It's all a Part of the Ride

Because of the thyroid cancer, I had to come to terms with changes that took place with my body including all of the things that happened prior to the diagnosis and then the results of the various treatments. Then, I had to learn to live with the repercussions from a closed head injury. To quote Vice President Dan Quayle:

"What a waste it is to lose one's mind. Or not to have a mind is being very wasteful. How true that is."

That was my life for nearly 2 years as I healed. 

As I get closer to being 60 years old, I see the signs of aging. Amazingly enough, having my hair go grey is not one of them. It is a salt and pepper mix and still dark. One of the things my father gave me.

What I am noticing that is bothering me is the differences I am seeing in my skin. When I run one hand down my arm and over the top of my other hand, I see ripples. Lines form in response to the pressure and then disappear. My skin is telling me I am older.

I don't feel older in a lot of ways. I still have so much fun when my inner child still runs the show, especially at the local amusement center. I enjoy playing air hockey, Down the Clown, ICE Ball FX Alley Roller, and the video game House of the Dead 2. Having had to live with the complications of reality, I know the importance of letting loose and playing, of being a child.

 A small child only has to be, grow, and learn. Even though my body is exhibiting signs that I am nearing 60, I am still being, growing, and learning. I am still having fun and cutting loose. I have gained insight, maturity, and truth. While I am always working on my humanity, I am able to say that I love myself unconditionally. 

Abuse, neglect, and ignorance ravages the mind, body, and soul. Love heals, secures, and creates warmth. In order to grow and learn, I have experienced all of it. This aging process is miraculous until eventually, the body dies and when we are ready, we start it all over again.


Last Friday at work, a conversation I had with 2 of my coworkers worked its way to the topic of the funeral/mourning process. There is a small island, that when a loved one dies, they build a funeral pyre and watch as the fire consumes the dead body. Because of the type of accelerant used, it is fast and hot. Once complete, the ashes are gathered and most often walked to the beach and thrown to the sea. The grievers participate in the ritual and experience closure.

Jews stand and watch as the casket is lowered into the ground. Then, by hand, trowel, or shovel, they take dirt from a nearby pile and drop it onto the coffin, which is now secured in the earth. It is quiet so all hear the dirt as it lands on the wood. The mourners are helping to fill the grave. It is the end and again, this physical experience provides closure.

Both of these processes engage the mourners' senses. Grief and death are to be acknowledged and experienced. 

The changes I am seeing in my body are forcing me to do the same. I am forced to admit I am not going to live in this body forever. This life as Nancy will be over one day and I am closer to that now than I was before.

Play, love, mourn, learn. Open yourself up to possibilities that you thought were out of your reach. Widen your life. Respect yourself. Accept yourself. And as you witness your physical changes, accept them as sign posts that the ride at the fair does come to an end. So, experience the highs, lows, twists, and turns with open eyes as you tightly grip the grab bar. Smile, laugh, scream. It's all a part of the ride.

 

The Year of Transition

To celebrate the end of 2016 and the beginning of 2017, Carolyn, my Reiki teacher and compadre in all things spiritual, went out to dinner at a delicious Italian restaurant called Dolce Italia. It was Carolyn's suggestion and an excellent one at that. The food was so good!

I have always been attracted to people that are different. I don't know why. Sometimes it as not been the healthiest thing for me. In Carolyn's case, it has been very healthy for me. We both see dead people so it's all good.

One of the topics of conversation was 2016 and politics aside, all of the different things that took place. It has definitely been a year of transitions. Each December, I think about receiving my W-2 and submitting my taxes. This year I will have FOUR w-2s. That blew my mind.

Starting at the top of the year, I spent the first few months at the job I had worked at for four years. Every day was a new torture to endure and I have never been so glad to leave a place.

The second W-2 comes from a window installation business that one week into my employment the woman that hired me was fired. Her replacement wasn't a fan of mine and after three to four months I was told I should be in a supervisory role, not this one. Please move on. Here's a small severance package. Good luck.

The third W-2 will be from the temp-to-perm agency that hired me for the job I am at now. To fulfill the contracted obligation, I had to work a certain number of hours before I could be officially hired so I got paid by the agency from 7/5/16 through 10/31/16. It was a weird situation to be in. I was a part of the organization but not really.

