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those little moments...
I have been thinking about my dad a lot lately...
my dad and I had a very tumultuous relationship... but lately, I have been thinking more of those little moments that were...nice...nothing fancy, just the word..."nice" He was dying of heart failure, and was afraid to go to sleep at night. He didn't have insurance so my mom worked a couple of jobs and I worked a few myself just to help to pay for his meds and med costs. One time, I got back from my third job and was exhausted. I came home and found him watching TV...I went to the kitchen and got some food and when I came back out, he fell asleep on the couch. I knew he hadn't slept well for awhile now and I think he finally exhausted him to sleep, soundly... I could hear him snore and his face seemed...calm... Part of me was scared, afraid that this might be the eternal sleep...but at the same time, he looked so peaceful...it brought a smile to my face...at that very moment, I wished that I had more time, to speak with him, to talk with him, to make things up with him... I remembered thinking, it just wasn't fair...why did it had to be like that between us?? I laid in the hallway, my eyes too tired to open yet too afraid to fall asleep. I laid there listening to his snoring ready to wake him at the moment the snoring would've stopped...slowly, his snores were replaced with my own... I woke up again and pleasantly found him still snoring...still looking peaceful...I went to bed, falling sound asleep myself for the first time in a long time... My dad loved to eat...eating was one his finer guilty pleasures in life...he'd try anything at least once and had considered himself a connoisseur and fancied himself an epicurean. but there were few that were among his very favorites... my lovely wife and I dined today somewhere and some of the foods that we had were some of his favorites... as I tasted each one in my mouth, I tried to imagine him enjoying it, with each taste teasing my taste buds, I could picture him savoring it while he sighed happily and smiled... he loved water melons... a couple of weeks before he died, the wife(I call her "da wife" LOL) who was just a friend then, came to visit and we took him to the beach. It was a very hot day, we brought water but that wasn't enough to quench our thirsts. As we walked through the entrance, there was a family there at the picnic table with water melons galore. My dad walked over and asked them if they'd give him a piece. I was a bit embarassed but was very glad and GRATEFUL that they actually gave him a big slice. He didn't bother walking much further and sat right there close to the entrance and started to chomp down at the water melon like a child while juices dripping down his chin and crunching sounds slopping through the air... he didn't finish it all and fell asleep with it on his lap. We didn't have the heart to wake him but he was blocking the entrance so we finally woke him up and he tripped over the log... but he smiled...I hadn't seen him smile for a long time... we walked toward the beach and the sun was glistening on his face...he pulled up his trousers over his legs and gently stepped into the water...the salty sea air seemed to revive him a bit... I stood behind him, taking all this in...I had to fight my tears cause I wanted to scream out to the ocean, and ask for more time, for more patience, for more...more ANYTHING... I needed the TIME!! PLEASE!! But the only answer I got back was the crashing of the waves... but looking at him, I could see parts of his profile silhoutted against the beaming sun...he was smiling...contently... I could see him taking it in, I think he knew it was the last time he would be at the beach... but at that moment...the future didn't matter...only "NOW" those moments are my "NOW" now... and I need them... |
...and now, to my dearest wife...
I look forward to those little moments when I can reach over, and hold your hand... the warmth...makes me feel...alive... thank you, for putting up with me... |
I really can't sit on the couches anymore...most of the couches really hurt my back and after I'd sat in them for awhile, I would be in pain for a long time...
