The Week

And so it begins, my own personal week from hell.  Every year is different, every year I approach it from far differing emotional spectrums.  But this year has been hard.

I've known it was coming, aware of its significance for a few months.  Five years since mom died, 11 for dad.  As I was closer to mom it's that particular anniversary that is haunting me more.  As I sat in a room full of writers Saturday night, my mind kept jumping "5 years from tomorrow mom went into hospice".  Five years ago today .. I called Bebo in panic, I don't remember exactly why now, but something mother did while laying in her bedroom scared me.  I didn't want to be alone when she died. Bebo left work and spent the week with me.

But that's today ... and Friday ..... and ..  tomorrow is about dad. Yes, 11 years ago he was in hospice too, had been forever it seemed.  And therein lies the contrast ... the house was filled with family, food came from church and family members.  I was never alone.  With mom .. it was Bebo and myself.  No food to help us through this time, no real support.  Don't get me wrong .. Cathie was in a nursing home and David was in Missouri.  But still, the difference was so .. stark. 

But finally, after a couple of weeks, dad passed late in the evening of October 11.  I'll never forget my cousin Theresa's face as she listened through her stethoscope.  After days of waiting for the pacemaker to give out, it had happened.  I can still see the funeral parlor's hearse in the driveway, a dark silhouette against the street lights.  Bebo, Theresa and I stood outside for a while and watched a falling star, a fitting end to a long life.  I knew my dad was happy, free from the body that had failed him, had kept him virtually a prisoner in his own home. 

So my week begins ....

Harry

May 31, 1922 - October 11, 2000

Daddy

May 31, 1922 - October 11, 2000

I miss you daddy

May 31, 1922 - October 11, 2000

Memorial Day

imikimi - Customize Your World

Some Days Make no Sense

Ackkkk, here’s the blog post where I have to talk about myself. I hate Mondays because of this. I can never think of anything to say. Wait, I’ve lost 22 lbs. so far – that’s good, right? Bebo and I watched “Vacancy” Sunday. Scary stuff with plenty of jumps and chilly moments. We will never, ever stay at one of those isolated roadside motels again. Not that we’re planning on taking any trips off interstate and into the backwoods. But just in case …

Today, in the U.S., is Labor Day. I think it’s a day to celebrate the working class by giving them a day off. But now it’s evolved into a day of shopping, barbeques, and lake-side shenanigans. Shopping of course means that somebody has to labor, so it’s not Labor Day for everyone. Got it? We used to have a big family get together on Labor Day, but since Mom’s death, well actually since Dad’s death, we haven’t had a lot of get-togethers. Bebo will be spending the day with her parents and I’ll be sitting around twiddling my thumbs. Or sleeping. My guess is sleeping. I hope those of you who celebrate this day have a good one – well, hell, everyone have a good one whether you celebrate Labor Day or not.

See why I hate Mondays?

Memorial Day

Bebo and I went to the Memorial Cemetery on Sunday to visit mom and dad’s grave. The flags were out, fluttering in the breeze from the rain that sprinkled the area. There’s something about being at a cemetery in the rain, umbrellas opened against the weeping sky. Yes, it’s as if the sky were crying too. This cemetery affects me more than any other, brings a lump to my throat as I read the names of the men and women buried there. WWII, Korea, Vietnam – the list continues up to our present war. Even though a majority of these people did not die in war, they gave their all for our security, the freedoms that we take for granted every day. Monday, in the United States, is Memorial Day. A day set aside to honor those who gave their lives in time of war. Take a moment to think about those men and women who gave the ultimate sacrifice for us.

Daddy and Uncle Bill - I miss you.

We're Not in Kansas Anymore

As I’m sitting here preparing Saturday’s post, storms are barreling towards the DFW Metroplex. Tornado watches/warnings etc. are going off everywhere. Ground lightning abounds. At the moment it’s about to hit the Motor Speedway, where people are camped in RV’s – targets in a storm of fury. And yet, I’m more excited than alarmed. I love storms – although I will admit to just a niggling of worry as the talk of rotation heats up. But it’s still a thunderstorm, and I love thunderstorms. I’m hoping that the thunder shakes the windows – the louder the boomers, the better. What would I do if a tornado hits? Nothing. There really isn’t anything for me to do. We don’t have basements here, and let’s face it – a closet isn’t actually going to help if a twister hits the house. Still, I wait in nervous anticipation for the light show, like a child at a Fourth of July picnic. My father raised me to love storms. Many times we’d sit on the porch, oooohing and ahhhing over every burst of lightning, every clap of thunder. I’d sit snuggled up against him, feeling so safe in my daddy’s arms. He also instilled in me a healthy respect for storms, I’m no idiot. I don’t drive in them unless I have to, I don’t stand under trees or in open fields. But I do watch with glee, my body jumping at each burst as the adrenaline courses through my body, much as it does during horror movies or roller coaster rides.

How do you feel about storms?


Update: Sirens and hail and rain, oh my. I’m typing this as the storm is hitting. The sky suddenly went black, like a blanket thrown over us. Winds are strong, most tornadic weather is a little north of us. Thunder isn’t as loud as I’d like, but we have pea-sized hail hitting the metal patio cover. The sirens have been going off and on for the last half-hour. I’m not on the PC; I’m on the unplugged laptop on battery power. I like to keep an eye on the on-line Doppler radars – watch the action as it happens, so to speak. We are under a tornado warning. A tornado did hit Ft. Worth/Arlington area (Cece [Amie]/Dennie and Sandy’s area). So, where would I go if it hits? Kansas.


Update: Well, I’ve been told that a tornado may have touched down only a few miles north of me. The thunder hasn’t been as bad as I would have liked, more a whimper than a boomer – thunder-wise. There have been 3, maybe 4 tornado touchdowns. They showed pictures of eighteen wheelers blown over on the highway over near Ft. Worth. This was some storm – cold front coming through has touched it off. Today’s temp was 72, tomorrow’s high will be mid-50s. The tornado watch has expired for me, so only thunderstorms left for the night. I am a little worried about my elderly aunt in the next county over (Rockwall Co.), she’s the widow of my uncle who died in January. She’s on the 3rd floor of a retirement complex. I’m thinking the facility would have moved them all downstairs. But the system that brought the tornadoes is heading straight for her. This is the part of storms that I don’t like.

So, this was my Friday night – how was yours?

The Tree

The tree wasn’t that old, only 28 – practically a baby in tree years, and yet it was gnarled, its branches twisted, some dead and no longer bearing leaves. For over two decades its leaves had shaded the front of the home, branches cradling nests high in the air. In the Summer it sheltered; Fall saw leaves turned yellow; its branches bare by Winter’s cold, made magical by Christmas lights wrapped around a thick trunk; but each Spring it went into bud, long wormy fuzzy things shedding all over the place, shoes trailing them into the house. A man planted the tree and ended up cursing it; a grandmother held it straight during planting; children swung from its lower limbs. Squirrels scrambled through its branches, Keystone Kop-like in their afternoon fun. It had witnessed much - sorrow, happiness, anger and pain.

The tree wasn’t that old, only 28 … and as much as I hate that tree I shall miss it very much.

So, do you have a love/hate relationship with something?