Thanksgiving, 2011

Adrienne and I got back from Vermont this afternoon and I am really knocked out.  I slept a lot while we were gone and I imagine the pattern will continue for the next couple of days.  But if I had to name one thing I was thankful for, it would be Thanksgiving in Springfield, Vermont with some of our oldest and dearest friends.  Andrea and Mark are the kind of people that define the phrase "good friend."

And we got to see Mercedes.  what a treat that was.

A Simple test

I discoivered a great test to find out if I am being listened to; If the person speaking to me continues to talk after I have told them I agree with them, they have not been listening to me.  I asked my new doctor for a percocet refill, he agreed.  When I told him my last doctor had wrote a 90 day prescription, he freaked out and began to lecture me on why he refused to do that.  I never asked for a 90 day supply, my old doctor gave it to me and being new to the community of prescription narcotics consumers, I thought nothing of it.  I certainly don't have a problem with doing it monthly and I told this guy that, but he continued to lecture me about the inapropriateness of asking for a 90  day prescription.

And when all was said and done, he doubled my dosage.  What a jack ass.

The Wine of Forgetfulness

In Wong Kar Wai's odd martial arts film, Ashes of Time, a character finds a cask of wine that will make the drinker forget.  As he consumes the wine, his memories fade away, until he suddenly gets up and rides  away toward the dawn.

 I can tell it will be a night without much sleep and no rest.  A quick Google brought me to Proverbs 31:7,"let them drink and forget their poverty and remember their misery no more."

Time

Last night I dreamed about Natasha's funeral; it was dark and full of people I didn't know.   They asked me difficult questions that I couldn't answer.   The day before, at the gym, some song I had never heard before sent me stumbling and sobbing into the showers, crying that I missed her.  Maybe because the tumult from last month is slowing down, these Natasha bumps (as in bumping up a topic in an Internet forum to keep it active) have been happening. With less to occupy it, my mind goes to her, sometimes unwillingly.

21 Days

Three weeks ago today, I lost my angel.  And even beyond her death, everything else is a crisis.  If life is  journey, then mine has veered so far off into a deep, uncharted and boundless wilderness that I will never find it again. 


One of the things that sustained  me when I was in the hospital last year was The Third Step Prayer.  I told myself that even if I had doubts, as long as I sought God and to do His will, I would be alright.  Not cured, not given vast wealth or any of the other things I was tempted to beg for, all I wanted was to do His will, then I would be alright.

I am not there yet, but the reminder that that place exists is helpful.

Angel Band

It has been a week since my daughter, Natasha, died.  Adrienne, Alex and I arrived home in Georgia on Wednesday afternoon.  After only a few weeks, this is our home now and Vermont is the alien country.  I tremulously wandered around our condo, reacquainting myself to the familiar territory; I was the changed one.

Farther Along

 I have come to dread the innocuous question, "How are you doing?"  And I get asked that alot lately; to me it is a reminder that I am living every parent's nightmare.  My daughter, Natasha, died of sepsis on Friday afternoon, and sometimes, despite my efforts not to do so, I blurt out, "I'm burying my daughter tomorrow."

This is my third, adult funeral of a close family member.  Even after the death of my father, I have never felt so intense a pain.  On the morning of his funeral, I heard these words and, for the first time since getting the news of his accident, I broke down:

When death has come and taken our loved ones
It leaves our home so lonely and drear
Then do we wonder why others prosper
Living so wicked year after year

Farther along we'll know all about it
Farther along we'll understand why
Cheer up my brother, live in the sunshine
We'll understand it all, by and by 

I am getting ready to go to the funeral home for visitation.  I am preoccupied with pulling together an outfit from my meager suitcase as my grand daughter plays  She has started to process her own loss with a carefree joy that tells me, from her point of view, death means nothing.