Though incapable of remembering anyone else’s death date, I do my father’s. He’s been gone a year today.
There’s not been one day since that my thoughts haven’t turned to him. In pain, fear, joy… just wanting to share or get his opinion. This is remarkable since we only had three years together and only met once in person. And I didn’t even take his picture! (which still surprises and amuses)
But he’s my Dad and I love him dearly.
I miss you very much, Dad.
I’m one of the hapless who have manged to reach the age of 65 without a smidgen of wisdom.
Oh, I know stuff. Mostly useless. I know that if you have an infection, soak the offending digit/limb in salt water. Well, it has worked for me.
I still remember how to do things from long ago, like tack a horse up. Conversely, I took three years of German in high school yet can’t recall how to count to 10 in the language. Use it or lose it!
Here’s a bit of knowledge learned in the past year for those turning 64:
Move. Change your phone number. Get a guard dog. Perhaps some razor wire.
Little did I know that upon reaching 64 things would become so bizarre. I’m a hermit by nature so when people started knocking on my front door all my feral instincts had me hiding behind the blinds. Of course, that does little to deter salesmen, so my jaunts out to the mailbox became littered with landmines. It comes as a jolt when someone springs from a nearby car and yells “Pam! Can I talk to you about Medicare Part B?”
My phone rang almost every day of the year with sales calls and the mail was full of color flyers. Each salesperson had the best plan and I just had to hear it right then!!
Oh, I told each one that I didn’t need them, that I had everything was in order. Didn’t deter them a bit!
Happy Birthday to me!! Thank goodness I’m finally 65. And I never thought I’d say that…
The yard guys are obviously running behind, but I delight in the weeds. Never one to worry over or demand grassy perfection, I’m happy as long as it’s green.
When it grows out this long I plop down amongst the blue, violet and yellow. The bees work purposefully around me, from flower to flower, unconcerned by my presence or that of the dogs. Serenity!
That was February, this is June.
There are some weeds left, but I pulled so many by hand. No chemicals around the dogs!
In the Gloaming
For the first time in my life I’m happy Christmas is over.
It was tough, to say the least. I didn’t cook. Family left early. A card was sent apologizing.
You know that time at sunset when the color flares bright then gradually begins to fade? It’s my least favorite time.
In fact, I like sunrises better.
I’m having a difficult time this Christmas. It’s like going through menopause again: sadness, hysteria, anger, bursting into tears for no reason… I was sad when my adoptive parents passed, but losing my father is something completely different. And I only had him for three years! (Here comes the anger again.)
Thought it was getting better but it’s worse. Maybe after Christmas?
Many years ago after a breakup I was gifted the book “How to Survive the Loss of a Love”. It helped immensely and found it was good for other losses as well. Just ordered a new copy.
I’m trying to live in the Now. Not past, not future, just now. You know, like a dog. It’s difficult.
It’s also pretty tough to come up with blog fodder when all the living in Now is mostly in my head. But… here’s what’s happening in my life.
Started: Jana DeLeon’s Miss Fortune series. Currently on book 13: Swamp Spook.
Saying: Christ the King Novena, thanks to Pray More Novenas dot com.
Accomplished: Finally finished painting and cleaning the living/dining room! Now on to the hall.
Recommend: Sr. Mary Martha’s Pause for Prayer on Facebook live every morning. One of the Daughters of St. Paul, she is also singing with their choir.
Looking forward to: Advent and my new Memento Mori Advent companion.
Now: Listening to my sister in law bitch.
Next: Yard cleanup.
Earlier this week: My view from the sofa…
Feted and Ensconced
I loathe funerals. The entire circus: viewing, service, graveyard sobbing while the casket lowers.
Not all people feel this way of course. Funerals tend to be great family reunions. Folks take pictures of the body in the coffin, selfies of themselves with the body and gather in groups for photos that resemble a cheerful event such as a fish fry or church picnic. I can’t count the number of times I asked my mom to identify a group of black and white people (yeah, I’m old) only to hear her reply “Oh, that was taken at Uncle Ollie’s funeral”. To name only one.
My (adopted) father’s funeral in 1978 was about as surreal an event as I’d ever encountered. The body in the coffin didn’t resemble the man I knew in the least and the Baptist preacher pressed into service had a speech impediment and called my father ‘Johnny’, which might have earned him a punch in the nose had the man himself not been dead as a doornail. The graveside service was where I finally woke to the fact that we were going to leave my father there, in the ground. I was the last to leave; the hardest thing I’d done so far in my short life.
I’ve not attended a funeral since and don’t intend to do so. When the inevitable happens I want a Viking send off – well, the cheap redneck version. Put me in a rowboat and push it off into the water armed with an explosive on a timer. Then forget about me because I’m long gone.
While I type this my birth father, whom I’ve had the pleasure of knowing and loving these last three years, is having his funeral in another state. Hope they take good pictures of each other.
The man and I hadn’t been to a proper sit down restaurant since before covid started… and six months before that. I don’t like eating out anymore. The tables seem closer together these days and people are loud, especially children. One of my favorite sounds is kids playing out in the yard or street… but transfer those cries and screams to a booth behind me and food is the last thing I want. Escape becomes a priority.Continue reading “Escape”