The fourth W-2 will be from the organization that waited out the contract with me and officially hired me on 11/01/16. I love where I work. The people are fun, amazing, and wonderful human beings. It takes a certain personality to be comfortable working in and around the kind of patients we have. Our mission statement:

The mission of the Community AIDS Network is to provide a continuum of medical, social and education services essential to the health and well-being of those living with HIV/AIDS, Hepatitis C, sexually transmitted diseases, other diseases and to enhance public awareness.

This transition took three moves on the game board, but they were worth it to get to where I am now.

Two personal relationships ended. One was my choice; the other was not. I am still working through Jim's passing. He hangs around me quite a bit and I find it comforting. I learned so much about life and myself from being with him. He learned from me, too.

I hope that this year brings more joy than sadness, more growth, more love, and more success for you and me. Surround yourself with people that have good intentions and open hearts. Ones that want to play and be mischievous. The kind that will laugh when you laugh and cry when you cry. Those that are like the citizens of Who-ville. They will help your heart to grow.

From Dr. Seuss, "How the Grinch Stole Christmas"

The Best He Could Do

As a child, I was told I could do better. I was smart and should never be satisfied with the status quo. I should imagine how I would feel if I got an A+ instead of an A. Maybe if I had spent more time, took it more seriously, stopped fooling around. This is how I became a perfectionist. This is also how I became one who expects others to be perfect, too.

Even in Jim's death, I have learned from him. He did his best. I can wish he lived his life differently. I can point out the many times he should have made different decisions and think about how is life, and death, would have been different. But, it was his path to take. It was his row to hoe. Just like I have mine.

Jim's funeral service was this past Saturday. Interestingly enough, the same date as my son's birthday. Two Marines performed the military funeral rituals. The flag went to Jim's young son. People spoke of what it was like to have had Jim in their lives. He did some pretty amazing things like stealing an airport golf cart with his buddy and driving around the airport in it, throwing airport security into a tizzy. He offered a different way of life to a drug addict living on the streets. He didn't know her, but followed the voice in his heart. Nearly twenty years later she continues to do well, is married, and runs her own business.

As I think about Jim, his life, his actions, his funny Jim-isms, (You: "What's that smell?" Jim: "That's your upper lip.") I realize more and more he just did his best and I have to be okay with it. Perfectionism is an unrealistic unattainable goal. It's also not necessary.

I have learned that even though Jim's best sometimes hurt those that loved him, it compounded his sorrow, too. Superman has his kryptonite. Why shouldn't Jim be afforded the same forgiveness?

This is Jim

This is a picture of Jim from April 2012. When he and I first met we went to the beach a lot. It was where we went on our first date. I've written about Jim before.

This is also from April, 2012. Here he was painting my mother's kitchen in her condo. Don't tell her he put his dirty shoe on the counter.

This is from March, 2012. Those are his legs and my sandals. He has great legs!

This is now and Jim was moved to hospice this afternoon. The doctor said he's got three to seven days left, give or take three days. He is dying from end stage liver disease because he is an alcoholic and this last binge was more than his body could take. This is the drinking jag from which he will never recover.

I have no regrets knowing him, having him in my life, loving him, and sometimes hating him. We dated for a year then lived together for a year. After we separated, we still kept in touch. 

There was one point in his adult life when he was able to stay sober. I can't remember the length of time but I think it was at least five years. Maybe ten? He went to AA meetings every night. It is sad that he couldn't keep it going.

He taught me so many things. He taught me meditation, the tools to learn to live in the present, and what Reiki was. He showed me how one big long bear hug done the right way could make everything better. I bought him a Superman mug because that is what he was to me. A big strapping guy that wasn't afraid of anything. He didn't have to work out to be muscular. He just was. He was proud to be a Marine and I learned once a Marine, always a Marine.

At the beach he would hunt the big shells for me, feeling around with his feet. Once detected, he would dive for them with his eyes open! He grew up in Florida, a native, so this wasn't a big deal to him. Just something he could give to me to make me happy.

He would fall asleep on the couch sitting up and I would lie next to him curled up with my head on his chest and his arm draped over me. Safe and secure, these naps were just as good as a whole night's sleep.

It is because of Jim that I have Poppy. 

Knowing Jim, being loved by him when he was at his best, I finally felt free enough to accept myself. I am more me than I ever was because of Jim.

Before I paint too rosie a picture, anyone who has either lived with, loved, or been intimate with an active alcoholic knows life can get sour really fast. But, that's not why I am writing this.

Why am I writing this? Maybe because I'm sad, heavy-hearted, and I want you to know it. I still can't wrap my head around the whole thing. 

