getting worse...

he is just getting worse...

there is so much i want to write.. about what is happening... but it is not ready to flow.. not yet..

be well..

This summer started with the anticipation of a wedding and is ending with the anticipation of a funeral. Such a strange season, indeed. I am starting to feel like around every corner an intense event lies in wait readying to pounce.

I understand this is just life.

This next season is going to be brutal. Just brutal, in about 1000 different ways.

I will look for the peaceful moments, and the quiet times. I will be aware of the little gems hidden among the muck that somehow keep us going. I will listen to the pearls that children seem to drip during tragedy. I will let myself feel every moment of what is happening without succumbing to quest for anesthetization. I will not be afraid to smile and laugh and bawl my eyes out and laugh again.

I will live, and he will die. And such is life.

it doesn't look good.....

He is not winning....

I should have never exhaled...

Summertime Blues...

They will remember
endless days of
pancakes for breakfast
every morning.

Long luxurious hours
in the sunshine,
Finding crayfish,
diving from the dock
and sunset cruises.
Adventures real and imagined.

Roasted marshmallows,
sticky fingers.
Trips to the seashore,
roller coasters, baseball games,

and sand between their toes.
Fireflies and rubber frogs,
turtles laying eggs,

and rolling around in
luscious thick green grass.

(I hope)

New Tummy....

our future......a vision....

I see my gorgeous brown-eyed boy.... as.....

.....a man dressed in a black Armani tuxedo having just married the girl of his dreams in a church surrounded by friends and loved ones, poised at the door with his bride at his side about to enter the reception hall for the first time as Mr. and Ms.

The crowd is on their feet clapping for their happiness as the joy of the moment fills the enormous glittering room. The couple glides in and tears spring to my eyes. My son and new daughter-in-law share their first dance to a song they both adore that perfectly captures the love they have for each other.

Soon, it is time for the other special dances to take place in this traditional affair. She dances with her father as more tears of sentiment splatter dyed shoes..

Then it is our turn....

The band leader calls me to the floor as my son holds his hand out in greeting. So many times I have thought of this moment as I rocked him to sleep in my arms, my precious little boy who is now this amazing young man. The intense emotion of the moment weakens my knees. I wonder if I will be able to dance with him at all, but I know his strong arms will keep me steady.

I look up at him and he kisses my cheek. I hold my breath waiting for the band to start playing, but they do not as he has chosen a very special piece of music, which isn't something the band can play.

The room falls silent... and it begins...


Ma-ia-hii
Ma-ia-huu
Ma-ia-hoo
Ma-ia-haa

yes... that's right.... it is the Numa Numa Song...


*sigh*

It has become his latest obsession...

fuckedupness...

a sample....

"Hi.. how's dad today?"

"Oh.. terrific.. getting better and better... His friends came Sunday and it was just what he needed. Some great conversation and not about kids, or grand kids or dogs, and he was thrilled. It really was just what he needed...."

(Remember where I was Saturday? Guess what our conversation was mostly about... )

"heh... um...yea... that is great.... really..."

Am I the only one who sees the glaring fuckedupness in this???

I can already hear the shift in her voice. Things are getting back to normal, and that is not necessarily a good thing. Revelations and promises will most likely stay in that hospital room. She continues to amaze me... the push-pull of this relationship. I'm getting tired of it, but it will never change. She is almost as bad as the other mother.. the real deal... and ironically, my step-mother is the closest thing I have to a consistent functional parent. She is determined to keep us all compartmentalized and in control, and at the heart of all this is her addictions to so many things. Maybe that is why. If we all got together and compared notes, her truth would be revealed, and so would ours, which is why we allow this to occur.

We need it.

We need the fuckedupness....

a sigh....

Feeling that hot dry sun on my arms and face, watching little (and big) boys dream, tasting that refreshing ambrosia known as beer, looking out over history made and in the making, a calm washed over me, and joy flooded my heart...and... I realized.

We got through it. We all got through it. Life is good... Damn good.


Oh, and Derek Jeter is even hot from waaaaay up here.

Right...

I hated that flash of embarrassment that came across his face at his realization of how he must have looked through my eyes. I prayed it wasn't in response to the flash of shock I may have conveyed because I truly wasn't shocked by how he looked. It was just that the last time I saw him, he was on a ventilator and seeing him sitting up and talking was a pleasant surprise.

I was sad the pictures I had sent him of my sons weren't on his board next to the pictures of my nephews because he thought I didn't send them. I did. She just didn't put them up. She is still threatened by my participation in her family and I gift her my absence. I just want him to have a cohesive family, and my presence somehow prevents this.

We talked all morning, and all afternoon. It was a blessing like no other. So many revelations were made in that putrid smelling hospital room. I'd like to think of this as a new beginning for us. I'd like to think this whole experience held a higher purpose. I guess that is up to us to ensure.

Right, Dad?