Three Months Gone

It really doesn't seem like it. But my father has been gone for three months now. I still miss him. Still think about him. Still there are little reminders of his absence and of his legacy. I know my mother is still trying to adjust as well. We talk about it often. I haven't heard much from my sister about it, though I'm sure her and the grand kids are doing their best to cope too.

I was thinking yesterday about him as I changed the oil in his tractor. He had mentioned it several times before he died that it needed to be done. Yesterday was a good day to do it finally. At first, I didn't think I would do it right since it would be my first time. But I just remembered all the stuff my father had taught me about oil changes and applied them to the tractor. After all, an engine is an engine. As I tried to loosen the oil plug, it wouldn't budge for love or money, no matter how hard I pushed or pulled in either direction. I had given up on loosening it and had already told my mother I couldn't get it loose. I felt like I had let her down some how. I gave it one more shot before officially giving up. It broke loose on the second attempt, probably because I had to rethink the direction, though I had tried with all my might in both directions and it wouldn't budge. I think my father gave me a little extra boost to keep from disappointing my mother and myself. Thanks Daddy!

Moments With Baxter

This had tears streaming down my cheeks.

Do You Hear What I Hear?

Back in my freshman year of high school, I developed a huge crush/obsession on an senior. I thought he was the bomb. My heart did a little pitter patter every time I passed him in the hallway between classes. Somehow, I managed to befriend him, though I don't remember how exactly. He was friendly and receptive, though I figured he was most likely straight. I didn't hold that against him. I remember many a daydreams about him and a few sweet dreams too. I was already sexually active by 9th grade with other guys, but still hadn't gone "all the way", that was was reserved for him. This crush/obsession went on for months. We were both active in after school activities, so we would get to actually chat occasionally. I actually would call him on the phone and chat. I wish I could remember about what, but at the age, everything was important. Some days, he would would hardly get home before I would call to chat, no matter how brief the conversation would be. I remember once I was so focused on him, that as the phone was ringing, I could could plainly hear everything that happened at the other end before he picked up the receiver. Literally, the key being inserted into the lock, the knob turning, his footsteps on the hardwood floor, and him laying the keys on the table, all before the ringing stopped and he said "hello". I even recall asking him if the phone was somehow off the hook some, then relaid everything I had heard. We both thought it strange but couldn't explain it. Now I know it was a phenomenon called clairaudiance. I was so focused on him at the instant I somehow connected with the physical location and heard everything that was happening. I've yet to experience it again. Maybe I'm just not that focused any more. Eventually, my little fantasy crumbled and I was rejected. He ran off after graduation with a female 30-something history teacher. Just as a side note, he was also the reason I attempted suicide. Looking back now, that obviously would not have solved anything.

The Love of Family

A long time ago, when I was around five years old, my maternal grandfather would take me with him to visit his father, my maternal great grandfather. I remember fragments of the visits. The location and the layout of the house. The long steps up to the back porch that lead into the kitchen - dining area. The big tree that covered most of the backyard and a hedgerow that separated the yard from the railroad tracks behind them. The house has been gone for a very long time. I remember when he passed away, my grandfather holding me up in his arm so I could see into the casket. He pointed out the small cut on his forehead where he had hit his head when the massive heart attack hit and his head had struck the corner of the kitchen table. My grandfather found him lying on the floor of the kitchen in a small pool of blood. I was barely 6 when I went to the funeral. I may not have understood exactly what was going on, but I knew my grandfather was deeply upset.

