The second day of the seventh month
Dad has been gone for 2 1/2 months.
I can't get to my blog at work any longer (the state
blocked all blogs and poetry forums).
Bloody nose last night. I started crying
and then it started bleeding.
Lauren left for Mexico Friday. She called
last night from Ciudad Victoria--not where
she was hoping to be but the bus they were going
to take to Mexico City will not run until tonight,
so I guess they'll see what they can do in C.V.
(she, Sadie, Ryan, and Santana).
Father-in-law is recovering well from his quadruple
bypass (had it Thursday). Heart attack on Father's Day.
I will finish my first summer class this Wed. The next
one starts on the 11th. One more in the fall and my undergrad
work will be done (only took me 20 years!).
Much more to say but my omelet is ready and the sun
is shining, so I am going to eat and then go lie out in the sun.
Sunday, July 02, 2006
Tuesday, June 13, 2006
Two things I don't want to forget
On the drive home from school the other night--through the river
bottomlands--lots of windy, narrow roads, I topped a hill and saw
2 cars pulled off on the shoulder, so I slowed down, rolled down my window
and asked if their was a problem. The man standing on the shoulder of the road
with one of his two children pointed at the woods and his wife and other child
and said, "Do you see that?" I scanned the wooded area he was pointing to,
but things were hard to see--it was nearing dusk, but then I saw it.
"It" was the tiniest fawn I've ever seen.
It looked like it had just been born--still wobbly on its little legs. The wife (that's
an assumption, I know, but the whole crew had on matching t-shirts that had
some kind of baseball team logo on them, so I am assuming wife) was trying
to coax the fawn to come to her. I asked them if they planned to call a shelter
and he said he wasn't sure what they could do but they were going to do something.
They had been there for some time and there was no mother in sight. I kept
wondering if I should have gone back and put the little thing in my Highlander
and brought it home to care for it, but I knew that wasn't an option.
Next:
Dad was in one of my dreams again last night (actually was dreaming about him when
the alarm went off this morning). He had just been released from the hospital.
He looked tired but younger and better. He seemed a bit jaundiced, but otherwise
he was much better than he was when I last saw him alive. He was missing a few teeth,
his hair was still black, and he was walking with no problems. But what I remember
most was his pink tongue--free of all the dried blood and caked matter that covered
it in the ICU. We would ask them if they could swab it or do something to moisten
his mouth. It just looked so uncomfortable. I know there is a concern that a person
may aspirate and get pneumonia, so you have to be careful, but they did allow us to take
these sponge sticks to swab out his mouth. Sometimes he'd fight us because he didn't
know what we were doing. Other times, he would just lick his lips and then rub them together
and we knew how much better his mouth felt. So, I remember that most vividly from
the dream. I also remember that home was not "home"...it looked like our home in Virginia
Beach, but I know it wasn't there either. He said he felt better but would have to go back
to the doctor for more tests.
It's still so hard to get through each day. Yesterday, on my way to the post office, a Medivac
helicopter flew over and that was all it took for me to choke up and start crying. All I could
think about was the night they flew dad by helicopter to University Hospital Louisville.
Oh, if we could only go back. Just for even a day. I miss my dad so much and would just ask him
things that I never thought to ask him about, and I don't even know if they're all that important,
but I would ask him. I don't know if he ever had a dog when he was growing up, or a cat, or any kind of pet. If he ever told me, I have forgotten.
I want to read Our Town again.
On the drive home from school the other night--through the river
bottomlands--lots of windy, narrow roads, I topped a hill and saw
2 cars pulled off on the shoulder, so I slowed down, rolled down my window
and asked if their was a problem. The man standing on the shoulder of the road
with one of his two children pointed at the woods and his wife and other child
and said, "Do you see that?" I scanned the wooded area he was pointing to,
but things were hard to see--it was nearing dusk, but then I saw it.
"It" was the tiniest fawn I've ever seen.
It looked like it had just been born--still wobbly on its little legs. The wife (that's
an assumption, I know, but the whole crew had on matching t-shirts that had
some kind of baseball team logo on them, so I am assuming wife) was trying
to coax the fawn to come to her. I asked them if they planned to call a shelter
and he said he wasn't sure what they could do but they were going to do something.
