My Dad

There were so many things I’d hoped to ask
Knowing I’d have the answers before he passed
Even gave him a journal
Full of blank pages
Where he’d detail
How humanity ages.

He was moved from his home to the idling hearse
Now gone were terms like “better” and “worse.”
That book sat still there, blank as new…
I probably could’ve returned it too--

That Little Swirling Donut

Surely the BANE of my existence--that little doughnut upon my laptop screen, outlined by a thin, navy line, with the entire Pantone spectrum of blue that infinitely races around in a clockwise suggestion that I just need to "hold my horses." Why did they include those two small black vertical bars to the sides? Why can't they just take me there and forget about entertaining me with a swirling circle?

We all possess different forms of patience--this one is not mine.

The Best of Intentions Surely Paved THIS "Road" around Shelley Lake!

A few years back I was walking the lake path w/my beloved Cotton the Dog across from where they kept the paddle boats (aka pedal boats,) when we came upon an abandoned paddle boat (apparently abandoned by juvenile miscreants,) and unsecured there on the opposite shore.

Feeling like a good Samaritan, I, without a second thought, jumped into the boat with Cotton the Dog, and began pedaling furiously away to return the boat to its mooring. Probably when we'd made it not quite HALFWAY ACROSS SHELLEY LAKE I suddenly REALIZED why the boat had been left there.

It had a small but significant hole in it and we were taking on water.  Only by the grace of God were we able to make it back to where we'd found it.

Relatives, Relatives EVERYWHERE--Who KNEW?

So when my dad's sister, Aunt Sue passed away, I came to Raleigh to support him by attending her funeral. And as we were all lining up for the funeral procession following the church ceremony at Millbrook Methodist Church, my uncle Jay--who was at the time, the official commissioner of Harnett County--as he had been for years--asked me, since I was driving a Ford Econoline Conversion van, to please let him proceed me;. He had discomfort/issues with not being able to possess a full field of vision from his windshield and ahead at all times, and my high-rise "ride," would give him anxiety. I was happy to oblige, and found my place in line among the many processional vehicles.

I'll never know exactly what happened, those 25 years ago, as we all slowly proceeded westward on Millbrook toward Glenwood, but at some point, I was mysteriously hit with a sudden misguided wake-up call, when I snapped. I suddenly perceived my uncle's car as a foreign driver, whose sluggish motoring passion was a blatant hindrance to my progress, and recognized a slow, long line in front of him (and me) as a gridlock to be abandoned. So here I was, with my three kids in my ford conversion van-- I deftly jerked the wheel to the left to get out from behind this ignorant slow-poke, and into the all-clear left lane of Millbrook. Suddenly, I felt freer than ever before. I smoothly sailed  past all those cretins who were mentally disconnected enough to remain in that long line, without complaint. I wasn't going to buy into THAT--.

At some point, as I sailed past that long line of virtually immobile vehicles, I began to recognize not one, but one after another--and it soon became clear that every car I was loftily passing was full of relatives of mine. And then, in the same "Twilight Zone" sort of transport, I realized that I'd had some sort of "moment, and as subtly as possible, I slipped back into line. This was never mentioned, but I always knew.

Deep Thoughts for a Saturday Morning

In pondering how loss is very much a part of life--from the very beginning and continuing infinitely--at times, it can seem to be only cruel/unfair/sometimes debilitating.

If you really think about it, Loss is the only logical way to create space and opportunity for anything new, or "next." So Loss essentially makes a way for something new. I believe that as we grow up and age, sadness resulting from Loss might become transformed with our conscious decision to remain open to new experiences and opportunities, believing they are real, desirable and forthcoming.

This is, in no way eschewing the depth of grief that is suffered by the loss of a loved one. It is not my attempt to even suggest that life after loss (LAL,) can ever be as good-seeming and whole-feeling as it was, previously. I've come to realize that that's just not the deal.

Bitter thought, to equate death with a necessity for replacement, because it will never be that. I mean, why can't we just stick with what and whom we've got now? No more loss sounds damn good to me! Yet, without this ongoing "renewal" that's inherent in this life, I suppose we'd all be mannequins. In fact, there would be no universe, and not even those scary black holes which some scientists suggest will occur, trillions of years from now.

I have no intention of convincing others that the "new" whatevers awaiting us can ever replace whom and what we've lost, as THEY WON'T. I am convinced that after each and every loss, we are faced with one decision, and that has to do with our level of desire to live out the days given to each of us as peacefully and contentedly as possible. We must choose between sustaining our sense of being effective, efficient and relevant as best as possible, or not.

Continuing to remain open to whatever value may be found in new experiences isn't even a way of diminishing loss: it's simply a tool for coping while surviving, much the same as we've done all along, beginning maybe with the loss of a baby bottle or pacifier, or a favorite blanket or stuffed animal as children. Back then, those were significant losses as they were the worst we had suffered. It was our remaining open to new life that got us to here. Imagine not being able to move beyond your Blankey suddenly vanishing, and just stopping then and there. So what if we all know a lot more and have suffered a lot more now? The same principle exists, and always will. --I've often said that the most significant distinction between children and adults lies in the contrasting volumes of disappointments suffered by each group.

So today we must all choose, and the choice we make today will influence how we perceive our tomorrows.

And lest anyone be fooled: not choosing is always a choice.