Vera Lynn is singing We’ll Meet Again and I can hear the voices of my grandparent’s generation singing along.
I can picture them and the altercockers at Farmer’s Market swapping stories, the men about their time in the service and the women about what they did while the boys were gone.
And then the scene fades and I see dad in his bed at the rehab facility and hear his voice asking questions and providing instructions.
Can see those bright blue eyes light up as he tells me to have a good life and I try not to get any more upset because there is nothing more he can do or say beyond that.
“I am proud of you. Be who you are and have a good life.”
It is similar to things I have said to my own children, but the caveat is I never wished them to have good life knowing my time was running short.
Emails and information about changes to come flow through the electronic grapevine and I take what is given and try to make decisions based upon limited information.
There is good stuff in the air but I still feel like I am doing my impression of Atlas. Still feel like I am carrying people up the sheer side of El Capitan.
I may not be built for grace but brute strength and demolition are acquaintances, if not dear friends.
Spent a big part of the last ten or so years trying to remind and or convince myself of the importance of finding the extraordinary in the ordinary.
As long as no illnesses rob me of my memories I will always have treasure that cannot be taken away or stolen.
There is no guarantee of such things but I do know from experience what it is like to lose people and things.
It is always worse to lose people, but losing big and important things isn’t particularly easy either.
Went to see a very interesting speaker today and listened to him talk about cutting off his parents and wondered what it takes to do that.
In concept I understand the particulars and specifics about why this gentleman did so but at the same it is hard to imagine.
Maybe that is accented by how much dad has already missed that I want to share and haven’t been able to.
Some people tell me I still can and that dad is always around but it is the back-and-forth that I really miss.
I have tried talking to his picture and or telling silent stories sometimes feeling with absolute certainty that I know what his response would be, but the silence is deafening.
Still I talked to him on the ride home, told him about the crazy driver that cut me off twice and went back to listening a book-on-tape.
Something bit my left hand in two places and my right in one.
I made the mistake of scratching them all and they have become exceptionally itchy, so much so that I feel like I need to handcuff myself so I don’t end up with bleeding hands.
Ok, that might be an exaggeration but it is not as big of one as I would like.
The teenage boy asks me if I think girls are as difficult as some of his friends make them out to be and I say sometimes they are worse.
“Dad, that is not funny.”
“I am not laughing am I.”
“Do they get better when they get older?”
“Depends, some things get much better and some get much worse.
You find the right one and you’ll have moments where you wonder if all of the common sense she ever had leaked out of her ear and onto the pillow.
And just when you are certain it is time to make like Jack Reacher and take bus for anywhere but there she’ll do something that makes you forget the other stuff.”
“They probably say the same stuff about us.”
“I know they do, but we don’t exaggerate.”
He snorts and tells me he knows I am trying to get him to repeat this to his mother or sister.
“I am hoping you have enough sense not to. It is not going to go well and if I write about it there will be criticism by people who don’t recognize or understand my tone. And even if they do they might not agree.
Don’t settle for the little dutch boy or girl with their finger in the dike. Take your time.”
He laughs and tells me he still has no plans to get married. I shrug my shoulders at him.
“I am serious.”
“I am too but like I said, I am not going to worry about some things. Who you are at 19 may not be who you are in two or three years and it definitely won’t be who you are at 40 or 50.”
The emails come in from people who read posts that are a dozen years old asking if I want to update the post with information about a study they just happen to have.
“You are probably busy Josh, but I can tell you that if you read the study/infographic you’ll see it is perfect for your post and will generate more stickiness.”
I am tempted to tell them I don’t remember any recent comments or contact on the blog post they are talking about so I don’t see their information as helpful to me.
But I don’t respond because I am in my own world and I am running with the moon.
Two or three follow ups come in with a threat not to ever share good information with me again.
It makes me laugh, they really don’t know me if they think that will work. So I stay silent and wonder if they’ll push again or not.
Kind of don’t care, but find it funny they tried this tactic.
Maybe I’ll write them one day and say “Be Who You Are” and leave it at that or maybe I’ll keep running with the moon and see where it sends me.