| | I am going to California.
It is a dream come true and a teeny-tiny nightmare all rolled into one. Sweet, old Kenneth is sick. Sick-sick, the kind of sick you say twice. He is the only grandparent I have left, so, maybe I am going to California to say The Most Expensive Good-bye Ever, with Sweet Heather Marie as my seat-mate. She is fabulous and lets me be five and pretend that we are merely going West to visit Good Ole' Ken, drink entirely too much coffee and maybe squeeze in some shopping.
A while ago, a co-worker and I were talking about the strange process of grieving. There are some things we never truly get over. When I was six, my sister and I found two stray cats in the parking lot of a store near our house. Much to my mother's dismay, we convinced our dad to let us take them home. Daisy and Fluffy (very creative names, I know). Daisy was white and brown and Fluffy was grey with stripes. Daisy was skinny and sick from the start. She passed away, as most all sick, skinny stray cats usually do. Fluffy, distraught by her absence ran away in the night.
Sometimes, when I am going through something truly excruciating, I find myself aching for those skinny, old cats. It is strange, but I know it is something I will never really be able to explain. I quit trying a long time ago.
I know, when I lose the only grandparent I have left, I will feel the loss of all four of them, from the start, even though there is a span of almost 20 years between losing the first three. I know it will feel like my dog has died, and the cat has run away and the accident has happened all over again.
Tim and I have been to three funerals in the short time we have been together. By now, I have memorized the blueprint. It goes something like this:
I wear my Really Great Thrift Store Shoes that end up sinking in the ground even though it hasn't rained in weeks and my movie star sunglasses make puddles of tears between my cheeks and the rims. I can't get that same old Bright Eyes song out of my head, you know the one.
“I dreamed you were carried away on the crest of a wave, baby don't go away, come here.”
So, my entire morning becomes a pattern of sob, sob, wipe, sink, hum, sniffle...a waltz I don't want to keep time to.
So much has happened since Tim and I Became One. It seems my life is a rub-ix cube that has been set on auto pilot. Shuffle, twist, shift, shuffle, twist. Occasionally, Jesus or Tim or Sweet Heather Marie or even a few kind and wild dogs will hit pause
or at least make a few of the colors match.
“Love is watching someone die.” D for C.
Here's to us.
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| | Posted 11/12/2008 8:55 PM - 10 Views - 0 eProps - 0 comments
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