but the couch was one of my best friends when I was a kid... many adventures were carried out by/on/over/behind/under the couch... There were times when I was the captain of an airplane, or space ship and the couch was my trusting aerial companion that I steered and chartered. It was where my brothers and I climbed the highest mountains and crossed the widest rivers...conquering all foes that stood before us(and behind the couch). It was where we were stuck in the jungle, treading through the vines, fighting monsters from the unknown... It was where we laid out our robots and toys and destroyed whole cities with our Godzilla like hands and feet, it was where we put on our capes and flew like Superman and swung like Spiderman... It was a place on Saturday mornings when we were glued to the TV watching cartoons while we messed it up with our chips and drinks... it was where we wrestled and fought and where we grabbed the pillows off and had pillow fights... it was where we expanded our horizons when we pulled off the cushions and crossed the seas in the ocean that is called "livingroom" it was where we cried after our spankings and fell asleep and finding ourselves being carried into our bedrooms. it was where we would sometimes fall asleep on only to wake up finding a warm blanket over our bodies it was where I could hide my bug collections and foods that I hated from my mom until she found them, and the same place for my execution once she'd found them... it was a place that I could lay my head down, and read, and go into other worlds in my own time...when I was on the couch, time stood still... there were no monsters under the couch(only the bugs and foods that I hated, although the foods did turned into moldy monsters) it was one of the last places that I saw my dad peaceful and blissfully asleep... no, I don't sit on couches anymore...but I love to see my wife blissfully resting, enjoying herself crocheting or enjoying her favorite movies while I bring her her dinner... I don't need to sit on the couch anymore...but I will always enjoy others on it... |
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The Next Place
By Warren Hanson The next place that I go will be as peaceful and familiar as a sleepy summer Sunday and a sweet untroubled mind. And yet... it won't be anything like any place I've ever been... or seen... or even dreamed of in the place I leave behind. I won't know where I'm going, and I won't know where I've been as I tumble through the always and look back toward the when. I'll glide beyond the rainbows. I'll drift above the sky. I'll fly into the wonder, without ever wondering why. I won't remember getting there, Somehow I'll just arrive. But I'll know I belong there and will feel much more alive than I have ever felt before. I will be absolutely free of the things that I held onto that were holding on to me. The next place that I go will be so quiet and so still that the whispered song of sweet belonging will rise up to fill the listening sky with joyful silence, and with unheard harmonies of music by no one playing, like a hush upon the breeze. There will be no room for darkness in that place of living light, Where and ever-dawning morning pushes back the dying night. The very air will fill with brillance, as the brightly shining sun And the moon and half a million stars are married into one. The next place that I go won't really be a place at all. There won't be any seasons- winter, summer, spring or fall- Nor a Monday, Nor a Friday, Nor December, Nor July. And the seconds will be standing still... while hours hurry by. I will not be a boy or girl, a woman or a man. I'll simply be just, simply, me. Nor worse nor better than. My skin will not be dark or light. I won't be fat or tall. The body I once lived in won't be part of me at all. I will finally be perfect. I will be without a flay. I will never make one more mistake, or break the smallest law. And the me that was impatient, or was angry or unkind, will simply be a memory. The me I left behind. I will travel empty-handed. There is not a single thing I have collected in my life that I would ever want to bring except... The love of those who loved me, and the warmth of those who cared. The happiness and memories and magic that we shared. Though I will know the joy of solitude... I'll never be alone. I'll be embraced by all the family and friends I've ever known. Although I might not see their faces, all our hearts will beat as one, And the circle of our spirits will shine brighter than the sun. I will cherish all the friendship I was fortunate to find, all the love and all the laughter in the place I leave behind. All the good things will go with me. They will make my spirit glow. And that light will shine forever in the next place that I go. |
I just wanted to say Hi! And let you know how much I enjoyed reading your posts.
Reading what you wrote about your father’s favourite foods made me want to tell you my little story. My mum loved salmon but, with five kids to feed, she couldn’t afford it very often, it has turned out to be one of my favourite foods and every time I have it I think of my mum and think this is for you mum, enjoy. I look forward to reading more of your posts. Take care of you. |
I so much enjoy reading what you write :hug: Thank you, moi, thank you.
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Thank You Moi!!! :hug:
It made me think of my dad and his final days... I remember him in the hosptial. They had removed all of the life support stuff but he still had his trach tube in. He wanted some icecream... He LOVED icecream. after an argument with the nurse they finally brought him some icecream and mom fed it to him... it was so touching... he savored each bite. His smile was bigger then i'd seen it in a very long time... That was the last thing he ate. He died a couple days later, but he died a happy man... Thank you for reminding me of that special moment with my dad Moi.... :hug: |
hi rose, it is very nice to meet you as well!
Thanks you for sharing that salmon story. My dad loved salmon as well, but he liked it raw... thank you, wren. I am not a very good writer nor do I convey things well, especially at 3am. But I am always trying to be as honest as I can...and glad that I can bring you a little joy... vicks, thanks for sharing about your dad...that brought a lump to my throat... my dad's 5th anniversary is coming up...I hope nobody will mind if I kinda write about him from time to time in this thread... ((((to all)))) thanks so much for giving me a place to let it out sometimes... |
WHo Moi, please keep writing about your dad. It brings memories of all of our dads to our minds. Besides whats a few tears among friends...Sue
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Mr Moi... I have to say... that you convey things very well!!! You seem to know just what to say... just when I have need to hear. Many a times when I'm believing there is no reason to...well... you know... you post something or send a note... and all of a sudden I find a little more strength to continue on further.... :hug: Abbie |
yikes...I am blushing here...
thank you, abbie...:hug: and thanks snoozie for wanting to read about my venting and ranting... I am not sure if it is cause it's the 5th anniversary coming up, or because I am at a different place in my life again... I find myself more drawn to wanting to talk with my dad lately...the urge has been very strong that I have been talking to his picture....I know I sound crazy.... anyways...I only wished there were more happier memories...but I am not going to dwell on it...I can only move on and live life for him, for me.... thanks once again... :grouphug: |
When I was five, my dad decided that he wanted to create a better life for his family.
