want to head back south. But being in Macon has no solace either, because there is nowhere to just be at peace. It feels like being homeless.
And life must go on. I have to take exams. I need to be outlining, not blogging. But I can't concentrate, and he needs me, just like he always has in the past. Oh well, it works out. It always does. And things fall apart. They get put back together in a different order and become reality. Of course, this new reality--this new state of order--it is just as doomed as its predecessor. It's a cycle of death and rebirth, of ashes and newly-planted seed. It doesn't make it any easier to know how things will end up. It really doesn't do anything at all.
Holy shit that's enough. I forgot I told people where this is, and people might read this. VERY scary, and sorry, potential reader, if that's the case. Warning: the Alice Cooper entries are not recommended. Hopefully Dad will be lucid in the morning.
"Promise you won't leave me stranded here." yes, he went there. Yes dad, I'll promise you. Of course I will. I wish you could promise me the same thing and follow through. Or maybe it would be good enough if I could just believe it.
Snotty Alice Cooper
So earlier I was actually having great conversations with him, and he was being funny. Then all of a sudden his brain went pretty quickly. It made me feel terrible, actually. He thought he was in an apartment. He said he wanted to talk about "establishing residence." I know what he means by that. I used to live with and take care of him in early undergrad before he got addicted to crack and lost everything. I had to send him to live with a friend in Baton Rouge.
I always planned to bring him back here. I would start earning actual income and make it happen. These plans, of course, will never come to fruition. He is staying with his ex-wife and her husband. I live in two places and he can't travel.
"Dad, you can't live with me because you can't travel back and forth with me every week. You have to have your IVs and special bed and everything when and if they let you go home. I don't have any of these things and you would be lonely."
"But what I don't have is time."
He thought he was somewhere else, and when I told him he couldn't live with me, he looked so sad. I wonder if I'll ever be able to forget that look. Probably not. "But right now, we have one room, and that's a start. We don't even know whose name is on it." As if we're going to rebuild our broken home room-by-room, starting with this one. "Dad, you're in the hospital." Then he remembers.
So I look like a snotty Alice Cooper, but only for a second until I wash my face. Now I just look snotty.
I tried, I really did, to get it all done in time. I just wasn't fast enough. I haven't finished. He has to live out the rest of his short life in my mom's house, or exactly where he is right now, because I can't help him. I know it isn't my fault. Of course it isn't my fault. I just want him to be happy, which is something he's never been good at.
"Are you crying? Don't do that. I love my little girl too much for that." Right. I see. Let me just pick back up this Conflicts book and ponder the second restatement for a minute. I'm sure everything will be fine.
I always planned to bring him back here. I would start earning actual income and make it happen. These plans, of course, will never come to fruition. He is staying with his ex-wife and her husband. I live in two places and he can't travel.
"Dad, you can't live with me because you can't travel back and forth with me every week. You have to have your IVs and special bed and everything when and if they let you go home. I don't have any of these things and you would be lonely."
"But what I don't have is time."
He thought he was somewhere else, and when I told him he couldn't live with me, he looked so sad. I wonder if I'll ever be able to forget that look. Probably not. "But right now, we have one room, and that's a start. We don't even know whose name is on it." As if we're going to rebuild our broken home room-by-room, starting with this one. "Dad, you're in the hospital." Then he remembers.
So I look like a snotty Alice Cooper, but only for a second until I wash my face. Now I just look snotty.
I tried, I really did, to get it all done in time. I just wasn't fast enough. I haven't finished. He has to live out the rest of his short life in my mom's house, or exactly where he is right now, because I can't help him. I know it isn't my fault. Of course it isn't my fault. I just want him to be happy, which is something he's never been good at.
"Are you crying? Don't do that. I love my little girl too much for that." Right. I see. Let me just pick back up this Conflicts book and ponder the second restatement for a minute. I'm sure everything will be fine.
Wednesday, May 2, 2012
Cut from the Same Cloth: A Meaningful Conversation (Finally)
Dad: Truth is, I didn’t do very well in life. You have to
work.
Me: But you worked
Dad: That was different
Me: No it isn't. And you were good at what you did.
Dad: True, I’m actually forgetting that
Me: Do you think had you worked harder you would have done something different?
Dad: Mm hmm, but hell you didn’t study either and it didn’t make a difference either way.
Me: What would you have done?
Dad: Either straight management or technical management.
Me: That’s pretty soulless daddy.
Dad: How’s that?
Me: Well, it’s boring as hell and the skill required is kissing the asses of people who don’t deserve it. At least you got to create something in your career.
Dad: In the first place yeah.