One visit to my great grandfather's house stands out more than any other. He had lived alone for about five years after my great grandmother had passed away. I never knew her or saw a picture of her till recently, when cleaning out my grandfather's house. My mother helped care for during her illness as she had with seemingly everyone. She passed away in March of 1965, the month I was born. Since I was adopted in July of that year, she didn't even know I was on the way, frankly neither did my parents. On this visit, My grandfather and I made our way up the steep back steps and into the kitchen. I gave him a hug then stood near my grandfather as he sat down at the table with him to "chew the fat'" awhile. I remember wandering around the corner into the dark living room. You could barely make out the furniture in the room and it bright and sunny outside. I never remember being there when the drapes were pulled back. As my eyes adjusted, I moved around, touching the sofa, the chairs and getting a feel for the place. I found myself by a window with the smallest amount of light was coming through. I could see bookshelves near the white brick fireplace, tucked in the corner, filled with books and knickknacks. Being the curious lad I was, I had to look and touch. I remember reaching up above my little five year old head for something, when I noticed a lady standing near me. I hadn't seen anyone when I entered the room. She was petite, dressed in what appeared to be black or some dark color, with her grey hair pulled into a bun. I wasn't afraid or even startled. I looked at her and she at me. I don't remember either of us saying a word to the other. She reached out to the same thing I was reaching for and I seemed to understand I was too young for it. I seemed okay with that and moved on. I walked toward the fireplace and she stepped back. I spotted something on the mantle, though I have no idea now what was there,continued on my exploring down that wall till I was back at the kitchen doorway. I looked back, expecting her to follow me in and say hello to my grandfather. I looked back and couldn't see her. I took up my place beside him, still waiting for her to join us, but she never did. Neither my great grandfather nor my grandfather ever called for her to join them or gave a hint anyone else but us three were in the house.

The picture we found of my great grandmother was the same lady that I had seen in the living room that day, though she had passed away before I was born. I think she was watching over me to make sure I didn't injure myself that day, by pulling something off the shelf and onto my head. I've never seen her before or since. But it's nice to know I met my great grandmother after all.

The Fire Within

As some of my long time readers may know, I've had some extraordinary things happen during my life, though I haven't posted them all. Around age 30, and after the death of so many friends, it became clear to me that I needed to understand myself much better. Even as a youngster, I had the odd unexplained thing happen, though I told no one of them. Now I'm no longer reluctant to mention them. It's just a part of me, just as being gay or a man or a son. I have always been fascinated by mysticism, the occult, the paranormal, and esoteric studies. Drawn to them like a moth to a flame is more like it. I read books on all sorts of subjects pertaining to my interest. I learned to meditate. I've taught myself lucid dreaming. I've learned from experience to listen to my inner voice. I found out that while far from controllable, I have a knack for somethings, while others I still need practice to understand. Now that I face turning 44 this month, I've become obsessed or driven to delve deeper into the mysteries that have been on the peripheral of my life since childhood. My goal is simple. To master myself, my destiny and maybe make the world a better place in the process. I hope to sharpen my skills and nurture others. I want to be the person I was meant to be. The fully evolved spiritual being with wise, sage advice. The old man comfortable in his own skin, with his life and it's mysteries. Since I've decided I'm going to be immortal, (because I simply have too much to do for one life time) I should have plenty of time to master them all.

Sympathy Pains

I'm the kind of person that can be very empathic and sympathetic toward others. I suppose it is because I, myself have been through so much, that it is easy for my to relate to them. I understand the pain, the suffering, the frustration, whatever emotion their circumstance brings out in them. I've most likely been there at some point in my life. This story is a bit different. It concerns my maternal grandfather that I helped care for before he passed away last July. I had been staying with him at night since his return from the hospital in December of 2007. He had always had back trouble from a pinched nerve, even having surgery on it many years ago to help alleviate the pain. Nothing ever worked. He just learned to live with it somehow. While his hip was mending nicely, he was still urged to use a walker or cane to help maintain his balance. Putting his weight on that hip wouldn't help the healing process. For a while he did, at least around the house. That didn't last long, soon he was lurching from side to side, walking without any support, hunched over slightly. At 90, his bones were brittle, hence how easily he broke his hip. His spine already in terrible shape, the lurching and hunching took it's toll. He developed a spinal stenosis. His bones to fragile to operate, there was nothing that could be done, but pain management.


I begin to have pain in my lower legs and the arches of my feet. Mornings were excoriating, I couldn't stand upright or bear much weight first thing out of bed. Slowly I would be able to move about normally, but the pain never went away. I first chalked it up to lifting my grandfather in and out of bed, the toilet or the shower. I was just over exerting myself. I could feel it in my back some days. I kept quite about it and when it hurt too much, I would take some aspirin. After about 2 months of this I was a bit concerned that maybe something else was the cause. The pain went to the bone and into the muscles. It was tender to the touch. Finally one day when my sister was visiting I mentioned to her and swore her to keep it from our parents. They had enough to worry about already.