He is on a steady morphine drip to keep the pain at bay. He sleeps a lot, has a difficult time talking when he is awake, and the mischievous look that would light up his eyes is gone. 

He didn't have an easy life. I won't give up his secrets now or ever but he suffered. It was because of the depth of his suffering that he understood and accepted the depths of feelings in others. It was the reason why he was also quick to notice offenses, real or perceived.

He is beautifully broken. A fighter in the ring, he's on the mat and the ref is calling the count of ten. His loved ones, quietly watching, are waiting.

Go Play Outside

My neighborhood may be the home of the working poor, drug dealers, and people just trying to make it through life but tonight I had a smile on my face because I live here.  It is also proof that time presses on whether we like it or are ready for it.

A retired policeman used to live kitty corner to me on the right.  I noticed what I surmised to be home healthcare workers come and go.  Then I saw what looked like family members buzzing about the house and his yard and figured the old man either died or they moved him to a nursing home or hospice.  Eventually younger people moved in and I lost track of who was permanent and who was transient.  After a few months I saw regulars and they included children.

A man in an electric wheelchair used to live kitty corner to me on the left in the front apartment of a house that had been divided up.  I hadn't seen him around in awhile then one morning when I was taking Poppy out I saw the landlord and some other folks taking things from in the apartment and putting them in the front yard to sell.  The landlord told me the man was very sick and in hospice with no prognosis of recovery.  Soon after new tenants moved in and they included children.

Now there are 5 to 6 kids all around 5 to 7 years old living across the street and they play outside together.  Tonight I heard different little voices counting backwards from 10 down to 0 and I figured they were probably playing Hide and Seek.  It made me smile to think that they were enjoying the same game that kids have played forever but now less and less since technology has advanced and become integrated into our lives.  I heard my childhood in their loud voices as they bickered with each other and yet kept counting and playing.  I am sure they don't have their own computers or cell phones.  They have each other and their imaginations, just as I and my friends had.  They don't have play dates.  They just walk down the street and knock on the door or join the kids already outside.  Occasionally one of the parents will step outside and look to make sure everyone is accounted for.  I know all of this because I walk Poppy.

It has been a long time since I have heard children playing childhood games outside in a neighborhood and damn if felt good.  My heart is a little happier because of it.

On Turning 54

My hardest birthday was my 29th.  I had just one more year left in my twenties and then I would officially be old, at least that was what I was thinking.   It wasn't like I had to come to terms with things like no more partying, acting mature, or putting others ahead of myself.  I had been knee deep in just the opposite since I had turned 21.  My life was full of responsibility with my marriage and two children. It was about losing my youth.  At what point will my hair start to lose its color?  Will I end up being like the women I observed playing Mahjongg with my mother?  As a teenager I promised myself that would never happen.  Will I lose my identity?

Eventually I resigned myself to the fact that I could not fight getting older.  More birthdays came and went without fanfare.  Through the years the changes weren't a big deal until Thyroid Cancer busted through the swinging tavern doors making the kind of entrance that causes the poker players to look away from their cards, the drunk to find the energy to lift their heads, and the piano player to stop mid phrase.

I lost control over my body and rudely learned what being a non-person was like.  I was being harshly judged by ignorance.

I lost control over my future.  How many birthdays did I have left?  I learned that I never really had control over that in the first place.  Another painful lesson.

Each time cancer drove me to learn something, it was like being tortured on the rack forced into stretching my mind to make changes at my core.

Recently I was reading on Facebook someone describing losing two people within weeks of each other.  Both were in their mid to late sixties.  I did the simple math in my head and was slapped with the realization that I am but a mere 12 to 14 years away from their ages.  Everyone has experienced the phenomenon of the relativity of time.  The older we get the faster it goes.  As I look to turn 54 in a few months, the end gets closer and instead of it being blurry I am now able to make out some of the details.  I started to panic because there was so much more I wanted to do and this time crunch thing was squeezing my ribs with vice like strength.

It has been a couple of years since Cancer has held me at gunpoint.  I've had great reports after enduring my second surgery in 2010 and unbeknownst to me I had forgotten the lessons I had learned the primary one being tomorrow is never promised.

Young's Literal Translation of Proverbs 16:18 is "Before destruction is pride, And before stumbling -- a haughty spirit."  These I know to be true from my personal experiences and how prideful is it to believe I am the one with the control?  Nope.  Not going to fall under that delusion again.