Me: Did you like creating?
Dad: Yeah. a lot of my personality is built around it. Dad’s family were engineers, Mom's family ran things. Farms, Dadadadadada.
Me: So why create things?
Dad: Because I don’t think anything else is important, and I'm snobbish about it. My problem is I have to have somebody around me to put my shit together.
Me: Like me?
Dad: Yeah.
Me: I guess that’s what happened, huh.
Dad: Yeah.
Me: Always a pillar, but I’d rather be salt. I’m not trustworthy.
Dad: You’re lazy
Me: Fuck you, I’m not fucking lazy, you’re lazy and you know it.
Dad: I know. Truth is, I hate to admit how dependent I am on my own brain.
Me: What do you mean?
Dad: I wanted to be the great organizer, and I can’t organize. I’m not organized.
Me: Ah dad, all of your dreams have been realized in me
Dad: Actually, a lot of that’s true
Me: I think that’s why you’re attracted to us virgos….your creativity seeking structure. Only I'm not willing to control anyone's life, unlike your mother and mine.
Dad: Because of dad’s being a chemical guy, his behavior isn’t strange to me at all. He’d just go out and invent something that’s pretty much in line with other stuff he invented. And though that makes sense to me in my little world, it probably doesn’t make sense to anyone else.
Me: It makes sense to me
Dad: That was different
Me: No it isn't. And you were good at what you did.
Dad: True, I’m actually forgetting that
Me: Do you think had you worked harder you would have done something different?
Dad: Mm hmm, but hell you didn’t study either and it didn’t make a difference either way.
Me: What would you have done?
Dad: Either straight management or technical management.
Me: That’s pretty soulless daddy.
Dad: How’s that?
Me: Well, it’s boring as hell and the skill required is kissing the asses of people who don’t deserve it. At least you got to create something in your career.
Dad: In the first place yeah.
Me: Did you like creating?
Dad: Yeah. a lot of my personality is built around it. Dad’s family were engineers, Mom's family ran things. Farms, Dadadadadada.
Me: So why create things?
Dad: Because I don’t think anything else is important, and I'm snobbish about it. My problem is I have to have somebody around me to put my shit together.
Me: Like me?
Dad: Yeah.
Me: I guess that’s what happened, huh.
Dad: Yeah.
Me: Always a pillar, but I’d rather be salt. I’m not trustworthy.
Dad: You’re lazy
Me: Fuck you, I’m not fucking lazy, you’re lazy and you know it.
Dad: I know. Truth is, I hate to admit how dependent I am on my own brain.
Me: What do you mean?
Dad: I wanted to be the great organizer, and I can’t organize. I’m not organized.
Me: Ah dad, all of your dreams have been realized in me
Dad: Actually, a lot of that’s true
Me: I think that’s why you’re attracted to us virgos….your creativity seeking structure. Only I'm not willing to control anyone's life, unlike your mother and mine.
Dad: Because of dad’s being a chemical guy, his behavior isn’t strange to me at all. He’d just go out and invent something that’s pretty much in line with other stuff he invented. And though that makes sense to me in my little world, it probably doesn’t make sense to anyone else.
Me: It makes sense to me
Ahh, So True
Truer words were never spoken:
"I do wish that I’d taught you how to study, but I never learned how myself."
I think we all just make it up as we go along.
"I do wish that I’d taught you how to study, but I never learned how myself."
I think we all just make it up as we go along.
Naughty, Naughty....
Nurse: How are you?
Dad: I’ll tell you my secrets if you tell me
yours.[Dad likes the shelves] "When I leave here, you know I'm taking that shelf with me although God says I can't."
These Are Absolutely Hilarious
Dad: "I feel like a kid with this fork."
Me: "It’s not a fork, it’s a toothbrush."
[About Cinco De Mayo] "It started because a bunch of guys in Mexico decided to 'Remember the Alamo.'"
Vocabulary Lesson: Another Quibble with the Nurse
Nurse: “I’m going to give you a transfusion tonight”
Dad: “You’d do that, wouldn’t you. Out of the
orneriness of your heart.”
Nurse: “Huh?”
Me: “Sort of the opposite of kindness.”
Dad: “There used to be meaning to that word.”
Me: “There still is.”
Nurse: “It’s just that no one knows what the
meaning is.”
Dad: “Except for her and me and most other people.”
Two Tidbits of Wisdom, Small but Awesome
- "The good news is that things generally work out for the best. The bad news is they don’t work out for the best on your schedule." [Timing is always an issue. Were it not, many situations would be far too perfect. We wouldn't want that, now would we?]
