I stood next to dad’s hospital bed, it was just us and I asked him if there was anything more he wanted me to do.
Neither of us knew how much longer we would have together but we knew our time was limited.
“Nothing has changed, take care of your mother and your sisters.”
He said a few more words and I listened carefully, trying to figure out how 200 some pounds of 49 year-old man could feel like I was seven again.
I wasn’t the one in the bed, but for a moment it felt like I was looking up at the man whose hands were gigantic.
This song wasn’t yet playing in my head as it sometimes does now.
Sometimes I think I heard/saw something like this, but who can say for certain as so much is still a blur to me.
It Will Be Different
Mom flies in tomorrow night, we haven’t seen each other since a few days after dad died.
This Thanksgiving will be different, not because I haven’t spent it apart from my parents but because it is the first time there hasn’t been an option to include both of them.
It is going to make it real all over again, not that I ever was in denial. I did see him after he was gone.
Spent time with his body just as I had with his dad, my grandfather.
But this is different for the obvious reasons, he is/was my father and though I have plenty of memories and no fear of forgetting him it seems unreal that we will never speak again.
There were no conversations about the Dodgers coming so damn close again or hints from him about physical changes that might take place.
No more picking his brain about the things I did or hearing him yell at me to stop messing with my sisters.
Hell, I did that sometimes just cuz I liked hearing him bark at me occasionally. The guy got soft after he became a grandfather and occasionally I liked knowing the hardass that told me to leave the dinner table so many times was still there.
If you asked him if he understood how seriously I would take his request I am sure he would nod his head. I didn’t need to be tasked by him to do it and I am sure he knew that too, but the look and those words well…
Who Can You Trust?
The day dad walked through the cornfields onto wherever we go or whatever stop we end at I was reminded about who fits the bill of who can we trust.
Was reminded of those who are there to help prop us up when we need assistance and those who will lend a hand up.
I was pleasantly surprised by some who had been relatively quiet prior to then, which is to say I wasn’t really shocked because my gut knew they were always there.
Maybe it is because I am blessed with many good friends, but still keep a very tight circle. Maybe because it is funny to me how some people can walk through doors you keep locked because they somehow grabbed a skeleton key long ago.
Doesn’t really matter how or why, I was and am grateful.
Not everyone is reliable and even those we expect sometimes fail us so you have to hold onto those who occupy that special place.
Some people have complained about my lack of response to comments, questions or messages they have left for me.
I haven’t read everything nor do I intend to because I don’t owe most a response or explanation. Don’t have time nor interest to describe, explain or justify to most.
Still there are those who I am willing to answer to, but not via text.
It is far easier to talk by phone or meet in person and far less likely to lead to misunderstanding, especially if there are follow up questions and there almost always are.
Some people are determined to get as many details as they can. I don’t have a problem with that, but I don’t it in me right now to go back and forth in text when I know I can cover things verbally in half the time.
Is that because I hear the tick-tock of the clock or something else?
Hell if I know.
Maybe it is because I feel disconnected. Got a million friends but very few in Texas.
That is slowly changing, but there are moments where I am far more conscious of it than others.