Rock on, my fine feathered friends.  Oh - and about my hair and it losing its color - I started with a few white hairs but now it is more like what used to be a small intimate party is a houseful of guests because Word of Mouth can't keep quiet.  Uninvited people keep showing up and you know they will be calling their friends to come join them.  I am not going to cover up those white hairs.  I earned them!

Barefooted

Is it better to have loved and lost?  Do we crave that closeness, companionship, and touch so much that we are willing to put ourselves out there time and time again?  How many scars does it take for a heart to have trouble beating?  Does the drive to love and be loved back push us and move us to action or do we resist?  And, if we resist, does it cripple us?

http://www.heart.org/HEARTORG/Conditions/More/Cardiomyopathy/Is-Broken-Heart-Syndrome-Real_UCM_448547_Article.jsp

We can literally die from a broken heart. I have read about this and although science comes up with some really mind blowing new things, the poets and the playwrights have always known this.  The grieving half of what was once a whole have always known it.  Science has finally proven it.  Facts instead of prose.

If we have always known it, why do we take the chance?  Why did you take the chance?  To fulfill your own needs?  To make life better, more fulfilling?  To have a family?

Was it by chance?  Did it sneak up on you when you weren't looking?  Some fall in love and some make a decision based upon pros and cons, future plans, and calculations.

Love is tricky.  Defining it is impossible as language can only try to communicate what fills one's heart.  Who we love and how we love are varied and some stand in judgment of others.

One may look at a shoe and describe how it looks, how it works, and for what it is used but until one puts on the shoe one cannot describe how it feels.

Some of us keep trying on different shoes seeking the right pair and as we sit in our chairs we become surrounded by discarded shoe boxes filled with pairs that weren't right, weren't comfortable. Some of us are determined none will do while others are happy with the first pair just knowing that one day they will be broken in and comfortable.

Some are happy to walk through life barefooted.  Is it better to have loved and lost?

Roses and Thorns (The completed short story of Rose and Jeff)

PROLOGUE

She could either stay curled up in a ball on her bed or start her day.  One would lead to catharsis and the other to more wallowing in the pain she already felt.  She looked out the window and saw the sun and blue sky.  The cat, which was perched at the end of the bed, got up, stretched, meowed, and jumped down.  Rose watched the feline haughtily walk out of the bedroom.  If the cat could do it, so could she.

Today was going to be the start of the end.  She unfurled herself and laid her head back on the pillows.  As she looked up at the ceiling, she claimed this day the end of guilt, the end of remorse, the end of sorrow, and the end of anger.  Her eyes quickly filled with tears that overflowed onto her cheeks, running down the sides of her face and tickling her ears as their descent slowed and pooled.  She made no sound as she had stopped sobbing so long ago.  Somehow someway she was going to make this pain stop.  She was going to find a way.

Rose wiped her face with her hands as she sat up.  She had lost weight because she hadn't had the energy to eat let alone cook anything.  She felt weak and her long brown hair was a mess of tangles.  Her t-shirt hung off of her shoulders.  Rose lifted her arm, smelled her armpit, and said, “Gross.”

The cat ran back into the bedroom and flying onto the bed came to a quick stop in front of Rose.  She couldn't help but laugh and reaching over petted her.  Rose loved the sound of her cat’s purr.  It was like a little motor boat and the rumble of it represented happiness.

As she swung her legs over the side of the bed Tim’s picture on the dresser seemed to jump out at her in 3D. With a sharp intake of breathe, she refused to again be consumed by her emotions.  She forced her eyes from the photograph to the mirror and this time gasped with disgust.  “Oh my God,” she said as she turned to her cat.  “Lovey, how can you even look at me?”  Lovey answered by rubbing her head against Rose’s arm.

As she walked to the bathroom she peeled off her t-shirt and underwear balling them up and throwing them into the already overflowing hamper.  One arm peeked out from under the lid as if it wasn't ready to say that final goodbye.  The tiles of the bathroom floor felt cool under her feet, solid and sure.  Lovey jumped onto the toilet lid and watched as Rose turned on the shower and tested the water.  Just before climbing in, Rose reached over and tickled Lovey’s chin.

The spray hit the top of her head as she bowed under its stream leaning with both hands on the shower wall.  A flash of memory exploded inside her head.  “You bitch!”  Tim was slurring his words as spittle sprayed from his lips trying to intimidate her by crowding her with his body and height.  Shit.  Breathe.  Breathe through it.  Let it happen and then let it pass.  And so she did.

