I Will Follow You Into the Dark

My paternal grandfather died last Saturday, March 23, 2013. He was 92 years old. For the past several years of his life he had a slow moving blood cancer, the kind that grinds you down but doesn’t kill you outright. I don’t think the cancer was the cause of his death, but I am unsure.

He didn’t want a memorial service or funeral, so there will not be one. He didn’t want an obituary, so none was published. He donated his body to science, so his last act as a human is to be dissected by others. His wife of 72 years, my grandmother, will follow the same path when she passes away.

I am surprised at how I am affected by this. Not by his passing or the choices he made on how he wanted his death handled. My grandfather was religious enough to believe that death was not a reason for mourning; it was the passage to the next part of a soul’s journey. When my dad, resorting to a bit of dark humor, told me about the medical donation, he finished with the comment “There wasn’t much left of him to donate”. I replied that [my grandfather] would have enjoyed having the last laugh on the subject.

I mourn the opportunities I missed to know him better. Up until high school I saw them every 1-2 years. My paternal grandmother (his wife) was incredibly critical of my mother, to the point that she blamed my mother for my father’s problems, which lead to a breach between the two of them that lasted almost 20 years.

My grandfather tried to mediate between his wife and my mother, but was unsuccessful. They became such a contentious subject that for several years after the final fight between my grandmother and my mother, I did not talk about them in my mother’s presence and I saw them only twice more between high school and last Saturday.

So I missed out. I missed out on knowing sooner that my grandfather was not the teetotaler of my childhood memories, but the type of man who enjoyed a glass of champagne on a Sunday afternoon. I missed out on knowing sooner that he had been stationed in France during World War II and part of his work, as an Army Private, was to transport the officer’s liquor rations from Paris to the camp. That he loved Paris. I will never know of his love of champagne is connected to the time he spent in France.

I will never know many things about him now. And that makes me sadder then anything.

Testing Blogger iPad App

Because if I am going to follow through on my resolution to write more, I should probably utilize some of some of the tools to make it easier.

I would like to be able to compose an entry offline and publish when I have wireless access.

Today's Public Service Suggestion

Scenario: You learn that a family member has put plans for fall trip to Europe on hold due to the possibility of unemployment in the next year because of the acquisition of her current employer by a multi-national firm with 50K+ employees:

Appropriate Response: Wow, that really sucks. I'm sure things will work out for you.

Inappropriate Response: Since you are not going to Europe, you can join us at the beach this summer!

Ugh.

Starting 2013 with a Sense of Schedefraude

My FIL is annoyed because residents of Pennsylvania can no longer put items such as televisions and computers out with the bulk trash, in an attempt to keep items containing hazardous wastes out of the landfills. Naturally, because my FIL gets this information “on the internet” from sources that I am kindly defining as “dubious”, his facts had a high level of distortion.

To wit the passing of the state law was a socialist directive straight from Obama’s lips to the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania legislature’s collective ears, and that consumers and businesses would have to pay for the disposal of such items.

In the same conversation, he informed us that he would never donate anything to Goodwill as it was a for-profit organization owned by a single individual who was making millions of dollars off of selling other’s donated cast-offs. When J asked him where he got this information, he replied “on the internet” and “in the newspaper”, but could provide us with any additional information. J’s mother also backed this assertion, leaving J and I to look at each other and shrug.

A hunt to track down source material turned up several ask.com type websites where people were asking whether Goodwill was a for-profit organization, a handful of references to news articles published in 2008 about the CEO of Goodwill in Portland Oregon, who was drawing a rather impressive $829,000 (give or take a few thousand) salary, and a lukewarm Wikipedia article that listed Goodwill Industries as a non-profit organization.

My skim through all these sources lead me to the conclusion that Goodwill was dancing along the same line as other high profile non-profits that also overpaid their executive directors and spent copious amounts of money on overhead expenses.

These two disparate items came to a neat convergence this morning with the publication of an article outlining the new rules for disposal of electronic items. Goodwill of Southwestern PA has been granted a permit by the DEP to recycle the electronics that cannot be put out with the trash.

I laughed.

