Sometimes life kicks you right in the poodle.

Tuesday, October 14, 2014

One Day At A Time...I guess

I don't always realise that I'm really pretty fucking wrecked since my dad died.  It should be so obvious.  It's like, my parents dying horribly should be the giant elephant in the room. My mom first, and then my dad  almost four years later.  Four years of stress.  OBVIOUS.  But it slips in and out of sight.


Nobody else is thinking about it?  The world hasn't stopped moving?  Nobody really asks "so how ya doing these days?"  And why would they?  I'm still here.  I'm still cracking jokes (less, I think).  I'm still getting the bulk of the laundry done (it takes a really long goddamn time), I wash my hair, I shave my legs every day.  I go for POWER WALKS.  Anyone who goes for POWER WALKS is functioning just fine.

But then something comes up, like a doctor's appointment.  Something out of the NORM.  Maybe one of the kids has an appointment.  Maybe one of the kids is COUGHING in the night.  And that's it--it's back to waking up with the racing pulse and that feeling that doom is right around the corner.  Or maybe it's that library book that I could not return; Lauren Bacall telling about her romance with Humphrey Bogart.  As if I could even make it to the part where Bogey finds out he has cancer and begins to wither away painfully.  Overdue book.  Overdue fine growing by the day.  I could not just throw that damn thing through the slot.  I could not go ONLINE to renew it.  I'm on my laptop all the time, but I could not do it.  In another era, I'd explain this by saying; "I don't know, man--I just CAN'T DEAL."

It's being really busy most days and then that day arrives that I now know as the "useless" day.  That's the day that I'm having a BIG nap and the rest of the day I'm sitting on the couch, next to the cat, with my laptop atop my lap (heh), and I'm unscrambling words, and reading bland celebrity news.  And that's all I'm doing.  But it's quiet and civilized, and there's no weeping and wailing.  Why, I'm really no trouble at all.

Mostly I harden my heart.  I echo my mother:  of course it's hard, so what are you going to do?  This means, I just keep moving forward. Always forward.  But then a holiday rolls around, like Thanksgiving.  I had a great time..ate way too much, et cetera, et cetera.  But after dinner, an image shot into my head of my dad sitting in the rocking chair last Thanksgiving, with his breathing machine on, me standing beside him, holding his cold, withered hand.  I could not stop thinking about that hand.

And on one hand, I say; "why am I so sad?"  And then my brain says; "uh, duh--it's only been seven months. You loved someone for forty plus years.  You'e allowed to miss them.

I'd tell that to anyone.  There'd be no question about it. Why is it so hard to tell yourself?  Why am I so sad?  I'm wearing fresh, clean clothes.  Aren't I supposed to be unable to get out of bed if I'm so sad?

Apparently not.

Sunday, May 11, 2014

Happy Mother's Day

This morning, right before I woke up, I had a very vivid dream.  My Mom was there, and she was putting on this two piece skirt/blouse outfit that had flowers on it.  She looked wonderful, and she was healthy.  No crippled arthritic body.  In the dream, her stomach was exposed from between the low skirt and the blouse and I said; "Mom, you're showing a lot of skin though."  She laughed and said; "now it's like YOU'RE the MOM and I'M the CHILD."

I felt so relieved in the dream, because she was in remission from ALS, even though it was ALS that took my dad.  I was so happy she was there, and that she was healthy and happy and beautiful.

Facebook is full of good wishes for Mother's Day.  It's filled with women sharing pictures of them with their own mothers, so much so that it was causing me great pangs of the heart.  Do you know that feeling?  Surely this is whence the expression "heartache" is derived.  In fact, it was causing me such pain that last night I thought, yup, that's it.  I'm just going to avoid Facebook tomorrow until Mother's Day is over. In four years, this day is still a reminder of how much I miss her.

I got up, got washed.  I hugged my own children.  I love them very much.  I put on my workout clothes, laced up my big girl shoes, put on my shades, put that idiot new fangled cell phone in my little purse, queued up my ipod and headed out the door, bright and early, just the way I like.

Today there is not a cloud in the sky.  I walked along feeling good.  No matter what self doubts I often grapple with, I am strong.  I am healthy.  When the mood strikes me, I can pick up my feet and fly down that sidewalk.  I feel unstoppable.  I no longer have anyone to make little amateurish cards for, bestow hanging baskets of flowers upon, share slightly awkward hugs with, but I can be the receiver of those hand-made paper treasures, and I can receive and give heart-strong embraces, and when the mood strikes me I can pick up my feet and fly down that sidewalk, carrying all the love and hope I have for my children, and my Mom with me every step of the way.

Tuesday, February 11, 2014

Which Shitty Disease or Disorder Should I Champion?

It's Tuesday night, and I'm having a goddamn rye and coke, and you know what?  I feel good about it.  Yeah, that's right.  I don't have any meds to get me through life.  No prozac, no seratonin reuptake inhibitors or whatever they're called, no magic little delightful pills to slip under my tongue that will melt all my troubles away.


I have two things:  horrible fitness dvd's and whisky.  An ironic pairing?  Perhaps!

Let us continue.

So anyway, life has become a great black hole of SUPER SUCK, and as such, sometimes I need a little helper.  So I've chosen POISON in a glass to make me feel better, and let me tell you my friends, at this moment, I truly don't give a shit if it gives me cancer, because then I'll say;



So anyhoo, I've been pondering all day.  As I google this and that, and read message boards about this farking disease, I invariably come across stuff like:

"WALK for ALS,"

and blah de blah de blah fundraiser, awareness, get-out-there-and-support-the-cause kind of biznatch.  And even though I'm livin' it (well, by association), I can't get all jazzed up about putting on an inspirational t-shirt, getting some pledges and walking my little heart out for it.

Not that there's anything wrong with that...

I mean, I'm all for raising awareness, and getting money for research for stuff and finding that CURE, but  I just can't get it up for ALS.

Before you start wondering if I truly am an asshole, here is my problem.

Take my Mom:  my Mom died of (from?) LUNG CANCER.  Well damn you, LUNG CANCER, YOU BASTARD!  I'll go champion YOUR cause!

But wait....technically we only knew my Mom had lung cancer for like a week.


Actually, my Mom suffered over twenty years with excruciating, debilitating, disfiguring rheumatoid arthritis.


My boyfriend died from Rhabdomyosarcoma when we were twenty!  I HATE YOU, RARE CANCER!  I STILL HATE YOU WITH A HATE THA'TS DRIPPING WITH LOATHE!



Oh, right...

well, my son has Autism.  That's a real ass muncher too.

So, ah---

yeah.  Just pour me another glass.

Hey girl, you think too much. Let me take care of that.  


Related Posts with Thumbnails