Rose walked back into the bedroom naked and still wet from the shower.  She no longer felt dirty but she knew the memories would still cause her to feel unclean.  For how long was anyone’s guess.  What did the therapist say?  Everyone grieves at his or her own pace.  What a crock of shit.  Well, maybe it wasn't but she figured she was partly still in the denial stage slowly crawling into the anger stage.  She would rather slide into the acceptance stage like a baseball player slides into home plate.  Sighing, she thought out loud, “This is hard work.”

With patience, Lovey sat in the wicker chair by the window watching Rose pick-up the multitude of dirty clothes off of the floor and then tear the filthy sheets from the bed.  The cat only cracked the whip when hungry.

Rose stuffed everything into the laundry hamper and this time the lid stayed open like a huge yawn.  Laundry will be the next thing she does.  Right after getting dressed.  And eating.  And then blow drying her hair.  Whatever.

As Rose picked out a clean pair of underwear from her dresser drawer, Tim’s picture assaulted her again.  “Dammit!”  She assaulted it back by picking it up and slamming it into the trash can with such violence that the wooden frame flew apart and the glass shattered.  “Fuck you!”  Yep.  The anger phase.

She was breathing hard from the exertion when the next memory lit up her brain.  Fear was squeezing her hard as she wiped his spittle from her face.  Tim’s gait was unsteady as he weaved his way towards the back door grabbing the car keys nearly ripping the hook out of the wall at the same time.  Rose ran up to him and demanded he hand them over to her.  He was in no shape to drive.  All at once he was upon her choking her with his free hand.  “I am not drunk!”

Clarity, just for a second, hit him.  Tim let go of Rose his hand dropping to his side.  She saw remorse and disgust bloom in his eyes.  Quietly he slurred, “I have to go,” and walked out the door.

Her heart was pounding in her chest and sweat slid from her brow into her eyes.  She realized she was sitting on the floor and had no idea when that happened.  Lovey walked over and meowed as she rubbed against Rose’s hip.  Jeez, she still wasn’t dressed.  Her therapist said she had Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder with a topping of panic attacks.  Rose was learning all sorts of new lingo but this was not the kind of education she wanted, although she definitely paid for it.

Sitting at the breakfast nook she drank coffee.  The resulting acid in her empty stomach made her nauseous.  Toast would help.  Rose ended up eating four slices loaded with strawberry jam and butter.  Mmmmmmmmmm….sugary sweetness.

Chapter 1

Rose was standing at the kitchen sink washing the dishes that had been left there from both breakfast and lunch.  Calm in her routine, her hands were warm from the sudsy water.  The cotton dress she wore felt soft on her body and with each gentle gust of wind coming in from the open side door the dress kissed her legs.  Looking out the kitchen window, she smiled as her gaze took in, once again, the open fields that were her backyard.  She would never tire of the scene.  It is what she always wanted and as she watched the tall grass sway in the breeze, peace continued to fill her heart and quiet her mind.

She was lost in thought when she heard his boots on the porch and then the squeak of the screen door.  The smell of newly cut hay walked in with him and with five quick steps Jeff was next to her.  His right arm wrapped around her waist and with his left hand he turned off the sink faucet.  Kissing her on the cheek and then the back of her neck, her body relaxed into his.  Jeff had worked outside all day and sunshine clung to his plaid shirt.

“Hey, Girlie,” he said with both arms now holding her around her waist.  They were in their early 40s but she felt like a teenager again whenever he was close.

“Hey, Big Man.  How’s your day going,” Rose asked as she turned around to face him.  He kept her snug in his arms even when she reached up to unbutton his shirt so that she could run her fingers through his soft curly chest hair that she loved so much.  Rose then rubbed her face where her fingers had been and inhaled deeply.  Jeff always smelled so good to her whether just coming in from a hard day’s work outside or fresh from the shower.  She felt Jeff’s kiss on the top of her head and then his chin as he rested it there.  She knew he was looking out the kitchen window, just as she had been doing, and probably thinking about next week - just as she had been doing.  His surgery loomed large even though they both tried to not let it ruin their time together now.  With that thought she went from light to heavy.

