The Road to Hawaii

 I've had this on my mind all day today, and so I aim to exorcise this gentle musing by sharing it with others who don't mind remembering Rex, "warts and all" as they say.

It's been ten years now. A lot has changed. 2 of his daughters have joined him on the other side. I don't know how "with him" they are, and I don't think on it overmuch. To me, for the most part, Tammy is finally getting a good long rest. (And that loss has been going-on 4 years now. Unbelieveable.

It came to me, this errant memory, in bits and pieces, 

It came to me from a dream, something in the dream that jarred loose the memory. I don't remember how, or why, but Hawaii had come up in conversation with my sisters and my remaining daughter, and I remembered that Rex sometimes said he wouldn't mind going to Hawaii. 

Other times he had said he'd actually like to go, but there was no way he was flying that far for that long.

He'd rather drive. 

At the time, I just kind of gaped at him. 

People who wanted to drive to Hawaii were something of a joke that didn't quite make it for a Darwin Award nomination, but they weren't far off.

I said Hawaii is way, way, way out in the ocean."

He said there were bridges.

I asked him if he'd drive a submarine. Just silly talk, y'know. 

He vetoed the submarine. It was just the same (!?) as a crashed airplane.

I said he'd have to go on a boat if he ever wanted to go.

He informed me  something along the lines of 'oh yeah, they use ferries where they can't have bridges. Ferry boats. 

"Uhhhhhh." 

My memory ends, with giggles, on that note. And I don't remember exactly where in our time together this conversation took place. It may have been more than once. I certainly don't remember the exact words we used. 

I think it was probably more than once, as memory tugs at me with more details, but are those real or am I creating them now to have a whole story. 

Among the words I'm not sure of, is a mini-discussion of the kinds of boats that go to Hawaii, and his conclusion that if they shipped your car as well as you, then it would be a ferry for you and your car. 

This memory has warmed me, and made me smile off and on all day today. It was good to hear his voice again, if only in my mind. 

Tammy's Big Move

Well, Tammy and family are finally moving out of the trashy trailer in the trashy trailer park. They've bought a newer better trailer in a newer better place. Halfway to where we used to be. [Why couldn't they have started there, all those years ago? Sigh.]

It's a good thing for them. They need more room with another kid(that would be Warren. They didn't have him when they moved in many years ago.), and both kids getting bigger all the time. Their new trailer even has a second bathroom.

I'm going to miss them.

I'm being left behind -- by my choice. Tammy would have made room for me, somehow, if I had wanted that. But, since they found another trailer, and not a house; since they found another trailer park and not a yard/farm/woodlot -- there really wouldn't be room or privacy for me.

You know me, I need a certain amount of privacy, which I'm not getting under the current circumstances. And it's making me crazy and cranky and mean.

Of course, the whole of everything in my life is making me crazy, cranky, and mean. Who knew finding an apartment could be so difficult? Especially one that I'd actually want to live in. Since I can't get an apartment I actually want to live in, I may as well stay in this trashy trailer I don't actually want to live in. I'm already here, after all.

There is always someone saying this person will help, or this agency will help, but the truth is its all lies. There's no one to help. Not with this stuff. I tried to get help to keep my phone number when my phone died -- the number that contains your birthday -- but after a week I gave it up. A new fucking stupid number that I don't want or like (although it IS in numerical order, which is kind of neat.)
I tried to get help, and no one would help me.

And trying to do all that's needed for JFS and keep up has been even more confusing and frustrating. They won't even do interviews now! What kind of social services is that, when they flat out refuse to speak with clients in person, face-to-face, even when the client explains the necessity?

Even my go-to people didn't offer any help. One even indulged in name calling me for asking.

So, I guess I have been busy achieving the full fledged loser status of widowhood. I'm a useless leftover. A pain in the ass. I don't deserve home or help, having outlived my usefulness as a human being.

Ah well, every day is another day ticked off the endless calendar of drudgery and senseless breathing.
Someday I'll reach the end of that list of days.

I wish I could talk with you.

Profoundly Tired

I am so tired, Rex.
I wish you were here to make me laugh at myself. To give me a perspective, an outlook other than days and days of drudgery and dreariness.

Soon -- soon, it will be five years since you went so far away.

On my mind this year as these anniversaries approach is the memory of stopping at the gas station on the way home from making your arrangements, and picking up the phone to call you at home and see if you wanted me to bring you anything.

It makes me shake; this memory.
More than that doctor saying "this is end stage"
More than begging you to stay awake and aware and surviving at least until our girls, already on their way, got to you to say good-bye.
More than my anger at your other daughter who was detached from your dying process. Maybe I was doing some detachment of my own there, too. But I admit, it still makes me shaking angry the way that all worked out. (And the way our daughters were treated at her funeral too few months later, but that's another story.)

Yes, I see myself reaching for my phone, sitting there at the gas pumps, telling whoever was with me that I needed to call -- and then I dropped the phone.

There was no one at home to call.
To bring food or drink to.
To just say "hey, I'm on my way."