- "You're really going to have to work hard when you don't want to, if you want to be successful." [to which I replied, "Well no shit, dad. This might be one of those times."]
Slightly Breaking through the Wall?
"This is the best way," he began."Getting cured."
"How are you getting cured?"
"Praying mostly."
"Does it feel good to pray?"
"Yes."
The man in that bed never would have said such a thing last month. Or EVER.
So this may be good news. I may have chipped a little rock away from that fortress-like, dad-shaped fortress I've known my entire life, which for at least that long has been masquerading as the man who is my dad. I've been working on that, but carefully. I don't want this for my sake, although a breakthrough would necessarily entail happiness for me. I want this for him, but only if he wants it.
One of the aspects of dying that makes me cry, even when I don't know the one dying, is the thought of a precious and unique sentient essence escaping like a breath, never having been known to another soul on the planet. What a pity that is. What a waste. What a shame. It could have been loved for itself, had it been only brave enough to peek its head out of the shell enough.
Yes, this "enough," this is the rub. It is just "enough" to be embraced, and just "enough" to be cut off. This is the gamble that the brave are willing to chance. The brave know that the value of the potential connection, in trying to make it, will far outweigh the temporary sting if that connection is rebuffed.
Not everyone is brave. Or maybe it isn't some perfect measure of virtue. Maybe it is simply a matter of personal preference (not very interesting, but entirely possible). This is why the choice is his. If he doesn't want to connect with anyone, he makes his choice, and I respect it. On the other hand, if he's afraid, I want to help him find the courage to be brave before his essence disembodies.
I guess stay tuned. Haha I love saying that because no one will likely ever see this. It is at once so private and so public... "prublic??"
Thoughts on Mom
“I really did marry a wonderful young girl,” he
said of my mother just now—“just the right girl at the right time.” I like it when he says nice things about her.
It's funny how, although they have been divorced twenty years, they are still family. My stepfather is a part of it and so am I. That's the modern society. You can't ever get rid of a former spouse with whom you've had a child, it seems. Not just for the sake of the child, but also for the sake of the former spouse. Makes a person wonder... would anyone change you if you had to wear diapers again? Would anyone rub lotion on your gnarly, crackling feet? Now here's the kicker: would your ex-wife? Dad was right about that quote at the beginning. It's still true now.
It's funny how, although they have been divorced twenty years, they are still family. My stepfather is a part of it and so am I. That's the modern society. You can't ever get rid of a former spouse with whom you've had a child, it seems. Not just for the sake of the child, but also for the sake of the former spouse. Makes a person wonder... would anyone change you if you had to wear diapers again? Would anyone rub lotion on your gnarly, crackling feet? Now here's the kicker: would your ex-wife? Dad was right about that quote at the beginning. It's still true now.
Grumpy Little Bugger
He’s being really grumpy now and ordering me
around. He's been doing that for as long as I can remember, and we managed to build our own method of
communication around it. He’d call me the C-word and tell me to "F-ing get over here" and "F-ing do
something." But then I’d just call him a mother F-er and tell him "shut the F
up and do it yourself." I was really never bothered by him snapping at me and trying to degrade me. I truly didn't feel degraded. That kind of talk is why my mom left him, though. That and his hallucinating, beating her, and drinking at work. Haha, I hope no one ever finds this blog.
Anyhow, neither Dad nor I would have hurt feelings communicating that way, and neither would bear any guilt for going off on an innocent person. Now it’s different. I almost snapped at him earlier, but I caught myself. Whew.
Anyhow, neither Dad nor I would have hurt feelings communicating that way, and neither would bear any guilt for going off on an innocent person. Now it’s different. I almost snapped at him earlier, but I caught myself. Whew.
The Freedom to Be Socially Unacceptable
“I’m just enjoying the freedom of the moment,” Dad
says. He means, basically, that he can do and say anything the fuck he wants
because he’s dying.
Apparently you still have to be nice to get what you want, even when dying
“There’s one piece of good news. Everything we do
now is a step in the right direction.”
more dad quotes
I forgot to post some more dad quotes. His mind is going now, so they aren't so great.
1. Favorite memory of his own childhood:
1. Favorite memory of his own childhood:
- He could have been as old as 10, but he was living in Cleveland. His next-door neighbors got a "..." (he couldn't remember the name of it). He loved driving it.
- He said yes so quickly. When I asked him what he regrets, he replied, "women and stuff," but refused to elaborate.