So he left when I was between ages 5-10, I'd only seen him no more than a handful of times during those years... Mom had pretty much given me the lecture on how being the oldest meant taking up responsibilities and chores around the house. I was to SET a good example for my brother and I was to be a good son and help her with whatever she needed. I understood that. Mom was very busy and she was always working and helping others out. But I really really DID NOT like doing chores...I wanted to go outside and play all the time... but mom was ambitious for me. I was enrolled in speech classes, piano lessons, school after school...life was too busy for me to even think about anything else back then...(yes, at age 6, perhaps I will explain this one day. It's NOT child abuse. LOL)( I do appreciate all of these now, though...it's helped me shaped parts of who I am) One day, when I was about 6, there was a knocking on the door. Mom told me to go answer it and without thinking, I just opened it without asking who it was. IT WAS HIM!!! he looked very handsome and thin and he had a big grin on his face. He picked me up and swung me around. WHEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE I thought he was very happy to see me also! Til that moment, all we'd gotten were letters and an occassional phone call from him. Long distance phone calls were so expensive back then. But there he was, in flesh and blood! WOOO HOOO!! My heart brimmed with such joy and delight that I thought it was going to skip right out of my big mouth!! It was close to my birthday, and he brought back some toys for my brother and me. WOW! Our favorite robot toys that mom wouldn't buy for us(her excuse was that we were spoiled, there were children starving in Japan...or something like that...) So off my brother and I went to play with the robots, forgetting about dad for the moment...heehee... after the excitement and playing with the robots and catching up with dad, we both ended up sleeping on the couch where we'd just destroyed Tokyo with our robots. I remembered him carrying me to my bed and I remembered asking him while I was droopy-eyed that if he was going to leave and that if he was, I wasn't going to go to bed. He didn't say anything and just put me on the bed and I fell asleep anyway... I woke up later to an incredible aroma..it was one of my favorite smells...stir fried garlic... I jumped from out of the bed with my stomach growling and my mouth salivating. I could already savor the taste in my mouth... I woke my brother up and we both ran into the living room. We could hear dad in the kitchen, he was cooking! All right! We danced around the living room like rockers. He was going to "whip up something" for us, he yelled from the kitchen... My eyes blazed and bulged with excitement while my lips curved upwards into a big toothy smile while I snuck into the kitchen to see what he was doing. He had already stir fried the garlic and was now adding some ground pork to the skillet. Pork was a common food for us back then cause it was cheap. Beef was rare because it was very expensive. But no matter, dad was going to make the pork taste as good as beef which I constantly craved! As he sauteed the ground pork into the garlic, we can smell the strong crispening up of the hog. It was going to be crispy in some areas and tender and juicy in other areas, oh my, it was going to be PERFECT! Next, he took both out to let the juice drain. Started the pan again and stirred in some onions using the left over hog juice... The onions were "happy", he said (sheesh, he was way ahead of Emeril...) the pungentness of the onion were soon replaced by the sweetness as it caramelized and he soon added some chopped up eggplants. One of his favorite foods... As the eggplants melted into the pan joining the now softened caramelized onion, he started to tell me about what "eating" IS... Not only essential as part of human life, but an enjoyment as well... To Eat, Is To Live (can you that in PIG LATIN, dad??) Otay, atEay, Siay Otay iveLay.... everything can be solved by good food, he said...to a man's heart. And men ruled the world. So marry a woman that CAN cook! sure, he was sexist,but oh well. HA! he added some salt, some pepper, and some anise seeds...the smells are getting better...especially when the pepper and anise's fragrance escaped the pan and right into my nostrils. he added some sauce(which I had no idea what it was then) but it brought out the aroma even more... and he blended them together carefully with the spatula... never bruise the food, you have to treat them with respect...he would say if you just go in and stir them, you won't have good eggplants...he would say again To me, it didn't matter, it looked "runny" anyways, like big pieces of boogers...but I knew that they'd be delicious.... So please hurry dad, my stomach is making loud noises!! As the eggplants neared its doneness...he married the pork and garlic to it and as he covered the pan and turned down the heat, he grinned: you don't want to burn them to death... hey, I thought the hog was already dead???? I shrugged you want to slowly marry them. A good strong marriage takes time to develope... I could hear my mom in the back ground picking on him about working on his own marriage... they always argued...I wished they didn't, I knew he wasn't going to be home long...and I wished they would just get along... but the eggplants and the pork were done. He topped it all with some basil and then stirred it in. The herbs go in last so you can truly taste the full flavor. I was too young to appreciate it back then, I wished that he hadn't added basil. I liked it just fine without it. the hog, the eggplants, the onions, the garlic, and the basil created a beautiful contrast as they were served over a bed of steamed rice. It was like a Picasso...or maybe a Pick A Saw...either way, it was a nice canvas... My brother and I chowed down...Mmmmmmmmmmm... I wasn't going to throw this under the couch, I thought, I love this! I usually throw away onions cause my mom would make us eat it, she always cooked hers too raw... dad cooked it just right...but I can't say that out loud...mom would not like that I liked dad's cooking better... (mom is a good and wonderful person, but she gets very competitive with dad and dad WAS competitive also...it was like mixing oil and fire. They just weren't compatible...I guess that's what usually happens with arranged marriages...makes all deranged) we asked for seconds...both mom and dad smiled... laughter ensued as it filled throughout the night.... these days...I can't walk by a basil plant without smelling it...and da wife and I have planted some almost every year since we've been together... |
Love reading your memories, Moi. So vivid, it feels like I was there too. Thanks. :)
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no, thank you...sincerely
I feel like I want to share about him, the GOOD parts, and the GOOD times... and I am so sincerely flattered that you find it enjoyable... thanks so much... :hug: |
I could listen to you all day .......