My grandfather continued his downward slide. His refusal to use a walker or cane out of pride was his down fall. He was bed bound now, unable to move his left leg at all. The nerves were all but severed. What few remained intact only transmitted pain. He finally had to go on Morphine to help control the agony. Oddly enough, a few days after he started the Morphine pills my pain stopped as quickly as they had begin. I haven't had any more since.

Inspiration

If these pictures don't make you feel something, you're dead inside.

What Dreams May Come

One of my classmates, on the last day of our class meeting informed me of a dream. Being the last day for our class to meet, the instructor in her infinite wisdom saw fit to let us watch a movie or otherwise do nothing, being she had last minute grading and whatnot to do. The fella I sorted drew close too was sitting near my seat for the last class, not his normal spot, messing around on his laptop, listening to music videos while other debated the virtues of watching 'The House Bunny". I was secretly wondering why I bothered showing up to a class I already knew I was going to fail. We have emailed outside of class but not really spoken much otherwise. Even then our correspondence related to if I was showing up or not that day. Near mid-semester, he wanted to show me the joys of GMail, so he asked for my email address. I gave it and there in starts our story.

I knew he was close to my age, if you consider that he is 27 and I'm 43. Of course, the others are younger than 22 so that is close in my book. He isn't handsome, but he is intelligent and very gifted with computers and curiosity. His scraggly beard and loafing manner makes him appear much older than he is. Some how I find him oddly interesting in a get in your pants sort of way. He is straight only because he is really too much of a geek to be gay, but I digress. After sitting their in the dark watching the others carry on about the movie and the occasional word exchanged with him next to me. He wanted to share his musically interest with me, either because he figured I was really bored with the movie or out of genuinely wanting to share. So he loaded up some music videos on his laptop and handed over the headphones. I must admit I was pleasantly surprised at his choice of music. He is really into the Korean culture, so much that he is learning their language in his spare time. He also liked techno/trance! Bingo! Common ground. The next 2 hours was much more bearable as we discussed music, listened to favorites off of You Tube and hung out. Mid way through all this, he casually mentioned to me, as we were leaning in together, sharing the headphones, that he saw us doing this in a dream he had a week or so earlier. No big production of it, just said it. He told me he saw us sitting just as we were, listening to music together. I was a bit flabbergasted. All I could respond was "Cool". I did state that normally when those types of things happen to me, it usually isn't in a dream or so far in advance. More like an inner voice, closer to the time I should make a decision. Apparently this happens to him a lot and he remembers them. So there you have it, whatever it is and for whatever it is worth. A seemingly straight computer nerd had a dream about me. I must admit, I was flattered. Come to think of it, I need to email him.

Etheral Music

Long ago, shortly after forming a close friendship with a guy, we would hang together from time to time. We would just chill out, talk, drink and gossip about the cute guys at the clubs. I never will forget this incident. It happened maybe the third or fourth time we had hung out together.

We still didn't know a lot about each other at the time, our friendship was still in it's infancy. We happened to run into one another at a bar that evening and wound up after it closed back at his place for more cocktails. Now I love this fellow, not in a sexual way but we just genuinely clicked when we first met and became fast friends. So this particular night, he wanted me to hear one of his favorite songs. He searched around till he found it among his many Cd's. It was a country western ballet, very slow paced, very pleasant (not surprising since he taught country line dancing at the club one night a week). As we were listening to the song, I was concentrating hard on hearing the lyrics; he started singing along with it. After the third or fourth line, I joined in. I was singing it word for word with the CD and him. I recall looking at him and listening intently and somehow, the words just came to me, even the pauses. When the song ended, he said, " I didn't think you knew this song." I replied, " I don't. That was the first time I've ever heard it." We both had a rather stunned expression. I still can't explain it to this day or recall the song or artist. Odd huh?