The Dalai Lama said: "Every one of us is getting older, which is a natural process. Time is constantly moving on, second by second. Nothing can stop it, but what we can do is use our time properly; that is in our hands. Whether we believe in a spiritual tradition or not, we need to use our time meaningfully. If over days, weeks, months and years, we have used our time in a meaningful way – when our last day comes, we'll be happy, we'll have no regrets."
Don't snooze important things on your to-do list
Paulette Van Zant was a very important person, whom anyone would be lucky to know. She was kind, worked very hard, and didn't take things for granted. She made something out of herself. She paid her dues by taking care of her sick parents as each died, and continued to work. We should all aspire to be more like her. She loved fried chicken and pork tenderloin, and gave me tips on how to make better broccoli.
Paulette retired because she had breast cancer. When she left, I started to bring her food and visit her. She needed help and to know that people cared about her. When I was at her house, she showed me one of her most prized possessions: a beautiful letter from her prior employer telling her how valuable she was to them.
I lost my phone with Paulette's number in it. When I got a new one, I downloaded a "to-do list" app that automatically snoozes anything on the list to the next day at midnight. I entered: "find Paulette's number and call her." The days just went by, filled with dad getting worse and keeping up with school. And then there was my grandfather and my dog and everything else.
Paulette died last night. She's still on my to-do list.
Was there really no time? I know there was. I want her to know how important she was in the lives of others. I want her to know that she made a difference, and that people cared about her. She won't know, because I never told her. I never told her because I couldn't make the time. Shame on me.
Every day lights go out across the globe without anyone ever seeing their brilliance. To me, that's the tragedy of the human condition.
Rest in peace, Paulette. I saw your brilliance, and I miss it. But I'm glad you aren't in pain anymore. Please help my father when he joins you soon. Maybe he'll open up to you, although he wouldn't open up to me, after he's shuffled off the body and all the misery that accompanies this corporeal existence.
Paulette retired because she had breast cancer. When she left, I started to bring her food and visit her. She needed help and to know that people cared about her. When I was at her house, she showed me one of her most prized possessions: a beautiful letter from her prior employer telling her how valuable she was to them.
I lost my phone with Paulette's number in it. When I got a new one, I downloaded a "to-do list" app that automatically snoozes anything on the list to the next day at midnight. I entered: "find Paulette's number and call her." The days just went by, filled with dad getting worse and keeping up with school. And then there was my grandfather and my dog and everything else.
Paulette died last night. She's still on my to-do list.
Was there really no time? I know there was. I want her to know how important she was in the lives of others. I want her to know that she made a difference, and that people cared about her. She won't know, because I never told her. I never told her because I couldn't make the time. Shame on me.
Every day lights go out across the globe without anyone ever seeing their brilliance. To me, that's the tragedy of the human condition.
Rest in peace, Paulette. I saw your brilliance, and I miss it. But I'm glad you aren't in pain anymore. Please help my father when he joins you soon. Maybe he'll open up to you, although he wouldn't open up to me, after he's shuffled off the body and all the misery that accompanies this corporeal existence.
Explanatory Parenthetical
(in case anyone ever finds this blog, perhaps you should know that it has dual pruposes: the first of these is finding some small way to make my father semi-immortal; the second is to provide me some relief from the emotions without having to directly burden any one individual with all the depressing bullshit)
Sunday, April 29, 2012
I've been trying to get him to open up more, because he's spent his whole life building and maintaining a fortress around himself. I broke down today and told him that I recognized this, and that if he wanted to let me into the real George, please let me know--he could be vulnerable. He responded: "millions of years of minkind existing and ceasing to exist, they've finally figured out how to avoid it." I said, "vulnerability or human connection?" and he said "the human connection." Great. Go figure.
Failing Human Compassion (and everything else)
It's hard now that the cancer in his brain, because he doesn't really make much sense. He said yesterday that I had accomplished something, and when I asked him what he meant, he replied, "your mother has a phone that got in the way."
I think the worst part is the way I feel right now. I have finals, and everything depends on my doing well in law school. I can't concentrate. My grandfather is also dying, and he's "lonely lonely lonely lonely lonely." That's a direct quote. My dog had a stroke. Dad is in Mom's house now, and we have to change IVs and give treatments. I dread coming here. There is a black shroud over home now, and I secretly want to stay at school. That makes me feel so guilty, as it's my dad.
It makes me sick to clean up pee, and that makes me feel bad. He passes gas alot, and it makes me dry heave. I feel like I should be better at this, but I'm not. If there's anything I should be good at, it should be this. And I suck. Yes, in addition to my other exams, I'm also going to fail Human Compassion.