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I said that wrong and I am lousy at editing ....... :hug:
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thank you so much also, wren, and snoozie, and abbie, and roseblue, and goofy...and so many others...
I am just so flattered still... I usually just cut up and try to be, goofy(sorry, goofy. LOL) but once in awhile, I guess I need to release things... I want to explain why I think I am such a lousy writer, I am not being modest about that... only a few of you here know that English, is my second language... I started learning English at about 10 years old. I grew up in another country where it was very competitive for all children, the drill for education was hard and arduous We went to school 6 times a week, Mon-Sat. We had school after school (to be competitive) Our high schools were consider colleges where we actually have to be tested in. And because my mom was a teacher, the non-top notch high schools were unacceptable... we start getting prepped at a very young age. So you can imagine when we came to the states and found out that we didn't have to go to school on Saturdays and that we got out of school at 2:30pm... it was like...heaven...LOL anyways, So, I went from someone who was reading at college level in another language, at age 10....to someone who could barely understood when reading mother goose, in the states... I remember turning in my first complete English essay after being in the ESL classes for a couple of years after we came to the states. I spent almost 2 weeks on it, I used a bi-lingual dictionary and looked up almost every word and it probably took me 30 times as long to write a 4 page essay...I knew my grammar was not up to par (still isn't) and that I was really intimidated...but the one thing that I felt really good about was that I wrote it with my heart. I wrote about my grandmother... I remembered the comment that my teacher made infront of the class... she took my paper and read it infront of the class and told everyone that "THIS, is an example of BAD English...I hope you all would NOT write like this and I hope Mr. Moi will not be pursuing a career in writing..." I was about 13 years old and was severely teased for other things already so I became so embarassed, that I took to heart what she said and it became my obstacle for so many other things as well...I guess one could say that I was "crushed"... I would write later but mostly just for technical stuff like getting my grammar correct vs. trying to let it flow...so my writings became very stiff...but I no longer cared...it was just all school projects now... it wasn't until I was in 10th grade that I had a wonderful English teacher that encouraged me to write. I will always adore her deeply...but even then, I didn't listen to her cause I was so very afraid... anyways, I don't want to bore anyone with my fear but thought that might explain a few things... but these days, I write for myself...it is a release for me...I don't like talking on the phone and I only talk a lot when I am really tired...LOL but when I write, I feel....alive.... anyways, I will keep on writing, for myself, but I have to thank all of you that have been reading my writings and have been encouraging me. It means the world to me...I really really really sincerely appreciate it... thank you so very much, from the bottom of my heart... I must say that da wife has been encouraging me for years...and I have her to thank for even starting to write again... :grouphug: |
I wrote this for my father's first anniversary. Tomorrow is father's day...I'd like to post it in honor of him...