Jeff felt the change and taking her by the arms pushed her away from him just enough to be able to see her face.  Automatically she tilted her head up.  Looking into his soft brown eyes, her smile started off as brave and then crumpled.  Rose’s eyes filled with tears even though she wanted so badly to not give in to the desperation she hated to admit she felt.  She couldn’t imagine life without him.  After all that she survived, she couldn’t lose Jeff.  All of those times when she forced herself to keep going when all she wanted to do was lie down and die – she didn’t know if she would be able to keep going this time.  Jeff tucked her protectively under his arm and they walked down the hall to the bedroom.  Their dog, a big black German Shepard/Black Lab mix named Bill, had watched the whole thing from under the kitchen table.  He got up and padded behind them nails clicking on the tile floor.  It got quiet again when Bill transitioned to the carpeted hallway.  Outside their closed bedroom door, he lied down and rested his big head between his front paws.

Chapter 2

Turning her head to see the clock, Rose was not surprised that it was 6:30 pm.  She was wide awake lying in bed next to Jeff.  He was a quiet sleeper and when they first had overnight visits she would check on him like a mother does her newborn to make sure he was breathing. 

The dog had to be let out and fed.  Dinner had to be made, too, but she didn't want to be out from under Jeff’s embrace.  It felt heavy, strong, and good.  Feeling safe, she looked up at the ceiling and let her mind wander. 

She was back at her old house in her old kitchen eating the toast spread with the sweet jam.  The memory, still so vivid even after the decade had passed, made her mouth water so much she had to swallow.  Rose opened her eyes again, this time to look at Jeff.  The desire to touch his black hair and run her finger down his cheek to his lips immediately possessed her.  Holding the impulse back, more important than indulging herself was not waking him up.  To her, he was the most beautiful man she had ever seen.  Even in the dimness of the room she could see his end-of-the-day stubble and she didn't have to touch it now to know its roughness.  He had teased her enough rubbing it against her face.  His broad shoulder made a peak under the summer blanket and she followed the slope to his slim hip down to his feet.  Rose knew every inch of him.  The day he entered her life, the sun came out on a permanent basis. 

From past experience, Rose knew that Bill was just outside the bedroom door and he needed her care, too. 

At the sound of Rose getting out of bed, Bill sat up and stared at the doorknob willing it to turn and the door to open.  Tada!  “C’mon, Bill.  Let’s go out,” said Rose as she knelt down on the floor and gave Bill a big hug around is soft furry neck.  They walked down the hall together, through the kitchen, and out the door.

Rose sat in the same wicker chair from way back when as it was one of the few things she kept from those days and watched Bill make a mad dash to the nearest bush and unceremoniously lift his leg.  It was that eerie but lovely time of early evening when the day creatures start turning in for the night and the nocturnal ones are just getting started. 

How selfish was it of her that as Jeff faced the surgery he needed to save his life she was worried about the possibility of how she would make it without the one she loved. 

As Rose watched Bill in the yard, she thought back to Tim.

Chapter 3

She had loved Tim with every molecule of her body.  From the first time she saw him something fantastic and strange happened and she felt complete.  Those ever present nagging feelings of searching for something, needing something she didn't have immediately disappeared.  Rose thought that night when Tim was so drunk and violent, when he became Mr. Hyde to his Dr. Jekyll, that night when he drove drunk and died, she died with him.  She thought she would never recover from the loss, the guilt, but mostly the pain.  Her silver lining was that he didn't take anyone else’s life but his.   Even so, the pain was overwhelming.  That part of herself that she had finally found, reveled in as it snapped into place inside the core of her, had been ripped from her soul.  Before meeting Tim she knew she was missing something undefinable.  After that awful night, she knew exactly what it was and that she would never have it back.  The incompleteness drilled deeply through her heart and kept going until it gouged a cavern into her humanity.  That was why she had had trouble leaving her bed.  That is why she hadn't cared if she ate or bathed.  Her cat, Lovey, was the only companionship she could tolerate.  Her therapist was the one that pulled her up and helped her to find herself again.

Jeff was the love she thought she would never have, let alone try to find.  He was gentle and kind instead of fireworks and cotton candy.  He was strong and brave.  He was her cowboy and although she did not love him in the same way as she had Tim, she loved Jeff with all of her heart and she knew in her bones that he felt the same way about her. 

Her thoughts had come full circle when she heard Jeff’s footsteps as he reached the screen door.  He walked as if he were a much larger man.  “Hey, Sweetheart.  You ok,” he asked as he looked at her through the mesh.

Rose swiveled in the chair and got up.  “Yep.  Hungry?”

Jeff could always tell when she was thinking back to the time she nearly lost herself.  It made him sad when she tortured herself like that but he would never show her that.  He was her rock and he knew that.  He also knew that she felt guilty about still wanting, no, needing him to be strong now, too.  He wanted to be her man and everything that that required.  He wanted her and loved her.  He needed her as much as he needed to breath. 