They had been there for some time and there was no mother in sight. I kept
wondering if I should have gone back and put the little thing in my Highlander
and brought it home to care for it, but I knew that wasn't an option.
Next:
Dad was in one of my dreams again last night (actually was dreaming about him when
the alarm went off this morning). He had just been released from the hospital.
He looked tired but younger and better. He seemed a bit jaundiced, but otherwise
he was much better than he was when I last saw him alive. He was missing a few teeth,
his hair was still black, and he was walking with no problems. But what I remember
most was his pink tongue--free of all the dried blood and caked matter that covered
it in the ICU. We would ask them if they could swab it or do something to moisten
his mouth. It just looked so uncomfortable. I know there is a concern that a person
may aspirate and get pneumonia, so you have to be careful, but they did allow us to take
these sponge sticks to swab out his mouth. Sometimes he'd fight us because he didn't
know what we were doing. Other times, he would just lick his lips and then rub them together
and we knew how much better his mouth felt. So, I remember that most vividly from
the dream. I also remember that home was not "home"...it looked like our home in Virginia
Beach, but I know it wasn't there either. He said he felt better but would have to go back
to the doctor for more tests.
It's still so hard to get through each day. Yesterday, on my way to the post office, a Medivac
helicopter flew over and that was all it took for me to choke up and start crying. All I could
think about was the night they flew dad by helicopter to University Hospital Louisville.
Oh, if we could only go back. Just for even a day. I miss my dad so much and would just ask him
things that I never thought to ask him about, and I don't even know if they're all that important,
but I would ask him. I don't know if he ever had a dog when he was growing up, or a cat, or any kind of pet. If he ever told me, I have forgotten.
I want to read Our Town again.
Friday, June 09, 2006
Dreams of Father
I can't remember everything in one of my dreams last night, but I remember my father telling my mother not to jump into the water--to just wait where she was and someone would come to help her. She was on a vessel of some type with other people I knew but can't place today. I was viewing the vessel as if I had x-ray vision and could see through the steel hull of it (side view showing all levels) or as is someone had created a model on the computer and you could view what the levels inside looked like. I remember peering into an opening at the top of this vessel (before my father arrived in the dream to tell my mother not to jump), but I could only see her legs and socks. From the inside view I had of the vessel, I could see that my mother and the others were in some type of sleeping quarters. They were moved in and out of the quarters on racks (reminded me of an oven rack). Even though this was some type of ocean-going vessel, it was on land, but surrounded by water. Something had happened and the bottom half of the vessel had disappeared. My mother wanted out and was going to come up through the hole and jump to the water below (looked about 40 ft or more). Why she couldn't come up through the same hole I was looking through and be ok, I don't know.
And then, there he was--my father. I didn't see his face. I saw his legs. They were wet, as if he had just come out of the sea, and he said in a very calm voice, "Joyce, don't jump into the water. Wait for help." I could see him basically in profile only, and only as if it was a passing glance of someone very far away but very close at the same time. His hair was dark and he was lying on the concrete, propped up on one arm. He told my mother he was ok but his legs hurt.
That's all I remember. I woke up when the alarm went off and for the first morning in some time, I felt I had actually gotten some sleep. I also felt better for the first morning since Dad's death.
Yesterday, I had a meeting in Hopkinsville, so I stopped by the Veteran's Cemetery. I went to Wal Mart first and bought red carnations, a disposable camera (I'm going to have to put my old Minolta back in my car and keep it there like I once did), and a Father's Day card. I thought the cones we put flowers in on Memorial Day would still be there, but they weren't, so I made a little hole in the very wet earth with a pair of scissors I bought at Wal Mart (to trim the carnations), and I stuck them in the holes on either side of Dad's stone. Then I poured some bottled water in the holes. I stuck my card in between the carnations. And I took pictures. Why, I am not sure.
I wanted so badly to just stretch out on top of the grave--to just curl up and nap there, but I didn't have a blanket with me, and the groundskeepers came within 15 minutes of my arrival to dig a new grave, so I didn't stay long. Since Dad was buried on 4/24, 15 more graves are now next to him--some with stones, some with just markers. That whole generation of men and woman are dying in such great numbers daily. I thought about the 15 other families who were mourning the loss of their loved one. I packed up my things, got in the car, and drove home (about 36 miles). I cried all the way.
