My favorite poem

When You Are Old

BY WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS

When you are old and grey and full of sleep,

And nodding by the fire, take down this book,

And slowly read, and dream of the soft look

Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep;

How many loved your moments of glad grace,

And loved your beauty with love false or true,

But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you,

And loved the sorrows of your changing face;

And bending down beside the glowing bars,

Murmur, a little sadly, how Love fled

And paced upon the mountains overhead

And hid his face amid a crowd of stars.

Money talks

Oh what a month so far. Arranging for new carpeting, new kitchen flooring, new deck, new baby...and of course, a baby shower.

What I envisioned as a lovely intimate gathering of women who love and support my daughter and her new alien nugget (affectionately named by yours truly) has turned into a massive, of almost wedding proportion affair!!! Finally, I convinced my mommy to be to only include women (the co-ed shower leaves me quite cold, and what man wants to spend a Sunday afternoon watching a roomful of women oohh and aahh at baby clothes?) which helped immensly. Yesterday was the kitchen floor installation, it looks beautiful, of course now I want to have the kitchen freshly painted. This weekend my family is planning to help me de-clutter the basement and switch the girls' rooms so the alien nugget can reside upstairs with momma and my youngest will live in the dungeon basement bedroom. Next Friday new carpets will be installed. I had 4 different estimates for a new deck yesterday, the existing deck is just waiting for someone to step through a board and get injured. It's wonderful to welcome new life, but dang is it ever expensive!!! And yet, what else is money for except to make your loved ones comfortable and safe????

I ask you, could life be any better???

:)

Last rites

We buried my Dad yesterday. We stood at the gravesite, where a wheelbarrow full of earth stood next to two pieces of plywood and an astroturf covered box. My sister placed my Dad's Robin's egg blue "urn" which was actually a rectangular shaped box, on the astroturf covered box. We stood on the wet ground, our heels sinking into the muddy grass. Two Airforce cadets ceremoniously unfolded the flag provided by the Vets association, snapped it into full open position, and ceremoniously re folded it back into the correct triangular shape, their hand positions precisely and carefully just so, their expressions solemn and professional. The sky opened up a biting wind, snow squall hitting our faces, the cold stinging our eyes. Upon completion of their flag folding duties, one of the cadets marched over to a tree, where his trumpet waited, and he beautifully played taps for my Dad. The sun sent warm rays over us just as he played. When he finished, he and his fellow cadet marched away. Some of us cried a little, some of us stood quietly. All of us waited for someone to guide us to the next step. My sister Peggy asked us to join her in the Lord's Prayer, when we finished, I placed the flowers Marleen had brought next to my Dad's "urn". For Mom, and Brandon, and Dad.

Now it is all over, I am exhausted. Physically and emotionally exhausted.

Rest in Peace, Dad.

Saying Goodbye

My Dad passed away Friday night, well Saturday morning at 1:41am. There was a hospice nurse with my sister Marleen and I, we were in his room at Cardinal Village, where he was living. A week earlier, he had been hospitalized with high leukocyte count and possible dehydration. Dad had stopped eating and was taking in just water, very weak and yet in no pain. Tests were run, and showed stage 4 cancer, mets to the liver and lungs, possibly from colon or pancreatic cancer. The necessary procedures to determine exactly the origin were refused by us, his children. Three months was the prognosis, possibly less as Dad wasn't eating. We had him on hospice, in a special bed, warm and comfortable. We visited, and sat with him while he mostly slept, giving him water whether he asked for it or not..Dad do you want some water? Yes please. A few sips and a sigh, Thank you, always polite. I need to sleep now. Ok Dad. Tuesday I stopped by and sat with him for an hour, watching him sleep, giving him water when his eyes opened, he asked how my niece was making out with the car he had sold her. I told him I loved him and stopped by Wednesday, he was sleeping and didn't even wake up when I came into his room. I only stayed for a few minutes. My birthday was Thursday, I went shopping, ran some errands, and never made it over that day. Friday when I got there, he wasn't talking anymore. Just breathing and with such effort, he looked so changed, his eyes seemed not to be seeing us. We talked to him anyway, told him we loved him, held his hand, stroking his face gently. I love you Dad, I know you are tired, Dad. Rest now, Dad. When he took his final breath, we didn't realize it was his last. "Is he gone??" It was startling to me, I was so surprised. So sad. My heart is heavy, my sighs have a depth to them that seem to have their very own life. I am so tired, so heavy. I will never regret his living here, I hope he was comfortable, I tried to make sure he was. I felt anxious and dreaded his coming to live with me, I kept thinking it would be horrible, he was a very tough man, but he was changed, so much easier to please than I would have thought possible. My sisters and I met yesterday to talk about what we wanted to do regarding the party he requested in lieu of a funeral. We will carry his ashes to our home town on Friday and have them placed with my Mom's casket, in the cold Pennsylvania ground, next to my nephew Brandon, who left us too early at 16. There will be room for one more urn in that spot. Who will the lucky recipient be?