to you, dad... ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ "Gardening: I am, the fruit of my father..." When I was growing up, well into my adulthood. I could never understood WHY people loved gardening. I mean, I enjoyed the beauty of the flowers and the bushes and plants and I enjoyed eating the fruits of people’s labors. But I just couldn't see myself getting down knee deep into the dirt (hey, that’d ruin my jeans!); nor made myself digging with my hands into the dirt (the thoughts of worms crawling beneath the dirt would make me shiver. And hey! I’d get dirt under my nails!! Yuck!); nor pictured myself wearing those silly sun hats or holding a tiny shovel that looked like something that belonged to Alice in Wonderland, where it should be the "Queen." Images of Rosa, a neighbor that lived two doors down from me when I was in college, clad in her flowery sunhat, kneeling on her one bad knee (actually, I think both knees were bad), while holding up her tiny spade that I called a spatula (she’d always correct me," that’s a mini-spade, not a spatula!") in one hand and waving while the other hand clinging to a sunflower, or a bush-twig, or some sorta plant along with her dirt covered face as I drove by her house, always made me smiled, AT her. I’d always nod at her and yell out my window, “hi Ms. Rosa! What are you planting today?” She’d often smile and yell back at me for me to come and help her get up because of her bad knees. That image never left my mind beyond my college years. I’d often thought, what a sweet but DUMB lady? She had bad knees and fair skin, what the heck was she doing in dirt and out under the hot sun? What kind of life was that?? Me, I'd rather sit inside insulated by the cool air conditioner with a tall glass of iced tea. Now that, is life! I could remember neighbors or friends that gardened would always bring us the product of their labors: veggies, fruits, flowers. And I was always amazed at how fresh the veggies and fruits were, or how much prettier the flowers were compared to the ones you’d find at the florists. But I sure was glad that there were someone out there that were willing to get down and dirty! "Better them than me!" I'd often thought to myself, " I’ll just sit here and enjoy THEIR fruits of labor." My father passed away on July 5th, 2003. He died a miserable and lonely man. Congested heart failure and diabetes robbed him of his health and made him weak and emaciated. In the last 18 months of his life, I saw an otherwise healthy man, losing over 80 lbs almost overnight, sleeping only an hour or two a day, falling into a major depression that he didn’t even realized he had, turned into someone that looked like a total stranger to me. This was NOT the man that I knew?! The muscular, strong, often times smart-alec, and sometimes mean father? No, not this frail, pathetic looking man?? It was like watching a flower withering away right in front of me… My father shared the same philosophy toward gardening as I did. He hated dirt. Now, He loved to dig dirt for worms to fish with cause he looooved to fish. But digging into dirt to plant something?? Forget about it… But before he became so debilitated, he, GARDENED… About three years before he passed away, I saw my father and my mother planted a tiny vegetable/fruit garden in their backyard. He’d just gotten news of his congested heart failure and was forced to quit his job. This was a man that had ADHD and couldn't sit still for one second to save his life. So, my mother suggested to him that they’d garden to keep his times occupied. Besides, the benefits of eating his products appealed to him. So, there they were, planting and sweating and I would just watch and smile and shake my head. I was working nights plus extra jobs; I could barely keep my head above water. So, "don't even bother asking me to help," I'd thought. The man that was my father, changed in front of my eyes…he’d go outside religiously and watered daily, pulling weeds while getting down and dirty. And whenever I’d see him bring in the “children.” He’d have such satisfaction over his face that I’d rarely seen as if he had won the lottery... The youngest of 10 children, his father had him at a late age and seemed to have abandoned him emotionally. He was raised by mean dogmatic brothers, and canonistic sisters. He seemed to have searched his whole life for a sense of belonging but never seemed to have found. He was always the life of a party. Always the first one to start a game, or sing, or clown around. He wasn’t shy to take the microphone during a tour bus ride when the tour guide asked for a volunteer to sing other tourists on to ease the long hours on the bus. He was always the show-off and was considered the comedian of the group. Some said that I have gotten my sense of humor from him. I didn’t realize that until after the end of his life. Yet, he died lonely and without friends…none of his “friends” showed at his funeral. No co-workers, no one… only his family (one brother and one sister and some nephews and nieces showed) and immediate family and the friends of ours(that didn't even knew him) showed. The man, whom tried become popular, or in a better sense, loved, died an irony of what he thrived for… But I saw the joy on his face whenever he’d take in his “edible kids". Especially the eggplants, he just loved them. He’d sauteé them ever so gently and sniffed and whiffed the aroma while his eyes closed as if he was in heaven. When I’d watch him sit and eat them on occasion. He was like the proudest father of all and the savoring of the flavors would flow all over his face. And I’d grin to myself and go back to bed. Unfortunately, he got sicker and sicker with dementia and he became dangerous in the kitchen. We wouldn’t let him get near it for we’ve had too many close calls with fire. The utmost fear was that he might’ve burn himself to death if none of us were around, although we tried to make sure that someone was always at the house watching over him. His depression took over and he became thinner and thinner, emaciated to the point