Started class Monday night. Meets 2 nights a week--5:15-9:15. Makes for a long day after I have worked all day, drive an hour there and an hour home. It's going to be an extremely busy and time-consuming class, but hopefully it will be interesting. I have chosen to design a curriculum to teach an AIDS/HIV Family Support group. The purpose of the group cannot be therapeutic, and the group can't meet in an educational setting (those are the stipulations with Family Life Education Outreach). So, I have much research to do and many things to pull together. On Wed. night, I have a mid-term and after the mid-term, I will have to present a movie clip demonstrating to the class something I would use in my sessions. I am going to look for a scene from Philadelphia.
Sunny and warmer today. Lauren and Ville are here to work on the kitchen this weekend. I am glad they are here. It is so good to have family and friends visiting with me. It so much helps this grieving.
I can't remember everything in one of my dreams last night, but I remember my father telling my mother not to jump into the water--to just wait where she was and someone would come to help her. She was on a vessel of some type with other people I knew but can't place today. I was viewing the vessel as if I had x-ray vision and could see through the steel hull of it (side view showing all levels) or as is someone had created a model on the computer and you could view what the levels inside looked like. I remember peering into an opening at the top of this vessel (before my father arrived in the dream to tell my mother not to jump), but I could only see her legs and socks. From the inside view I had of the vessel, I could see that my mother and the others were in some type of sleeping quarters. They were moved in and out of the quarters on racks (reminded me of an oven rack). Even though this was some type of ocean-going vessel, it was on land, but surrounded by water. Something had happened and the bottom half of the vessel had disappeared. My mother wanted out and was going to come up through the hole and jump to the water below (looked about 40 ft or more). Why she couldn't come up through the same hole I was looking through and be ok, I don't know.
And then, there he was--my father. I didn't see his face. I saw his legs. They were wet, as if he had just come out of the sea, and he said in a very calm voice, "Joyce, don't jump into the water. Wait for help." I could see him basically in profile only, and only as if it was a passing glance of someone very far away but very close at the same time. His hair was dark and he was lying on the concrete, propped up on one arm. He told my mother he was ok but his legs hurt.
That's all I remember. I woke up when the alarm went off and for the first morning in some time, I felt I had actually gotten some sleep. I also felt better for the first morning since Dad's death.
Yesterday, I had a meeting in Hopkinsville, so I stopped by the Veteran's Cemetery. I went to Wal Mart first and bought red carnations, a disposable camera (I'm going to have to put my old Minolta back in my car and keep it there like I once did), and a Father's Day card. I thought the cones we put flowers in on Memorial Day would still be there, but they weren't, so I made a little hole in the very wet earth with a pair of scissors I bought at Wal Mart (to trim the carnations), and I stuck them in the holes on either side of Dad's stone. Then I poured some bottled water in the holes. I stuck my card in between the carnations. And I took pictures. Why, I am not sure.
I wanted so badly to just stretch out on top of the grave--to just curl up and nap there, but I didn't have a blanket with me, and the groundskeepers came within 15 minutes of my arrival to dig a new grave, so I didn't stay long. Since Dad was buried on 4/24, 15 more graves are now next to him--some with stones, some with just markers. That whole generation of men and woman are dying in such great numbers daily. I thought about the 15 other families who were mourning the loss of their loved one. I packed up my things, got in the car, and drove home (about 36 miles). I cried all the way.
Started class Monday night. Meets 2 nights a week--5:15-9:15. Makes for a long day after I have worked all day, drive an hour there and an hour home. It's going to be an extremely busy and time-consuming class, but hopefully it will be interesting. I have chosen to design a curriculum to teach an AIDS/HIV Family Support group. The purpose of the group cannot be therapeutic, and the group can't meet in an educational setting (those are the stipulations with Family Life Education Outreach). So, I have much research to do and many things to pull together. On Wed. night, I have a mid-term and after the mid-term, I will have to present a movie clip demonstrating to the class something I would use in my sessions. I am going to look for a scene from Philadelphia.
Sunny and warmer today. Lauren and Ville are here to work on the kitchen this weekend. I am glad they are here. It is so good to have family and friends visiting with me. It so much helps this grieving.
Wednesday, June 07, 2006
Can you imagine us...
years from today
sharing a park bench quietly?