Jeff held the screen door open for her and she gave him a kiss on the cheek as she walked past him into the house.  Bill followed behind Rose and Jeff followed behind Bill and closed the door behind them.

EPILOGUE

Rose stiffly sat on a puffy chair in the waiting area that some decorator tried to make cozy.  It was still the hospital and she was still waiting to hear from Jeff’s surgeon so no amount of dreamy colors or soft furniture was ever going to be cozy or comfortable.  She stopped drinking coffee hours ago and switched to diet soda.  When that lost its allure, she sipped on bottled water.  The TV was blah, blah, blah and when she tried reading the words made no sense.  She looked out the window and wished she could at least pace the sidewalk but if she did that she would probably miss the doctor’s arrival.  She hadn't felt this kind of anxiety for many years and was trying to remember the tricks her therapist had taught her.

Upon hearing her name being called, Rose turned away from the window.  She saw that it was Jeff’s doctor and he was smiling. 

Dad

My father was the best dancer.  He loved playing his Big Band albums on the hulking stereo system that lived in the living room.  He would grab me up and with patience and happiness he taught me how to be his dance partner.

I think he found freedom when he danced. To this day I am told by his friends from childhood what a great dancer he was.  As a teenager, to me weddings meant more than a couple's nuptials. They were when my father and I could spread out on the huge wooden dance floor and have fun.  I couldn't help but have a silly grin plastered on my face whenever we did that because he had one on his face, too.  The last time we danced at a wedding he took my hand as we walked out onto the dance floor and cautioned me that he could probably safely only manage one dance.  He had had a couple of heart attacks and heart surgery.  He was outliving the doctor's predictions but he was feeling his physical limitations more acutely.  

We got out on the floor and once again entered the world we created together with music and steps.  I knew when to turn, when to look for his hand, what he would do next.  The moments we danced together were golden.  My best memories are of those times.  I can still feel his cheek pressed against mine.  I can still smell his cologne.

Being his daughter was not always easy so when, after not making it out of his last surgery in 1992, he passed on, I didn't cry.

He is buried very close to where I live.  I drive past him every day commuting to and from work.  When I think about it I wave and turn my head in his direction and say, "Hi, Dad!"  This afternoon on my way to run errands, I visited his grave.

I parked, turned off the car, and reached for a stone of sorts that I had found at the beach a while back and was still located near the cup holder.  I was getting choked up as I swung the car door open and got out.  It had been a couple of years since I was last there and I meandered a bit as I headed in the direction I knew to be correct.  Tears were running down my face as I looked and when I saw his name I started sobbing.  As is Jewish custom, I crouched down and put the stone from the beach on his tombstone.  The sobbing and the tears kept coming.  Standing up, taking off my sunglasses, wiping my eyes, still crying.  It took 22 years but finally the anger was gone.  My heart could break for the father I lost way too soon.

Rules do apply to you, too.

Yesterday morning Poppy and I were in the car waiting for the light to change from red to green.  We were just starting the drive from home to Mom's house, as we typically do on Sundays.

I was the one driving and Poppy would soon start the battle of wills as he believes he should help.  He has full access to look out the passenger side window but instead pointedly tries to cram himself between the steering wheel and me.  Placing his front paws on the steering wheel and his butt on my stomach, he uses my chest to lean back on.  This way he is able to comfortably see the activities in front and to both sides of the car.  This is important to him as he polices the other drivers and with either silence or barking delegates them to either the "Good Driver" or "Bad Driver" categories.  I'm not sure what the parameters are, but he's got the checklist memorized.

This is the first light I encounter when leaving my house.  It is also the longest light on the planet.  I have sat in front of this light for 2 minutes anticipating moving my foot from the brake pedal to the gas.  It really is 2 minutes long.  I have timed it.  This is FOREVER especially on work days!  It is also teeth grinding when you are car number 5 and car number 4 is being driven by Mr. Slow MoFo who takes a 1/2 an hour to move then another 1/2 an hour to make a right hand turn causing you to have to sit through the light again.  The good news is that recently there was a pneumatic road tube counter laid across the road so that traffic volume could be counted and since last week the light doesn't last more than 1 minute tops so just as I am ready to break out into hives from the anticipation the light changes.