of a stick. This was a man, whom, at one time I thought could take on Ali; now, wizening and dying, right in front of my very eyes… and as he deteriorated, the garden he so loved, shared the same fate... A few weeks before he passed away, we became closer like we’d NEVER been before. I’d cook for him (he actually looked forwarded to my cooking). I’d spent almost all my free waking hours talking to him, trying to make him exercise, trying to boost up his spirit. I even got down into dirt…I planted a tiny rosemary bush outside the steps where he could see when he’d do his breathing exercises when he was outside. In my heart, I had hoped that he would be able to see the rosemary grow up big, green and strong. I wanted him to have a sense of hope, to see some sort of “life” thriving in front of him. I wanted him to smell the aroma in front of him. To awaken that brain that had long been hibernating and given up. The rosemary bush was actually given to me a year earlier by a dear friend, Tam, that passed away 6 months before my dad’s death. She loved rosemary. And when she visited me, we talked about plants and how I love to eat them but hate to plant them. So, she got me a pot of mixed herbs, with rosemary being the center piece. The herbs came all pretty and adorned and I didn’t have to get dirty. All I needed was to water it daily. But when Tam passed away, I gave up on the plants. And they all faded away. Interestingly enough, few weeks before my dad died, I saw the rosemary peeking its tiny green arm out…and I thought to myself, “it is a sign…” So I replanted the rosemary in hopes of a good sign. But all signs turned into a dead end. The rosemary withered, my father wizened. And now both are underneath dirt… dirt that I have been avoiding, afraid of getting into most of my life…that’s where my dad now resides… I was so angry the first few weeks…I was full of confusion, resentments, but most of all, questions… “WHY???” I'd ask... “I DON’T KNOW…” I'd answer... “I Don’t know??” That was my answer?? I can’t accept that as my answer…I HAVE TO HAVE SOMETHING!! Look where he is, in dirt!! IN DIRT!!!!!! MY FATHER!! Whom was alive, and now, he is beneath dirt!!! And the only answer that I have is: "I DON'T KNOW???" Oh, CURSE YOU!! Ole Creator, curse you…and believe me...I cursed... I wanted to go with into the dirt with him…my heart was beneath the dirt already…it had always been, battling my own depression and suicidal thoughts, it was buried long ago…perhaps that was why I was afraid of dirt, afraid that I would not have been able to resist of wanting to be one with dirt... But now, I physically wanted to rip my heart out and shove it in there with him…to show him… Show him what…that I have a heart?? That I wished I could’ve tried harder? That I wished we could’ve had more time?? That we could’ve….this and that and whatever??? TOO LATE!! Wait… "DIRT…" The flowers we’d bring to him, always seemed to attract insects…butterflies and crickets and bees… One time, I sat in front of his marker and was blinded by tears…then, I asked the WHY’s and was left with the I dunno’s… but then, when I wiped my eyes, I saw… “LIFE…” Wait, how could there be life at a cemetery?? It was full of dead people!! DEAD DEAD DEAD, everywhere I glanced were DEATH!! Death and DIRT, that was all I saw!! But wait, I was WRONG!! There IS life!! A beautiful forest rested on the backdrop of his gravesite. A beautiful garden sat in the center of the cemetery. And birds were singing in the distance, insects were chirping. Flowers were blooming. I rubbed my eyes…I smiled… "LIFE…" (cont. below) |
(cont. from above)
A few months after he passed away, a dear friend of mine(who is now known as, da wife) talked to me about how her mother and the her neighbor shared the duty of a garden every year…and I felt myself interested, wanting to learn more…I had planted a couple of things since that discovery of dirt/life. But I have always managed to kill whatever I planted… This dear friend(da wife) lived close enough and her schedule seemed to match mine. So, we talked of a garden behind my house. Then one sunny day, we digged and dugged and dugged some more…we haul, hauled, and hauled some more…until we have a tiny veggie garden in the backyard. It was simple enough, with just 6 tomato plants, a row of soybeans, 6 eggplant plants (hard to say eggplant plants, good thing we didn't plant Piter's Pickles), and a little cilantro and spearmint bush. After we were done that day, we watered it and when the sun’s rays gleamed down and reflect the beads of water and made our plants shined…we hugged, shouted, and yelled in ecstasy. The plants green leaves bursting with energy, every stalk raising its head to the heavens above. And there I was, knee deep into dirt…hands deep into dirt. The worms that crawled through my hands were no longer gross…they showed signs of life. The green of the plants and its sweet aromas enlivened me inside. My heart was at another dirt house, where my father resides now, telling him what beautiful "life" my friend and I have planted. It was showing me answers… Every week, I found myself expanding the garden. And bless my friend’s heart, she never complained and only helped. I even started to plant the front of the house with flowers and bushes. She jokingly said that I was going to turn the whole backyard into a garden. If she only knew… The satisfaction didn’t just end on planting. Every day, I found myself out there; sweating, pulling weeds, and feeding them accordingly. I was often sad when I’d accidentally kill one or step on one…but thank goodness for my friend’s patience. She'd just say to me, “others will flourish…” I don’t have children, but I act like an over protective father, always watering and looking outside whenever I’d get a chance. And if I see any squirrels or rabbits or moles, I would be terrified with paranoia…that they were gonna eat my kids!!! But my friend taught me to relax, to understand that is nature…I could say that my biggest fear was that I was afraid the eggplants would elope with the tomatoes without