How terribly strange to be seventy
Old friends
Old friends
That was playing in my CD player this morning...made me sad all over.
Again and again, this sadness. Only such a brief few moments
of each day am I not filled with it. I can't bare losing Dad.
I just can't bare to think I'll never see him again, kiss the top
of his sweet head, give him a big hug and feel him hug me back just as tightly.
I'll miss his quiet, soft manner. His amusement at our inanities. His beautiful
eyes (blue and green and grey and little streaks of brown). I'll miss his voice
coming from upstairs as I came in the front door of the house
and called for him "Ho, Sis!"
Oh my dear, sweet , Jesus, this is terrible pain. I can't even bring myself
to look at his pictures. It just makes me feel like I'm choking. I can't sit
in his chair or lie across his bed without feeling like I'm suffocating.
Oh, Dad. Come and make things right again, Ok?
years from today
sharing a park bench quietly?
How terribly strange to be seventy
Old friends
Old friends
That was playing in my CD player this morning...made me sad all over.
Again and again, this sadness. Only such a brief few moments
of each day am I not filled with it. I can't bare losing Dad.
I just can't bare to think I'll never see him again, kiss the top
of his sweet head, give him a big hug and feel him hug me back just as tightly.
I'll miss his quiet, soft manner. His amusement at our inanities. His beautiful
eyes (blue and green and grey and little streaks of brown). I'll miss his voice
coming from upstairs as I came in the front door of the house
and called for him "Ho, Sis!"
Oh my dear, sweet , Jesus, this is terrible pain. I can't even bring myself
to look at his pictures. It just makes me feel like I'm choking. I can't sit
in his chair or lie across his bed without feeling like I'm suffocating.
Oh, Dad. Come and make things right again, Ok?
Tuesday, May 23, 2006
Lou Reed - Perfect Day
Just a perfect day,
Drink Sangria in the park,
And then later, when it gets dark,
We go home.
Just a perfect day,
Feed animals in the zoo
Then later, a movie, too,
And then home.
Oh it's such a perfect day,
I'm glad I spent it with you.
Oh such a perfect day,
You just keep me hanging on,
You just keep me hanging on.
Just a perfect day,
Problems all left alone,
Weekenders on our own.
It's such fun.
Just a perfect day,
You made me forget myself.
I thought I was someone else,
Someone good.
Oh it's such a perfect day,
I'm glad I spent it with you.
Oh such a perfect day,
You just keep me hanging on,
You just keep me hanging on.
You're going to reap just what you sow,
You're going to reap just what you sow,
You're going to reap just what you sow,
You're going to reap just what you sow...
I'll don't think I'll ever hear that song again without thinking about the morning my mom, my brother, and I were on the way to University Hospital, Louisville and Transformer was
in my CD player. It was turned down very low, but when Jason heard it, he started
telling me about the first time he heard it. He's my baby brother and knows a lot about music, but he didn't know that Lou Reed song until he heard it on an episode of Buffy the Vampire Slayer (or that's what I remember him saying, but memory is a tricky thing). So, it was playing, and now every time I hear it, I am driving down Broadway in Louisville again on my way to see my father who was still very much alive.
And so, I either burst into tears each time it starts, or I turn it up really loud and sing my heart out and just wish I could go into rewind and be driving back to the hospital. When will this get any better, any less painful, any more believable, any more comprehensible?
I only remember one of my dreams from last night, and it wasn't about Dad. Oddly enough, it was about my boss and coworkers. My boss was actually being a friend to me. We were all in this old house getting ready to eat dinner. It was like a boarding house, and it was more like we were family than coworkers. I know there were some weird food things going on, but I can't remember what was going on today. That's good. I usually remember my dreams in such great detail, but not last night's.
Very tired today and looking forward to my mini vacation. I am taking 4 days off, so I'll work tomorrow and not return until the 1st of June. I need to sleep in late, lie out in the sun, work in my gardens, do some things around the house, and just be away from the work environment.
I wasn't at all ready to come back.
I miss my Dad.
Just a perfect day,
Drink Sangria in the park,
And then later, when it gets dark,
We go home.
Just a perfect day,
Feed animals in the zoo
Then later, a movie, too,
And then home.
Oh it's such a perfect day,
I'm glad I spent it with you.
Oh such a perfect day,
You just keep me hanging on,
You just keep me hanging on.
