I don’t suffer from depression.
At least, not on a regular basis.
And, there’s always a catalyst for my blue episodes. I don’t just wake up one morning and have no desire for…anything.
This week has been difficult, and the difficult is getting more difficult.
A year ago, tomorrow, my daddy died.
He didn’t die pretty, he didn’t die peaceful.
It was a death that followed two solid weeks of pain and sickness.
Of 104 fevers, of organ failure, fluid build-up, pain so intense that they couldn’t give him enough morphine to completely block it, and finally he drowned in his own fluids as he lay in a completely clean and dry hospital bed.
And I watched, helpless.
It was an emotionally agonizing time for me, and I really thought I was better…then the past week happened, and it’s as if the year before the past week never happened.
I’m right back there, holding Daddy’s hand and whispering to him that he could let go, that we’d be fine and that his father, mother, sister, and brothers waited for him on the other side.
I wasn’t there when he took his last breath, and for that I’m grateful. I had borne enough pain and I couldn’t watch any more.
In fact, I think Daddy waited until he was alone to finally go home. The chaplain called me at 2:00 AM, and my first words upon hearing the news were “Thank God, he’s free at last.”
I don’t know how many more anniversaries will be hard on me, but I think this one is the hardest.
I’m taking a few days off, and letting go.
Y’all mind the store while I’m gone, okay? Thanks.
I use humor as a defense shield, and sometimes it’s used to soften personal pain. Sometimes, it fails me when I need it most.
All too often it seems I’m facing things that people of my ‘seasoned’ status have had to deal with since time began.
I’m losing friends and family in timely and untimely fashion.
Last week I got the bad news about two of my friends.
Two, in the same week.
One is a doppleganger for Si Robertson, loves Harleys, Mark Martin, and even though he’s nicknamed “Bear” it doesn’t take long to figure out his first name should have been ‘Teddy’.
He has little time left, as cancer ravages his body.
The other is a funny character; he has battled cancer for years and is now facing a challenge for which there doesn’t seem to be the proper weapon. It’s in his brain.
He, too, has little time.
I’m a carpe diem kind of person, have been known to break into song at the speaker for the drive-in at McDonald’s – ordering a Big Mac or Happy Meal to the tune of ‘God Bless America’, or whatever the name of that “It’s peanut-buttah-jelly time!” song is.
I over-tip – by a LOT.
I open doors, carry groceries, reach things out of reach for people shorter than me <<< granted that one does not happen very often, since I’m only a little over five feet tall myself.
I sit on our picnic table in the yard and am mesmerized by the birds visiting the feeder, the way the lake looks like it’s covered in diamonds as the sun dances across its surface, and the industriousness of a single ant.
I make up fanciful stories for my grandchildren, about fairies mostly, and straight-faced tell them it’s all true.
I delight in frogs.
Hummingbirds are magical to me.
I squee over puppies, kittens, and the pair of cardinals that have decided to nest in the plant that hangs right outside my window.
I love the smells of this Earth.
I love the sounds of the lake when we are in a quiet cove.
Ducks make me smile.
Despite repeated failure, I am convinced I can have a vegetable garden….in Texas…in the summer.
A single tomato, from my very own plant, sent me dancing across the back yard.
It is so important, to me, to you, to all of us, that we really live in the world while we are here. And, if like me you believe that our death brings eternal life and beauty beyond our ability to describe, then this mortal coil is just a temporary home. A pit stop, if you will.
Still, loss is hard for humans. Even knowing my friends are going where they cannot hurt any more doesn’t help much.
It just makes me want to stop and really experience every moment, to hold it, touch it, feel it and commit it to memory so that when the day comes that I face the inevitable I can do it knowing that to that precise moment in time I really lived.
From my all-time favorite comic couple:
Yep, this is how I tell a joke. This is also why I don’t get asked to many parties. Well, this and the fact that I tend to attack the buffet table like a squirrel in the fall.
My mother calls me, and this is how it goes…
MOM: Hi there, honey, just wanted to let you know I’ve changed my e-mail address and it’s firstname.lastname@example.org
ME: Again? You just changed it.
MOM: I know, but AOL was pissing me off.
ME: You had Yahoo! mail, Mom.
MOM: Then Yahoo! was pissing me off.
MOM: And I need your cell phone number again.
*she’s just called me on my cell*
ME: Wha? You called me on my cell.
MOM: Yes, but I don’t know what the number is.
ME: I…wha…um….okay. (at this point, there’s no logic I can use to make her understand “Contacts”, so I just go along with it) I’ll e-mail it to you.
MOM: And while you are at it, can you send me all the kids’ e-mails too? I lost the list when I changed e-mails.
ME: Okay, but I also mailed you a typed copy.
MOM: Yeah, I don’t know what I did with it.
I send her the information she asked for and another week goes by…….
My cell phone rings.
MOM: Hi honey, just wanted to let you know that AOL was pissing me off, so I have a new e-mail account.
MOM: …and I’m going to need your cell number, and everyone’s e-mail address again.
ME: *unscrewing the flask and taking a giant swig* Okay, Mom (I say way too brightly)
And another week goes by, and my cell rings again.
MOM: Hi honey, Yahoo! was screwing up my e-mails so I changed accounts…..
ME: *unscrewing the lid to the convenient economy-sized bottle of Xanax* Imagine that………
Immajust going to leave this here, since I found it in my Inbox and don’t quite know what to make of it.
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I’ve studied the situation, and believe that the dichotomy represents a juxtaposition of man’s inherent value versus his inhumanity to his fellow man.
Or, someone drunk e-mailed me.
Definitely one of those.
I got this spam comment on here the other day, and I deleted it because it pissed me off.
And, there’s probably a way to retrieve deleted comments, but damned if I know how.
This post is not about retrieving deleted comments.
It’s about the inability of any blogger to always be on top of her (or his) game.
So Sir Spambot told me he used to come here and read my posts because I was hilarious and uplifting, and now…not so much.
Well, it’s easy to be a critic when that’s all you do.
Which brings me to my next point.
Was this a spammer, or was this an honest opinion?
Doesn’t matter, I deleted it and promptly got all righteous and stuff about how I am such a “brilliant” writer and how dare anyone question my blogging capabilities.
Then I threw up in my mouth a little.
Then I decided I was at least partially right. At least the part about the difficulties of writing a blog for entertainment purposes. The rest? Yeah, not so much.
But, I am honest…or at least I try to be.
Look, whoever you are…if you are a real person…you may have a point. I maybe don’t always have that edge. Maybe I’m not all that interesting, maybe I am boring sometimes, but guess what? This is my little corner of the worldwide web, and if you don’t like it go somewhere else.