my eating them first.... And as the garden bloomed, all signs of life came about. Beautiful dragonflies I had never seen before hung around the house. All sorts of insects, good and bad came and hung around the stalks and leaves. Spiders, frogs, even toads paid visits and I’d find them throughout the yard. I found myself finding beauty in all life… The motley colors of different spiders that I was oblivious to before because all I wanted to do was swat them and get them out of my face, are now the catchers of the annoying mosquitoes. The toad that had gotten a bad rap in the fairy tales, is now a prince in catching my pests. The bees and the different dragonflies, darting from bulb to bulb as if dancing an air ballet. The butterflies adorn the flowers with their magnificent beauty. As their wings flutter up and down and about the garden. My smile flutters with it. Gardening has taught me about life. Whenever I killed something, it taught me that there are others that will come to life. Whenever something was harvested, it taught me the sweetness and the satisfaction that came and after labor. It taught me that dirt not only took in the dead, it also sprouted life. Most of all, it taught me that life is a cycle. A cycle of balance. Watering is a balance, too much or too little can kill plants easily. Same thing with feeding them too much or too little. Life amongst the insects world also taught me about life. It showed me that wherever life flourishes, it attracts another life. A flower of an eggplant is a flower of an eggplant. It isn’t like the roses I have planted out front, but I have seen bees hung around both. There was no need for the eggplant flower to be funny or pretty to attract the bee. And the eggplant flower is just as beautiful to me as the rose. A spider isn’t picky about where it is either, it has webs wherever the wind takes her. And it isn’t picky about her dinner. It is whatever may fly into her net. It's shown me that I only have to be myself; that I’ll attract those that will come. I think my dad may have learned that toward the end. And in looking back, none of those friends he’s made in his life were worth anything… There are so much to say about gardening…I am just glad to say that I am lucky to have found it earlier than I have expected, not old and decrepited. So, to my father, who is lying in “dirt,” I know you are NOT alone…and I AM, the fruit of your labor. And I hope to prosper, bloom, and make you proud one day... I love you, papa... |
by the time I got to college, my relationship with my father had became so bilious that "shooting daggers out of our eyes" wouldn't even begin to describe the tension one would felt whenever both of us would be in the same room.
I have always been insomnic and it got even worse in college. I would go to school, work, play cards all night or go out with my friends to various parties or clubs (I didn't drink but I always drove) so sleep was almost a never thing with me. I would take naps here and there, but that would be it. I usually would have a make up day once a week and would just crash all day. it began to take a big toll on me and I turned to Nyquil and benedryl to help me sleep. One night, before the big mid term, I became totally restless, my mind was filled with equations and pig latin and I couldn't tell a blue berry pie from PI. I started taking nyquil around midnight hoping it would knock me out. two hours later, I took another dose, two hours after that, I took another. Then, in desparation in hopes to get just a couple of hours of sleep, I took some again an hour later after the latest dose. Few minutes later, my tics got intensified, I couldn't "feel" my neck. I felt as if someone had cut it off...I twitched and I twitched and I couldn't stop. My heartbeat fastened and I thought I was going to die. My roommate had gone to his girlfriend's house the night before so nobody was there. I had moved to a more secluded area where neighbors were more scarce. I crawled out of the house and crawled to my nearest neighbor's house I knocked on their door then I knocked over their trash cans (thank god it was trash pickup day) I yelled and screamed and they called the cops. I was sedated somehow and woke up in the hospital... the first person I saw when I woke up was my mom. She was full of tears... At that point, I had been dx with TS for many years but both of my parents were still in denial of it. They just didn't want to accept that I have TS. I guess their proudness and their guilt made them not wanting to believe that their first born is "messed up." My mom is a strong woman, strong headed, strong willed and very proud. she is also a kind woman but she shows that by actions than words. I guess I was the subject of their arguments from time to time and when I was old enough, I would get into those arguments myself. It just got so very bitter between all of us. I saw my mom's face and I can see guilt written all over it. I felt really bad for her. So I smiled and reached out my hand out to her in hopes that she would not feel guilty or feel anything, really... she let me held it for a few minutes and walked out of the room...she is not really vocally affectionate in anyway but I was used to it. Then, my dad walked in... he was in his usual get up. Oversized hat, bleached out polo shirt, and oversized jeans. At that moment, I realized how much he'd aged and how much weight he'd gained over the years. He was an athlete in his younger days... But he looked "old" at that moment... he didn't say anything...he just sat next to me with his eyes staring at the floor...his fingers crossed over and his hands laid on his lap. I didn't understood my feelings at the time. It was a bit of resentment, it was a bit of bitterness, it was a bit of joy, it was a bit of sourness. But most of all, it was very much gratefulness... I didn't expect to see him there to see me. I had just had a huge argument with him during my last visit home. We exchanged some very nasty remarks and almost got into a fist fight. I knew he was abhorred with me and vice