I think the worst part is the way I feel right now. I have finals, and everything depends on my doing well in law school. I can't concentrate. My grandfather is also dying, and he's "lonely lonely lonely lonely lonely." That's a direct quote. My dog had a stroke. Dad is in Mom's house now, and we have to change IVs and give treatments. I dread coming here. There is a black shroud over home now, and I secretly want to stay at school. That makes me feel so guilty, as it's my dad.
It makes me sick to clean up pee, and that makes me feel bad. He passes gas alot, and it makes me dry heave. I feel like I should be better at this, but I'm not. If there's anything I should be good at, it should be this. And I suck. Yes, in addition to my other exams, I'm also going to fail Human Compassion.
Monday, April 16, 2012
Sunday, April 15, 2012
dad morphine quote:
He said “on the day you were born, there was a long, long hall, and there was glass on either side of the hall. The nurse was at the end of the hall holding you up, and it’s the happiest I’ve ever been.”
funny quote from dad
“When I don’t feel good, I can’t defend my own arguments. To be honest, it isn’t worth it, but neither are they.”
Hard Times
These are very hard times. My father keeps screaming in pain, and it really doesn't stop for longer than a few seconds. Yet he has trouble speaking. He did say two things today, however, that were very hard to hear. The first of these was: "What a terrible way to die, this lung cancer." The second was: "I'm glad you're here. I don't think I'll have very much notice when I go. I think I'll just start having pain, and then I'll be gone."
I'm thankful for the fact that he's here. I thought he might not make it after what happened a few weeks ago, but he did. Now I can be here on the weekends to see him. I'm spending my sleepless studying-for-finals nights in his room while he screams in pain. But at least I'm here.
I started this blog last year, and I hope no one ever finds it. I just need to get stuff out there so I can deal with it. It isn't like it makes for great conversation fodder with law school classmates. So thanks, e-void, for letting me vent.
I'm thankful for the fact that he's here. I thought he might not make it after what happened a few weeks ago, but he did. Now I can be here on the weekends to see him. I'm spending my sleepless studying-for-finals nights in his room while he screams in pain. But at least I'm here.
I started this blog last year, and I hope no one ever finds it. I just need to get stuff out there so I can deal with it. It isn't like it makes for great conversation fodder with law school classmates. So thanks, e-void, for letting me vent.
Thursday, April 7, 2011
Memories of Nana and Dopop
My father has terminal cancer. When I heard that the partnership he has maintained with his corporeal body for the last 67 years has begun to talk of dissolving, I knew there were so many things left potentially unsaid. My father is a very introverted person that few understand. I myself understand him little, as he has always lived mostly in his head. I realize that what goes on in that head will remain in that head, and return to dust with that head, unless I can get his thoughts into the air. I want them so I will have something to remember him by.
For this reason, this is my father’s blog. I want him to tell the world what he wants the world to know, and what he does not want to keep in his heart when it ceases to beat.
When I asked him today, here is what he wanted to say…. [nana= his mother/ my grandmother; dopop= his father/ my grandfather]
“Nana(my grandmother, born in 1903). She was a businesswoman in the 1920s, new car every year, and was highly successful. When her first marriage broke up, she got Walter (1st husband) to raise her son Don, because she didn't want to be tied down. The greatest thing about her was how much she loved me. She was ten years older than Dopop (my grandfather). She worshipped him because he was so intelligent. No common sense, but he was amazing. Not very social, but a great brain. If he thought of something important, he would just sit there and think about it for hours. Nana, fortunately, could talk him out of it sometimes, but the point is whenever he has a thought it was very successful. Dopop always had a pipe in his mouth. Nana was a pistol even back then. When Dad was born, he was her project; her first try at something domestic. She spoiled him, which Dopop hated.”
Dopop. He was as introverted as Nana was extroverted. And brilliant. And in love. When Nana died, Dopop wished to die, and although he didn't follow for years, he never walked again after she passed. He was a brain, which attracted Nana. She didn't like society types, although she was one, but he had independent ideas and was sure his patents would change the chemical world. Dopop was pretty good. He loved his granddaughter and his son, but he didn't communicate very well.
Then there is my father’s story of himself. The first thing he wants to say is that he loves me.
When he was at the University of South Florida for his masters, then went to miami to work on his PHD in psychology. …. These are his thoughts on that…
“I guess I was surprised that there wasn't much that was noble. I had gone into science looking for noble things, and discovered that it is a very selfish thing. At the same time it is social. You have to teach, to try to communicate somehow with people through your articles and through your teaching. I enjoyed it. The best part about it was trying to come up with an independent idea that nobody else has had. Try it. It’s much harder than you think. Any original idea you ever have, test it. Someone has thought of it before.”
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