It is about 10 am when Poppy and I are at the red light trying to be patient.  We feel pretty good because he knows we are going to see Teddy, the terrier, at Nana's house and I have the upcoming week off of work.  A pedestrian starts to cross the street in the designated crosswalk and then the light turns green.  Depending on the walker's speed, I may have to sit through this light again.  Eventually he makes his way to the other side of the street and the light is still green!  Foot on gas, moving forward, making our way into the intersection and then movement in my peripheral vision causes me to look to my left.  I am still moving forward.  I look up and check.  Yes, my light is green which means the opposing traffic should be stopped at a red light....which they are.  All of the cars are stopped.  What the hell?  It is a bicyclist running a red light.  RUNNING A RED LIGHT.  He is peddling bent over his handle bars in his bicyclist helmet and tight uniform ignoring the red light.

Without braking, he corrects his trajectory and scoots behind me.  What if there was someone behind me?  I continue driving and look in my review mirror while calling this person all kinds of names from the benign moron to more colorful adjectives.  I am experiencing the after-terror adrenaline shakes and my breathing is jagged.  I have to loosen my grip on the wheel and as I come back to being present in the moment I look for Poppy with my hand to check on him.  Sensing something upsetting just happened, he is quiet and his ears are folded down submissively.  I talk to him and tell him everything is okay and he recovers much more quickly than I.  I could have killed that man.

I don't understand why bicyclists don't think the traffic laws apply to them and this is where I get judgmental only because it has been my experience.  It seems that the ones that ride the expensive bikes with the fancy outfits are also the ones that think they are above the rules.  The thick-wheeled bikes being ridden by people in street clothes normally align themselves with traffic. I have even seen them get off of their bikes to walk them across the intersections.

This man put his life in danger and he also could have ruined mine.  For Pete's sake, bicyclists, when you decide to ride in downtown traffic, obey the traffic rules!  I hope what happened had an impact on him but I am not counting on it.  If he didn't learn this time then it wouldn't surprise me the lesson is put in front of him again.

I Bet You Don't Even Care

My aunt passed away this morning.
I'm so sad.
You were supposed to be here.
I bet you don't even care.

You left months ago.
So hard to let go.
I should hate you but I don't.
My mind is willing but my heart won't.
I bet you don't even care.

Doggie Heaven

I wasn't very brave at the vet's office. I cried in the waiting room, in the exam room, and afterward while writing the check. My final goodbye to Belle included rubbing her head, telling her she was a good girl, and a kiss on the head.


On the drive home a scene popped into my mind's eye. It was like a picture in a coloring book in that the lines were simple and it was composed of only three elements. The sky was robin egg blue and the grass was crayon green. I knew the temperature was just right and the sun was somewhere in the sky. I saw Belle bounding around like she did when she was young and she would play. She was happy and no longer in pain. I felt calm afterward and gained some peace.  Even though some of you will think I've definitely gone off the deep end, I felt I was allowed a glimpse of her in doggie heaven.

RIP Belle

RIP Belle. She's our 11-year oldish Pointer/Doberman/? mix.  Her legs aren't working well anymore and she's in pain.  She's lost quite a bit of muscle mass and her back is somewhat bowed.  It's that time when an owner makes that hard choice.  The only thing making this easier is believing that she is going to see her ole pal Budderbutt who passed before her.

I can still see her sitting pretty in her run at the shelter. I walked through the door to the doggies and spied her immediately.  She looked back at me and that was all it took.  Yes, she was neurotic but how would you be if you had been beaten by some slob and then dropped off because you were thought of as a pain in the ass instead of a loved companion?  Eventually loud noises, sudden movements, and reaching over to pet her stopped causing her to panic. 

We got the submissive urination under control.....for the most part.  Her first year took patience but it was worth it.  Yes, she never lost the habit of sounding the alarm bark because a leaf floated by in front of the window and she had a stubborn streak.  She was prone to ear infections, too. 

But, she was protective and loving.  She was very smart, too, and had a large vocabulary.  She even figured out what we meant when we spelled certain words.  When she was young she had the most beautiful gait and I used to love watching her run around the back yard like a crazy person.  Now just getting up from a prone position is hard work and sometimes not a reachable goal.

I love that dog.  She used to climb up on the bed with me at night and cuddle.  All 80 pounds of her lying right next to me so we touched.  I didn't mind that she always rudely turned her back to me.  I guess it was her way of forcing me to put my arm over her. 

I'm not looking forward to our 7:45 pm visit to the vet's tonight.  I don't want to watch the light leave her eyes but I will be there for her.  She was there for me.