Just a perfect day,
Problems all left alone,
Weekenders on our own.
It's such fun.
Just a perfect day,
You made me forget myself.
I thought I was someone else,
Someone good.
Oh it's such a perfect day,
I'm glad I spent it with you.
Oh such a perfect day,
You just keep me hanging on,
You just keep me hanging on.
You're going to reap just what you sow,
You're going to reap just what you sow,
You're going to reap just what you sow,
You're going to reap just what you sow...
I'll don't think I'll ever hear that song again without thinking about the morning my mom, my brother, and I were on the way to University Hospital, Louisville and Transformer was
in my CD player. It was turned down very low, but when Jason heard it, he started
telling me about the first time he heard it. He's my baby brother and knows a lot about music, but he didn't know that Lou Reed song until he heard it on an episode of Buffy the Vampire Slayer (or that's what I remember him saying, but memory is a tricky thing). So, it was playing, and now every time I hear it, I am driving down Broadway in Louisville again on my way to see my father who was still very much alive.
And so, I either burst into tears each time it starts, or I turn it up really loud and sing my heart out and just wish I could go into rewind and be driving back to the hospital. When will this get any better, any less painful, any more believable, any more comprehensible?
I only remember one of my dreams from last night, and it wasn't about Dad. Oddly enough, it was about my boss and coworkers. My boss was actually being a friend to me. We were all in this old house getting ready to eat dinner. It was like a boarding house, and it was more like we were family than coworkers. I know there were some weird food things going on, but I can't remember what was going on today. That's good. I usually remember my dreams in such great detail, but not last night's.
Very tired today and looking forward to my mini vacation. I am taking 4 days off, so I'll work tomorrow and not return until the 1st of June. I need to sleep in late, lie out in the sun, work in my gardens, do some things around the house, and just be away from the work environment.
I wasn't at all ready to come back.
I miss my Dad.
Monday, May 22, 2006
Not the grim
In my dream last night, there was a big, black dog that I was supposed to take home with me. The woman who owned him was very gyspsy-like, very steeped in tradition and myth (ok...maybe some of the dream was Harry Potter inspired--I rewatched Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban one night last week). So, yes, the woman looked a bit like the teacher on Harry Potter (the professor of Divination--Emma Thompson), and I started this out saying the dog was not the grim, so maybe this was very much Harry inspired.
He was huge, though. The dog. His name was Baba Ganoush (Ha!). He appeared to be solid black until he rolled over to let the woman rub his belly. It was a mottled black and white. He looked like a black St. Bernard. I asked her what kind of dog he was and she kept saying he was a shepard dog. He was so large that he frightened me, but she asssured me he was a gentle giant and would be very loyal to me and to my loved ones. I asked her if I could change his name to Elmo (my daddy's middle name). She just smiled.
Many other dreams last night but I am just trying to let them go this morning.
So many things set me off. I went to Kroger on Saturday and came home the "old way." The old way winds through a trailer park that runs parallel to the parkway. You then have to go through 2 very narrow, very short CSX railroad tunnels. After you come out of the second tunnel, you see a sign for the hospital. I started bawling again because that was the route I took the night Dad died (April 20th). I had been to Kroger and went to the hospital afterwords. I parked, went to the floor, realized my mom and brother were there so I didn't go in Dad's room, went up to the 6th floor and called the nurses' desk, asked how Dad was, was told he was stable and sleeping, and I left. So, I never saw him alive again after Tuesday night, April 18th. My mom and brother were not talking to me at that time. I had decided I would go to see Dad on days and nights that they were not there. I'd rather not think about any of that right now. It's all too painful.
So, Dad really hasn't come to me yet to tell me he's ok. I keep hoping each night to see him in my dreams, and I do see him, and he does seem ok, but I just keep thinking I am going to really feel him.
Day to day, this pain and this grief.
Spent all day yesterday working in the yard. Weeded the front flower beds and finished weeding the side beds. Planted some more perennials (foxglove, which is actually a biennial, I think), some hardy hibiscus and primrose from my mother's yard, and some other herbs--lemon balm and flat-leaf parsley.