OMG

Here is something interesting that happened last night. I hesitate to mention it but think I would feel better if I did, so here it goes. I went to bed early around midnight, usually I'm up till 1am or 2am. Despite my two naps during the day, I was a little worn out. The "pup" and I settled into the bed, with him under the covers with his head toward the foot, all snuggled up against me. I was having a hard time falling asleep, so I just tuned into his breathing and listened. After about an hour of this, his breathing changed to very rapid and shallow. I figured it was doggie REM. He usually does it fairly quickly, with little barks and growls and some jerky foot motion to go along with it. I listened but this seemed different. I had closed my eyes, visualizing myself sleeping. Then, his breathing became more rapid and shallow like he was hyperventilating. That's when something odd occurred that snapped me back to reality. I could have sworn I heard "Davey, help me". Startled, I rolled over to see where it came from. It sounded like it came from Izzy. Now I've had interesting things happen to me before, but never heard a dog speak. His breathing pattern continued and he almost seemed to have a convulsion. I petted him and lifted up the covers. He woke up, jump down and laid beside the bed on the floor. His weird breathing continued a bit longer. He then moved to the other side of the bed to sleep on the rug and was fine. He rejoined me under the covers later on that night. The strangest thing about it, if that's possible, was he didn't seem himself in some way. And the only person that ever call me 'Davey" was my grandmother who passed 20 years ago. Of course, never having "heard" my dog speak to me before, maybe that's his preference. Regardless, it was an interesting night. I feel like I need to go back to bed again and sleep.

The Angel

This is the angel that fell. I've had it wrapped up and kept it in the sideboard. I haven't fixed it yet after almost 8 years, but I'm not parting with it either. Maybe one day I'll glue it together.

This is where it hung. You can still see the nails in the wall. Now I have a clock in the center of them. I just left the others in case I fixed the angel and put it back in its spot.

Fallen Angels

No this post isn't about Halloween. I was over at Spo Reflections this morning reading his Scrooge Meme. One of the questions was "Have you ever been visited by a spirit?" It reminded me of an incident about 8 years ago. It wasn't a ghost per say but a presence. Let me give you some background.

Many years ago my very best friend of 16 years, gave me a wooden, handpainted, trumpeting angel. I hung it in a place of prominence in my kitchen, overlooking the whole of the kitchen/dining/living area of my trailer. I place one nail in the stud and since the space was triangular, I had to add other nails for it to rest on, to be at the proper angle. It hung there for years undisturbed. It never so much as even tilted.

On February 6th, at 8:20 in the morning, I was awaken by a thud, coming from the other end of the trailer. I roused myself to go see what it was. When I first walked into the kitchen from the hallway, everything seemed normal. I didn't notice anything that would have caused the noise. As I turned to walk back to the bedroom, I noticed something on the floor near the dining table. I bent down and picked it up. It was a piece of wood. I couldn't figure out where it would come from. I thought something had been thrown through the window at first, so I glanced under the table to find it. There was the angel my friend had given me, all those years ago, laying broken in three pieces, on the floor. I picked them up and studied the pieces, looked up at where it had hung on the wall and noticed every single nail was still in place. (They are still there too)

The angel's wing had broken off, a part of it's foot had too, as well as the top part of it's head, right through the eye. I turned it over in my hand and studied the back. The hanger was still intact. I couldn't figure out what would cause it to fall. I laid the pieces on the table and returned to bed. I would figure out how to repair it later.

The next morning I was at work. It was about 10:30am, when I received a phone call from my mother. She never calls me at work, so I knew something was wrong. In Monday's obituary, my oldest and dearest friend had past away Sunday at Hospice. I was devastated. I ask her to clip it for me and I would pick it up on my way home. I felt weak in the knees from the shock. I had just spent time with him at Christmas and he was doing fine. We had planned to get together in March to celebrate our birthdays together. (They are 8 days apart). I hung up the phone, and sat down. I was trying so hard not to cry. I did get teary eyed.


At lunch I sobbed like a baby on the shoulder of a friend at the back of the mall. I stopped and got the clipping from my parents. I could see the concern on their faces. They wanted to say something but couldn't find the words. My mother asked if I was okay, as I walked quickly to the door. I didn't want them to see me break down. I muttered something and got in to the car as fast as I could. I cried on the way home and over into the evening.

I went to the memorial service that Wednesday. I was seated toward the back of the little chapel in the funeral home. His parents were up front. I must say his mother was a strong woman to hold it together during the service. I sobbed out loud so, that some people glanced in my direction. After the place had cleared out some I approached his parents. We hugged and cried. She explained he lost his vision in one eye, and the use of one foot. It all happened so quickly. He had been asking for me. He wanted to see me one last time. They never got the chance to reach me before he was gone. He passed away Sunday morning at 8:20 am, the same time my angel fell.