At the time I laughed at myself, and got my gas and went home, but inside I was shaken.
And shaking.

And now, I'm still shaking, but I'm not laughing.

I'm crying.

I'm tired of shaking, and crying, and laughing instead of crying because it's all ridiculous.
I'm tired of no one and everyone.
I'm tired of doing and not getting done.
I'm tired of waking and afraid of sleep.

I'm tired of responsibilty and duty and sometimres I'm tired of loving people. Loving people is so binding and I want to be unbound.

But not alone.
Not completely alone.
I've had a teeny bit too much of that. (I still require/adore great big splats of intense privacy.)

I need you.
But there is no you.
Here.

Here is where I am.

another birthday

Happy Birthday once again.

Are you celebrating, I wonder, with your brothers? The last one left this life today. Are y'all happy? Are y'all fighting? Enjoying yourselves with a shoutfest? Romping and Stomping.

Yeah, I kinda like thinking of you all together, and I hate it, too, because every one there is leaving big, huge, terrible holes in the everyday of people here.

Tonight Hailey proved she was yours (and her mother's, of course). We were leaving the park. It's not quite dark, and there's a big bright white gibbous-to-full moon.
"Oh," I said. "I can see the man in the moon tonight."
"There's a man in the moon?" Hailey says.
Warren shouts out, from the back seat, "It's a FACE! Mammaw, it's a face!"
I said, "Yes, it looks like a face. That's why we call it the man in the moon."

Hailey says,
Where? All I see are dots and shadows."

Yep.
She may look Ruhstaller, but that's her mommy in her.

Poor kid. 

Fit to be... Fit for Anything: Not Quite Anything

Fit to be... Fit for Anything: Not Quite Anything: Well, my fitness goals have had to undergo a few adjustments. They are not being abandoned, nor are they to be deemed completely impossible...

Thoughtful Day

Tuesday was the anniversary of keeping the final promise.
It was also the anniversary of Max's funeral arrangements being made.

Two sad days; too close together.

Tammy turned 30 this year.
She has so much of you in her. Working and pushing through and getting things done and loving and driving and --- oh, so many ways.

Warren will be 5 soon. He's much more chatty these days and closer to where he should be verbally. But he reminds me of you, too. He has your eyes (only a different color) and your grin, and your mischief. He has your mechanical inclinations. I'm pretty sure in a few more years he'll look at a broken something and rattle off tool dimensions. He wont look at directions. He'll get frustrated and mess things up then put everything back.

Hailey is wearing Tammy's clothes now, at least sometimes. She's not yet 10. She's such a good kid. But I miss the little her, too.
Of course, I miss little Tammy and little Tracy, too.
Even little Jeanie.
That's life, I guess.

My health is pretty stable for now. I had a bad bad spell at the start of the month. Couldn't breathe, couldn't stay awake, couldn't even lie down. That was scary. I have to prop myself up when I first go to bed, and then sort of slip down into a flat or almost flat sleep position.
You probably know more about that than I did. It's really strange to not be able to rest by lying down.
To be suffocated by my own self.

That situation has gotten better, thanks to  a doctor who knows what he's doing. I'm basing that on the results for me. Not well, but much, much better.

(If anyone missed it and is wondering, I wrote about that here
( https://fittobefitforanything.blogspot.com/2018/03/not-quite-anything.htmlhttps://fittobefitforanything.blogspot.com/2018/03/not-quite-anything.html  )


I miss you more as winter lingers.
I wish you could see these kids.
I wish you could watch Warren build, grow, and play.
I wish you could see our girls both still becoming women; becoming the best of both of us.


I wish I could see you.

Another One Without You

Another holiday season survived.

Another blank year started.
I wanted to say empty, but empty isn't accurate. There's plenty to fill up the time -- the grandbabies -- There's so much of you in Warren, and even better he is so loving. Theres my health and helping Tammy and worrying about Tracy. There are people to pray for and care about and causes to support.
So -- empty isn't the right word. Blank, as in the blank squares of a calendar seems correct. Some of the days are filled in; some are not.
Most are not.

I missed you in the shopping and the wrapping.
It was so hard to even start on the wrapping, without someone to talk with and laugh with and just keep company with. Wrapping gifts, even those chosen with love and joy in the pleasure to be can be a lonely business.

Living can be a lonely business.

Especially when one is alone.

(And yet, others around can be so wearying. I have no solutions; only facts.)

I don't write here (or anywhere) as often as I once did. I got out of the habit and sometimes it hurts and sometimes I'm too tired, and sometimes I'm even too tired to hurt MORE.

But I do talk to you often; think of you more, wish you were here, and I am glad you are not here to suffer the weather and the world the way it is.
Except that I wish you were here to answer me back; to miss me when I'm away; to care when I'm not myself.

So selfish of me, when you are pain free and with your brothers.

Just wanted to let you know I have survived one more.
Just wanted you to know I still ache for you at times.
Just wanted you to know...