I added some annuals to the perennial gardens. Everything looks so beautiful. In one of the gardens on the side of the house, I have a forsythia, a bleeding heart, lots of purple and pink columbine, daylillies, asiatic lillies, hardy mums, larkspur, and a few other perennials I can't think of at the moment. I added some purple vinca and red begonia (it gets more shade than sun, but the vinca thrives and so do the begonias).
In the shade garden, I have coral bells, hosta, an azalea (at the far end so it gets enough sun to make it, peonies (they are going to have to be moved because they are healthy but not producing many blooms--they need more sun), 2 hydrangeas (surprisingly, they like it there), more columbine, and some hyacinths. I added red and pink begonias and multi-colored impatiens.
Then, out front, around the rhododendron and in front of the azaleas, I added purple vinca. It gets almost shrub size out there as it gets so much light.
I planted the hardy hibiscus in a circular shape around a copper birdbath in the backyard not far from the herb garden.
My little oak that I brought from mom and dad's house doesn't look so great, but it may make it. It is still green and supple though the leaves have died.
So, I worked outside and did little else. I mailed Christopher a picture of his grandfather along with a bookmark that the funeral home made for each of the children and for Mom. I called and asked them to make 6 more--one for each grandchild and one for Dad's niece.
It's overcast today and around 72. Wes is going to Mom's after school to watch Grapes of Wrath with her. She invited me too, but it might be nice for the two of them to spend some time together.
That's all for now.
In my dream last night, there was a big, black dog that I was supposed to take home with me. The woman who owned him was very gyspsy-like, very steeped in tradition and myth (ok...maybe some of the dream was Harry Potter inspired--I rewatched Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban one night last week). So, yes, the woman looked a bit like the teacher on Harry Potter (the professor of Divination--Emma Thompson), and I started this out saying the dog was not the grim, so maybe this was very much Harry inspired.
He was huge, though. The dog. His name was Baba Ganoush (Ha!). He appeared to be solid black until he rolled over to let the woman rub his belly. It was a mottled black and white. He looked like a black St. Bernard. I asked her what kind of dog he was and she kept saying he was a shepard dog. He was so large that he frightened me, but she asssured me he was a gentle giant and would be very loyal to me and to my loved ones. I asked her if I could change his name to Elmo (my daddy's middle name). She just smiled.
Many other dreams last night but I am just trying to let them go this morning.
So many things set me off. I went to Kroger on Saturday and came home the "old way." The old way winds through a trailer park that runs parallel to the parkway. You then have to go through 2 very narrow, very short CSX railroad tunnels. After you come out of the second tunnel, you see a sign for the hospital. I started bawling again because that was the route I took the night Dad died (April 20th). I had been to Kroger and went to the hospital afterwords. I parked, went to the floor, realized my mom and brother were there so I didn't go in Dad's room, went up to the 6th floor and called the nurses' desk, asked how Dad was, was told he was stable and sleeping, and I left. So, I never saw him alive again after Tuesday night, April 18th. My mom and brother were not talking to me at that time. I had decided I would go to see Dad on days and nights that they were not there. I'd rather not think about any of that right now. It's all too painful.
So, Dad really hasn't come to me yet to tell me he's ok. I keep hoping each night to see him in my dreams, and I do see him, and he does seem ok, but I just keep thinking I am going to really feel him.
Day to day, this pain and this grief.
Spent all day yesterday working in the yard. Weeded the front flower beds and finished weeding the side beds. Planted some more perennials (foxglove, which is actually a biennial, I think), some hardy hibiscus and primrose from my mother's yard, and some other herbs--lemon balm and flat-leaf parsley.
I added some annuals to the perennial gardens. Everything looks so beautiful. In one of the gardens on the side of the house, I have a forsythia, a bleeding heart, lots of purple and pink columbine, daylillies, asiatic lillies, hardy mums, larkspur, and a few other perennials I can't think of at the moment. I added some purple vinca and red begonia (it gets more shade than sun, but the vinca thrives and so do the begonias).
In the shade garden, I have coral bells, hosta, an azalea (at the far end so it gets enough sun to make it, peonies (they are going to have to be moved because they are healthy but not producing many blooms--they need more sun), 2 hydrangeas (surprisingly, they like it there), more columbine, and some hyacinths. I added red and pink begonias and multi-colored impatiens.
Then, out front, around the rhododendron and in front of the azaleas, I added purple vinca. It gets almost shrub size out there as it gets so much light.
