I think about dad, sometimes.
I think about dad and John Deere tractors
Or the Steam Threshers. I remember Lil’ Caesar.
I don’t think about dad being in heaven or some mythical place called hell. I remember dad in his bib-overalls and John Deere Cap. That was what he wore and that is what we buried him in.
His hat and bibs are ashes just as dad is.
I think of dad as being a part of the consciousness, the cosmic all.
I remember as a kid that dad played with us like he was just another kid and I remember almost to the day when either he or I changed and nothing was ever the same again.
I remember dad with the end stages of Parkinson’s disease. Bib overalls and John Deere Cap. Where ever he is he’s wearing his bib overall and John Deere Cap.
So, it’s one of those nights with lounge music playing and sleep is nowhere to be found. Two o’clock and I am not even remotely seeing a single sign of sleep creeping in. It will make dialysis easier. I will sleep through it, dream through it and live through it.
It’s time to switch to a nice gentle ambient sound and relish in the silence in the room. All weekend was free of snoring, whispering and hearing “baby” used in almost every conversation. That all starts up again on Monday. Oh well, you gotta love it when he goes home for the weekend.
I stay in my room for the entire time because of the silence and complete solitude that I can have. It’s beautiful. And this isn’t saying there is anything wrong with this man. If Jesus was the guy on the other side of the curtain I would be thrilled if he went home to hang out with his twelve friends. It would be wonderful not to hear the whispering the gang showing up to see who had the cigarettes. Yea Jesus gotta smoke man. It relieves the stress man. So all of the gang hanging out outside to smoke is a good thing. Keeps my tolerance and patience working where when it’s back to normal and the noises and smells are back. I must learn to live a Zen life.
I ask that I might be granted the power to listen to stay attentive and ever sure that the gift I can give is to listen and show patience, empathy and care. Carry me to the water and wash me clean.
I called mom. Man what a lot of work that conversation was. I had to keep biting my tongue to keep from saying things that would be designed to stand up for things that just aren’t that important anymore. I can’t change that woman’s mind and to be honest I don’t want to anymore.
The heartbreak is that she doesn’t understand why all of her boys, all five of us have struggled through this life. We have all had our moments of glory and then had our moments of complete downfall. My dear brother who is the youngest is the only one that seemed to break that mold and has been able to maintain a balance which has given him a good life. I know however that he has those moments when he thinks, “Oh my God I am so close to stepping over that edge again. Something keeps him from doing it though. Education and two amazing sons and an unbelievable wife has a lot to do with it.
I have become a lot more grounded but mine is not because I have become wise. Well actually I have become wise but it’s because I just don’t have any more options left. I have pushed the envelope as far as it will go. I have risen to grand heights only to fall down to the depths of despair. I am getting to old for all of that now. Now is a time when I am healing and for those who have not always known me like my daughter or dear brother who have been given the responsibility of taking care of me I seem like a wise and grounded man. No one has any idea what kind of hell I went through and what kind of hell I put my loved ones through, my dear brother, my daughter, my mother and my other brothers.
My mother wanted so much from her boys. She wanted to see them shine brighter than anyone else. There are so many reasons why that just wasn’t possible. My poor dad doomed us from the start with his history of pain, confusion, shame and remorse and mom added to all of this with her secrecy. We have no idea where she came from except very brief moments given that suggest real terror.
My neighbor passed away. My neighbor is in the room to the left or right of me. This was to the left of me. I didn’t really know him only by seeing him. He was unable to speak.
Their spirit sticks around for a little bit once they have taken the physical body away. The spirit has to say goodbye to all of our spirits and let them know that it is going somewhere.
When there is a passing I think about myself passing here and it scares me almost to death. This is not where I want to spend my final days and of course that is a ridiculous statement on my part. It doesn’t matter where we spend that last moment as long as we are happy within ourselves. That is what I have to work toward and of course secretly hope that I get my own apartment as planned.
I am depressed. There is no denying it or acting like something different is going on. I am depressed. I feel helpless as they decided what to do with my money. SSI has gladly given my money to this facility who will take all of it except thirty dollars a month that I am to use for who the fuck knows what.
See the logic is that all of my needs are taken care of here. Bullshit. I don’t eat the food because it is shit, absolute shit. I want a damn deduction for the food and for the physical therapy people giving up on me. I want a refund for the times that I have laid here for over an hour trying to get an aid to take care of me or when I have waited an hour for a nurse to bring my pain medicine.
I worked a lifetime or that measly amount of money that I receive and now my Medicare and Medicaid won’t pay for my services completely so they take my money, my SSI. Fuck this government. Fuck what we have become and how we treat each other. We will pay for this someday. I for one would like to be around to see when we do get our asses’ whipped.