The One with the Hand Truck

Several years ago, while driving on Second Avenue, J had to dodge a tire thrown from an overpass. It was a slightly surreal experience, watching the tire bouncing down the road, traffic at a standstill until it stopped moving, exchanging puzzled looks with our neighbor in the next lane over.

Tonight, while driving back from my dinner date with TA, I experienced my second encounter with an item that should-not-be-on-the-road in the form of a hand truck (illustration approximate. Your hand truck may vary in appearance). Unlike the tire, it rolled across the road from the left, hit the front end of my hastily stopped car with a crash and a bang, bounced off the vehicle and into traffic on my right.

To quote TA, happily sitting unaware in his seat, “Whoa. That was loud!”

And completely infuriating, as I had agreed this week to trade in the car that was just HIT BY THE HAND TRUCK.

Changing IV

I’m home with a migraine today, a malady that I am experiencing with increasing periodic (literally) frequency as my body shifts from post-pregnancy back into menopausal mode. The massive mood swings, increase in pre-period of migraines, erratic timing and cramps from hell make me long for the days when I would only wake up drenched in sweat and shivering.

The migraines have also changed, making it more difficult to detect when one is coming. This morning I discovered a new symptom – gag level sensitivity to phantom-like odors, which began at 5:40am when I J, freshly shampooed, leaned over to cuddle me for a moment. In my semi-coherent state I was unable to effectively communicate to him why I could not get away from him fast enough.

Only to pick up the odor again as I sat up in bed, as we use the same shampoo and the smell still lingered in my hair. I did not catch on when I stepped out of the shower and found myself wondering why things seemed to far away. It was only upon attempting to dress and realizing that I was becoming nauseated and incapable of choosing a shirt that I realized that I was about to be in a world of pain unless I took my medication immediately.

I took the medication. Comforted TA, who was angry about being forced to wear pants, then angry because he wanted to take a Dr. Seuss book in for show and tell (theme: seasons) instead of The Snowy Day. We settled on Ten Apples up On Top, which I thought could be stretched as a “fall” kind of book, because otherwise how would the characters have access to so many apples?

J and TA left, and I settled into a dark room and contemplated my life. The awfulness of the mood swings, which leave me feeling depressed and lonely. Last night I planned on going out and running some errands – except that I had no place to go and no one to meet. I ended up coming home and hiding in the bedroom while J and TA played downstairs. I find myself missing my former best friend and fighting the urge to reach out to her, even though I know it is for the best that we are not in contact any longer.

I hate this. I have limited options on how to alleviate the symptoms and none of them are really great. I can’t imagine going through 10+ years of this shit.

Fidget

I went to a second Friend’s Meeting today. The vibe in the room was much different today. A restless and impatient feeling in the air. A woman sitting across the aisle from me kept fidgeting – shifting her weight, moving her legs, changing positions in her chair. I’m not sure if she was the source or another victim, but listening to her move around made it difficult for me to concentrate and I found myself fidgeting as well.

Still, it was strange to hear people stand and talk about the things that I hear in my head but cannot speak with my tongue. One man talked about the Quaker belief that all are called to the priesthood, even those who feel unworthy or unsuitable. To be a Friend is to commit one’s self to it fully, 24/7. A second man spoke of dealing with the deep feelings of anger he had experienced over the past few weeks, anger at feeling manipulated by politicians trying to play on his and other’s fears, drowning out the still small voice inside.

The atmosphere in the room calmed considerably after the second speech, and brightened as the children returned from First Day School.

I did not stay for the meal. I lost my nerve and my courage and slipped out after drinking a glass of water. I felt foolish – there was lunch and an ice cream social to welcome new visitors and I knew I should stay and try to talk to people. But something in my head froze and my confidence left me.

Dear Maserati Man

J and I will never be beautiful people, but neither one of us needs to drive a $142,800 car with a custom brown paint job to compensate for our averageness.

You sir, on the other hand, will never be anything other that ugly inside and out. Years from now we will still be laughing in amazement over your choice to create a lane at the intersection of East Carson and Birmingham Bridge, flip us off and run the red light.

I hope that car of yours keeps you warm at night.