I planted the hardy hibiscus in a circular shape around a copper birdbath in the backyard not far from the herb garden.
My little oak that I brought from mom and dad's house doesn't look so great, but it may make it. It is still green and supple though the leaves have died.
So, I worked outside and did little else. I mailed Christopher a picture of his grandfather along with a bookmark that the funeral home made for each of the children and for Mom. I called and asked them to make 6 more--one for each grandchild and one for Dad's niece.
It's overcast today and around 72. Wes is going to Mom's after school to watch Grapes of Wrath with her. She invited me too, but it might be nice for the two of them to spend some time together.
That's all for now.
Tuesday, May 16, 2006
Each day that passes finds me unable to write anything about my father.
I think about it every day. Things that pop in my head that I just don't want to forget.
Things in that last month. Things he said and did in the hospital. Things I thought as he said and did things.
So many things.
All the animals that keep showing up.
The beagles on the side of the road as my sister, niece, and I travelled to Nashville.
The bird that kept beating itself against my car and then against Dad's cars 2 days after his burial.
The eagle in my dream.
The giraffe and the dinosaur in another dream.
The beagles in yet another dream.
The huge snapping turtle that showed up at Robin's shop and refused to leave for 3 days.
It's strange the little things that set you off at a time like this. The box of Kleenex napkins in my glove compartment. Every time I open the compartment and see them I think about that early morning drive my brother, mother and I made to Louisville on March 27th. Dad left by helicopter (life-flight) on the evening of the 26th. I actually think the helicopter didn't leave until some time after midnight on the 27th. Mom and Jason had been told that if Dad made it at all, he would most likely be severely brain-damaged. I was in Nashville when everything happened to Dad that night, so I packed up my clothes, drive back here, then picked up Mom and Jay. We talked all the way there and just kept trying to keep one another encouraged. I can't remember if Mom was crying or just why Jason asked if I had any Kleenex or napkins, but I told him to look in the glove compartment. He was sitting up front with me and Mom was in the back behind him.
I even had to change the ring on my cell phone. Everytime it would start ringing (after Dad's death) and Mom would hear it, she would just cringe. She would say, "I hear that and all I can think about is how many times it would ring while we were at the hospital through Dad's illness and how many times it was ringing after he died and all the family was calling us at the hospital."
It's just so damn grey here. It's been the darkest, coolest May I can remember. It just makes everything that much sadder. And, it's hard for Mom to get outside and do anything because it's so cool and wet.
I'm tired. I am so very, very tired.
I think about it every day. Things that pop in my head that I just don't want to forget.
Things in that last month. Things he said and did in the hospital. Things I thought as he said and did things.
So many things.
All the animals that keep showing up.
The beagles on the side of the road as my sister, niece, and I travelled to Nashville.
The bird that kept beating itself against my car and then against Dad's cars 2 days after his burial.
The eagle in my dream.
The giraffe and the dinosaur in another dream.
The beagles in yet another dream.
The huge snapping turtle that showed up at Robin's shop and refused to leave for 3 days.
It's strange the little things that set you off at a time like this. The box of Kleenex napkins in my glove compartment. Every time I open the compartment and see them I think about that early morning drive my brother, mother and I made to Louisville on March 27th. Dad left by helicopter (life-flight) on the evening of the 26th. I actually think the helicopter didn't leave until some time after midnight on the 27th. Mom and Jason had been told that if Dad made it at all, he would most likely be severely brain-damaged. I was in Nashville when everything happened to Dad that night, so I packed up my clothes, drive back here, then picked up Mom and Jay. We talked all the way there and just kept trying to keep one another encouraged. I can't remember if Mom was crying or just why Jason asked if I had any Kleenex or napkins, but I told him to look in the glove compartment. He was sitting up front with me and Mom was in the back behind him.
I even had to change the ring on my cell phone. Everytime it would start ringing (after Dad's death) and Mom would hear it, she would just cringe. She would say, "I hear that and all I can think about is how many times it would ring while we were at the hospital through Dad's illness and how many times it was ringing after he died and all the family was calling us at the hospital."
It's just so damn grey here. It's been the darkest, coolest May I can remember. It just makes everything that much sadder. And, it's hard for Mom to get outside and do anything because it's so cool and wet.
I'm tired. I am so very, very tired.
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