Word has come down we have more readers tuning in from Europe so I mulled over whether I’d cater to their interests and share things that might be of particular interest to them but I can’t do that right now.
Got to go Dutch this time because I am buried to my neck in mud and it is taking a significant amount of energy to plow my way through it.
So you pay yours and I’ll pay mine and maybe we’ll meet in the middle or you’ll get bored by the 100,000 words I am pushing out.
Turn on the Social Distortion, climb aboard and see how long it takes the bull to exhaust himself because every time he thinks he is spent he somehow finds more energy and away he goes.
An old friend suggested it might be time to stay down and find a new way but the bull wouldn’t have it because all he needed was that one thing and it would change everything.
Find that cover of Gone Away, grab a drink and let rage run its course because sometimes the way through requires touching the dark side.
Because no one hears what the bull is saying, they all want him to stuff it all down and suck on the venom but that is not how it works so he refuses.
There might be a hundred people in the room or more, it is hard to say because they are scattered in groups of twos, threes and fives but it doesn’t matter because they are focused solely upon each other.
The spoken conversation is light but the unspoken has real depth, the kind where you know they remember seeing each other naked and they aren’t referring to the physical.
I had a conversation with my dad where I told him I dreaded the moment I would get that “wish I could have one more day with you” feeling.
He shrugged his shoulders at me and told me you do what you have to and accept what you don’t like because there are no options.
Dad was right, but there are moments for me that it is harder and more challenging.
Moments that I don’t think any of my siblings or my mother have because of genetics. The picture above doesn’t do our hands justice, but they are the same.
We have the same feet too.
It is something that was mentioned to me when I was quite little and so it became a big deal to me. If I had the same hands and feet I expected that one day mine would be the same size, if not bigger.
That is a big deal when you are a little boy, to be as big or bigger than dad. It was a big deal as a teenager, though I would never have admitted it.
When it finally happened it was kind of cool and then it became normal and ordinary so I stopped thinking about it, other than when I borrowed a jacket or a pair of shoes.
Now that my dad is gone I find myself noticing it again because sometimes when I look down I see his hands in mine and recognize similar movements.
Sometimes it is comforting because it feels like a part of him is forever with me, but sometimes it reminds me of that final morning.
I took his hand in mine, while it was still warm and held it. I leaned over and listened for the breaths I knew were not going to come anymore and thought about a million different things.
An hour before I was a man with a father and now, I was one who had a father and I wished I could have one more day.
Only an idiot would miss the obvious truth that I am struggling with his death now, that grief has come to visit and taken up residence inside my skull.
I am not surprised nor am I bothered by this.
It is part of the process and I am a man who dances in the fire.
The ghosts of the pasts and the questions they drag into the daylight have to be dealt with and though I may refuse to discuss or acknowledge them with some people aren’t ignored.
We engage in our dialogue and when speech won’t work do battle like Jacob wrestling the angel. It is kind of funny to me because I never thought that at 50 I would still feel this kind of fire in my belly.
Never thought I would have days where I would have to look at getting through them one hour at a time because I supposed I would have shit figured out.
I know things, but not all the things and some of the things are throwing me for a loop.
Some of the things make me stare at pictures and promise the figures that we will have a discussion about certain topics.
I have mentioned this before and gotten a few messages from people asking questions. You’ll know if I am referring to you because I will find you. If you don’t hear from me it is safe to assume there is no burning issue…for me.
My teenagers are having a different experience than I had, in part because I was already grown when my parents lost their folks.
They are also seeing me grieve in a way my father never shared with me. I don’t blame him for that, I am truly not angry nor upset about it.
But my father’s decision to protect us by not showing us his softer has probably played some part in my not wanting to share my own.
I don’t want to always bottle everything up and power through life the way I often have, they are old enough to see a little bit without me worrying about scaring them.
I visited my ophthalmologist today as part of a follow up appointment to talk about some eye difficulties.
They said I had made significant improvement and that I don’t need medication but suggested I get a pair of glasses for night driving, movies and when I am tired.
“It is not a requirement Mr. Wilner, you passed your exam but it might be helpful. You are at an age where things change.”
I nodded my head, took the prescription and found a place to buy the first set of prescription eyeglasses I have purchased in 20 years.
Was a bit strange to think about how I wore glasses/contacts for 20 years and then went without for about another 20.
They say they are progressive lenses, hopefully they’ll do a good job in helping my progress through some of the transitions this time in life brings.
Guess I won’t have any conversations with dad about his experience with progressives or any of the other physical changes that have come about or are coming.
Time to boldly go forth and have a few adventures, might be older, but I am not dead. Gonna make like Captain Kirk and tell Sulu to take us out of space dock now.