I hope it is many, many years before anyone else dies. I feel this parting so heavily, another would surely undo me for good.

New Year, New Crap

Ugh, 2012 is just sucking the energy out of me. My horoscope says that Neptune is moving into Pisces and everything is going to be just wonderful, well it can't happen soon enough for me. My Dad is in the emergency room right now, dehydrated and failing, he is refusing to eat and drink, we think he's trying to starve himself. It's awful to watch, to stand by and not be able to do anything. He is depressed and giving up, Oh God I know how he feels!!!! Sometimes I wish I could just go to sleep and stay asleep,,,but there is so much that is good, my kids, music, my family, art, the beautiful sky and ocean and mountains and desert....there is a climate and a landscape for every possible person!!!! Breast cancer, depression, death, they are NOT the crux, they are the arrows that are slung at us, sometimes they find their mark, but we HAVE to pull them out and move forward!!!!!! By sheer will, because sometimes that is all we have. I have to reach in, deep inside, and pull out my determination to stay strong, lately I feel myself just falling over and laying down and not trying. In so many areas.

Going to find that strength, somewhere, somehow. Going to rear up against all the crap, and back kick it out of my way.

I am.

Oh the places you'll go...

I'm in Ct, in my friend's room, in her bed. She is in the guest room, hopefully sleeping. She has cancer. Her husband just lost his job, their insurance. He is in another state, not by her side right now. Her father is dying. We wait for the call from hospice. She is hopeful, funny, unique. Hurting. But surviving. I am here, wanting to offer comfort, support. Strength. Humor. Hope. I adore her, in a girl admiration kind of way. What am I, just a player in this horrific play, wishing for a happy ending, a validation of her spirit. The first time I visited here after Burning Man was a fantasy, a crazy, wild nite of drunken silliness. It will never be that again...but I don't care about that. This is so much more real, genuine and has its own beauty. Her pain and endurance make me feel like we (all of us!!!!!) can get through anything. And come out the other side, different, but even more beautiful, more raw, more authentic.

I continue to hope.

Little things that hurt

Like my finger. last nite I was getting ready to go to a birthday party and I was tucking my jeans into my boots, when, bam...jammed my ring finger on my right hand hard enough to tear the tendon, now it's kind of dangling downward. It's splinted now and it's not hurting just really annoying and inconvenient.

And typing is way tough!!! But here goes...

And yet it's nothing compared to what my dad is going through. He's in assisted living now, but contrary to what we hoped, he's not thriving. he's not even going to bingo, which is the activity we hoped he would want to join. But he's getting to breakfast lunch and dinner, and going right back to bed. Sleeping too much, not trying to walk even with a walker, and falling MORE. Where are the caretakers at this place??? Why isn't someone helping him make this transition???? Someone said there is no good solution to assisted/independent/nursing home situations, and now I can see what she meant. So my sisters and I are planning (still) how to help/advocate for this new phase of Dad's life, going to speak with the activities director and the nurse to see how the place can facilitate his reversal because he's deteriorating. He's depressed, and inert. He's frail and complacent. he still gets a little head of steam going once in a while if he can't hear what we say ("WHAT??? WHAT??? WHAT???)  It makes me sad. And I am determined to give him affection even though he withheld it from me for most of my childhood. Stern, serious, very strict. That was Dad. We weren't allowed to talk back or question even the most ridiculous demands.

"I want you to move that pile of rocks over there." "All of them." "You missed some, do I have to take you by the hand and show you everything?" "Now I want you to move them back."

Years of that at varying degrees of insistence and frighteningly unreasonable anger. Terrified of him, I used to hide in my room when he'd get home from work. I'd hear my Mom come home, and that's when it would be safe to emerge, to creep upstairs and sit at the table, deep breath, and endure 45 minutes of him staring at me as I took every bite of food, commenting on how much how fast how efficiently I chewed, how soon I swallowed, to put my fork down between bites. Exhausted and certainly on the verge of an eating disorder, I'd go back downstairs and wish I were dead, or at least someone else. Not much affection or positive feedback, unless I initiated it, which I was scared to death to do.

Now I'm in control, I could be mean to him, I could get revenge, pay him back for the cruel discipline he shoved down our throats.

But I could never do that, could not cause someone else pain deliberately, as a payback or for any reason. He will only get my compassion, understanding and affection.

Because no matter what, he's family...and that's no little thing.