A momentary lapse of silence
There has been little I've had to say lately, and part of that I suppose comes from the dullness of the routine - the back and forth a million times a day driving kids and husband and mother to where they need to go. It is very easy now to lose track of individual days, sometimes even weeks go by and I make no tracking of one day as any different from any other.
Today something happened.
Jeanette had a seizure outside her workplace, just as we were pulling up in fact to pick her up for a doctor's appointment (she hadn't been feeling well). She was lying there convulsing on the ground surrounded by her co-workers, and there was a sort of surrealism to it like sound and sight and all just spiraled and distorted. There is just something that happens when you see your child lying there on the ground and you think about when they were born and how this might be the last moment you will see them and all the things you fight about seem petty and insignificant. There are a lot of times when I do not like how the kids are right now, these teenage years and their attitudes of entitlement and how they are often rather belligerent and self-centered. But still, there is the hope that you will have years beyond these times in which things can balance and normalize and at least get back to some semblance of the affection you had for each other in younger years.
And in a moment you wonder if you have lost that chance forever, and then she comes out of it and you release a breath you didn't realize you were holding and you will know that you love this child no matter what shitty things she says to you on a nearly continual basis because that is just the way of things.
My father died as the weather was turning warm, as the flowers were starting to bloom and life was renewing itself. I always thought that a particularly ironic time to die, and at this time of year my thoughts ever turn to death and really I thought I would be more likely to be the one lying on the ground having a near-death because of all the problems I have. You never think it will be your child. Old people sure, you expect it somewhat, and when you are sickly yourself you kind of think about the possibility. But not a kid, not you kid.
It's like that.
Nathan visited us for a few days last week. That was really nice. I went to the Bus Stop Cafe, and my friend Joey was performing there and asked me to come up and read one of my poems during his set and I did with him and his friends providing background music. That was really nice. There have been some good times, some points of light. I am writing a lot. I am still working on my German (plucking away at the new language, word by word). We have purchased our shed and it will be on the way soon and we have a sort of business plan.
Hanging in there, though sometimes it's a lot more 'hang' and a lot less 'in'.
Tomorrow's agenda includes finding a neurologist then figuring out how we're going to pay for one.
Today something happened.
Jeanette had a seizure outside her workplace, just as we were pulling up in fact to pick her up for a doctor's appointment (she hadn't been feeling well). She was lying there convulsing on the ground surrounded by her co-workers, and there was a sort of surrealism to it like sound and sight and all just spiraled and distorted. There is just something that happens when you see your child lying there on the ground and you think about when they were born and how this might be the last moment you will see them and all the things you fight about seem petty and insignificant. There are a lot of times when I do not like how the kids are right now, these teenage years and their attitudes of entitlement and how they are often rather belligerent and self-centered. But still, there is the hope that you will have years beyond these times in which things can balance and normalize and at least get back to some semblance of the affection you had for each other in younger years.
And in a moment you wonder if you have lost that chance forever, and then she comes out of it and you release a breath you didn't realize you were holding and you will know that you love this child no matter what shitty things she says to you on a nearly continual basis because that is just the way of things.
My father died as the weather was turning warm, as the flowers were starting to bloom and life was renewing itself. I always thought that a particularly ironic time to die, and at this time of year my thoughts ever turn to death and really I thought I would be more likely to be the one lying on the ground having a near-death because of all the problems I have. You never think it will be your child. Old people sure, you expect it somewhat, and when you are sickly yourself you kind of think about the possibility. But not a kid, not you kid.
It's like that.
Nathan visited us for a few days last week. That was really nice. I went to the Bus Stop Cafe, and my friend Joey was performing there and asked me to come up and read one of my poems during his set and I did with him and his friends providing background music. That was really nice. There have been some good times, some points of light. I am writing a lot. I am still working on my German (plucking away at the new language, word by word). We have purchased our shed and it will be on the way soon and we have a sort of business plan.
Hanging in there, though sometimes it's a lot more 'hang' and a lot less 'in'.
Tomorrow's agenda includes finding a neurologist then figuring out how we're going to pay for one.