Letting Go

It hasn't been very long since my grandfather passed away. I still miss him and most likely always will. I look back at all the people who meant something to me that are now gone, it still makes me sad for every one of them. I know there are still more to come and the people I still have in my life are that much more precious to me. I try a little harder, have a little more patience, take a little more time. It's impossible to describe the void that is left behind. I worry about did I do enough, say the right things, visit often enough, treat them right? Questions I'll never have the answers to.

Unlike the others that had passed before him, it was expected. He was 90 years old. He had just recovered from a broken hip and doing well on that front. I stayed with him almost every night from mid-December till the morning he passed. In the beginning it was just him and me. Later when it was apparent that a longer supervised recovery time was needed, my mother stepped in and started staying one night a week. Afterwards, it was two nights a week. Then it became obvious that he couldn't be alone during the day, do we divided up the week between us. Some nights, some days. Hospice came in toward the end to help out and so did their Chaplin. All was a God send.

It was still odd though, how he went from a great recovery to not being able to leave the bed. This was something different. It was a problem with the nerves in his spine. In all the time I had been staying with him, he never really complained that much. He treated the recovery as an inconvenience, something to be tolerated. One night that changed and so did everything else. He retired to bed early as usual, about 8:30 or so. I was watching TV, settling in for the evening. He had been in the bed for about an hour when he called out. I went flying down the hall. He was wincing in pain, one leg raised off the bed, and trying to reach it. I asked what was wrong. He said his leg felt like it was on fire, like pins and needle, that he had never felt anything like it before. Then he said what I will never forget, " I think I need to go to the hospital". My grandfather never says anything like that! I knew he truly was suffering. I called my parents, who live next door(though there is a lot of land between them), they both rushed over. We tried to get him into the car, finally me just picking him up(manhandling) and placing him in the front seat. I waited at his house.

After more doctors visits, more test, more x-rays, a CAT scan, and a stay in the hospital,, it was determined to be a nerve in his spine. The bone surrounding it was to fragile to operate. They could only manage the pain. Being 90 years old didn't help matters either. The whole family convened to determine what to do. We decided to follow his Living Will and keep him at home for as long as possible. The bulk of the care fell with my mother and I. She was more equipped than I. She is actually a retired Hospice nurse. My sister lives about 65 miles away with 3 very active kids and could only help out once a week. My father would run errands and such as needed. My parents church was amazing! Food, supplies and visits, it did my heart good.

My grandfather has always been a very head strong fella. He was still growing his own garden, keeping his own house up until he had broken his hip. This was a horrible set back for him. He didn't quite understand what was going on. Everyone that he asked would try to explain it to him. But with his Sundowners and seventh grade education, it never made sense to him. For the most part it wasn't to hard to take care of him. We were all glad to do it. Toward the end though, watching him wasting away, his mind increasing going, not wanting to eat, no longer able to stand, shower or even go to the bathroom by himself really took it's toll. He hardly looked like the grandfather of my youth. I felt sorry for him, but there was nothing I could do to save him. I wanted to insulate him from the pain, restore his health and vitality. I prayed. I stayed. I cried. nothing was going to stop the inevitable. I knew it. The rest of the family knew it. All we could do was watch.

My grandfather died on Saturday, July 5th. That night was rough for my parents and I. About 10:30 or 11:00 Friday night, I called them. His blood pressure was very low. His breathing seemed almost non existent. His temperature was high. He hadn't had any urine output in almost three days. I thought the end was near. I gave him his liquid morphine and prayed and waited. The saddest, most heart wrenching thing was to listen to my mother, through her sobs, tell her father that it was okay to let go. That she would be okay. That it was okay to let the pain end. He hung on through the night. They left, exhausted. I stayed by his bedside till my mother returned the next morning at 7am.

I was exhausted, both emotionally and physically. I took the long way home to unwind. I took the dog out. Ate something, but can't remember what it was and went to bed. I glanced at the clock. It was 7:40am Saturday morning. I began my prayers. When I mentioned ending the suffering of my grandfather because he deserved better, the strangest, most peaceful feeling came over me briefly. I rolled over and went to sleep. At 8:10, my phone rang. I knew it was the phone call I didn't want, but I answered anyway. My grandfather, after his long life, his wrenching struggle to stay in this world was gone. He passed at 7:40 Saturday morning.