versa. Seeing him there at the hospital sitting next to me brought some life back into me. I really wanted to reach my hand out to him...I knew he'd felt bad, about the last fight, about the fights before...about giving me "the weird disorder". Heckit, he probably blamed himself somehow for me being in the hospital right now... The son that he should be proud of...teased by others infront of him, called names infront of him. He didn't fight them, he asked me to not twitch, not bark like a dog, not blink my eyes. He was embarassed of me. But most of all, I think he was embarassed of himself. That he GAVE me "that"... I wanted to reach my hand out to him and say to him, "it's not your fault...I am so thankful that you are here..." If he would've looked at me, I probably would've... but he never did...so I never reached.... silence lingered for awhile... ......... ......... ......... "you thirsty?" he asked, finally breaking the silence... wow...it sounded kind of loud as it echoed through the room. "yeah..." I replied in a low volume that even I had trouble making out what I was saying. "I saw some nice oranges at the stands on our way into town. Let me go get you some." I thought to myself at the time, what are you talking about? Oranges? There's water,juice machine, soda machine right down the hall and all over the hospital. And you want to get me some oranges you saw at the stand on the way into town? There was a farmer's market into the town as they would've passed as they drove into town to see me. My dad loved farmer's markets. He was a fresh fruitphilia. It didn't don on me that it was a two hour trip that they took that day. They owned a mom and pop's store and their income would've been nil that day. On top of that, they will now be slapped with a huge hospital bill. it didn't don on me that those oranges were probably delicious and that he used to peeled oranges for me when I was a kid and we'd eat oranges in the kitchen and have juices dripped everywhere only to get into trouble with mom and that somehow, it was his way of showing that he loved me... NO... All I could think at that moment was how he loved fruit and I had thought that he just wanted to go get some fruit for himself for that he was being selfish...only thinking of himself... "oranges?? There's a soda machine down the hall, can I get a coke?" I said with a bit of disgust in my voice. "You really shouldn't drink soda, drink some water and I'll go get you those oranges. They looked juicy and sweet. And the vitamin C would do you some good." I glared at him with disbelief... "you know, just go get your damned oranges. You just want them for yourself...I just want some coke, OK? too cheap to get me some?? Get out of here..." I yelled at him... He looked at me for the first time, I could see the hurt in his face... Gosh, what had I done...I wanted to take it back...but...I was too proud... He stood up...and left the room as my mom came back in... "what happened??" she inquired. "nothing..." we both said bitterly... she rolled her eyes at him and he left...I felt like a winner. She was on my side even though I was being unreasonable. I fell asleep again... I woke up to some very fragrant aromas. There was a bag of oranges sitting by the chair next to my bed. One was peeled open. It looked luscious and delicious. I swallowed hard... but then I realized that he DID go get them... Dammit, he went anyways...without respecting me and my wishes...but gosh, the orange was glowing. It looked ripe and juicy and it's sweetness just lingered throughout the room. Nevertheless, I gave in to my recalcitrant head. I took the orange and threw it against the wall... They both rushed into the room and saw the orange splattered on the floor... "what's going on?" "I WANT some COKE! I don't want the orange!" I cringed and gritted my teeth in disapprovement of the orange while I desired it with all my heart. but it's really sweet, mom pleaded with me to try it... I wasn't a spoiled child, I did my duties and got my share of the punishments. But at that very moment, I took advantage that I was in the hospital with a near death experience. I took advantaged of their guilt and I played my card...I was a gambler like my father before me. "well, I don't want it...take it back with you...." My mom shook her head and my dad looked away... I had thought they would've make a big scene and I was ready for it. I already thought of the words and sentences I would've said to them...come on...say something to me...let me tell you... but they didn't say anything... I pulled the cover over my head and pretended to go back to sleep and I heard them leaving the room... "fine, leave...you don't care about me..." my head told me as I swallowed the salty tears that were dripping down my face, my heart hardened and confused. I wanted to call out to them yet I wanted them to suffer... I woke up the next morning and they weren't around. The nurse told me that they stayed until 3am and left to go home after the nurse assured them that I was OK and would be released today... I resented them even more for not staying until I was released...but I knew that they were worried about money and now the big bill they'd get for this hospital episode... but at that moment, I was too smart...too smart for my own good...too proud for my own good...I could only thought about moi... I looked at the chair, the bag of oranges were still there...sitting there staring at me. As if mocking me at my stubborness...they teased me with their bright orange colors and the aroma of their freshness. I then realized that it took my dad about 20 minutes to the market to get those oranges. Then he drove back and he and mom peeled it for me... they didn't take ONE oragne with them...it was ALL for me... no, they didn't say it...that they loved me...they did it by bring it to me...all in that bag... my soul NOW tormented...gosh, why did I had to be sooo smart??? Why was I such an ***?? I wished they would've come back at that moment...to let me tell them how much I appreciated them. Regret, remorse, guilt all conjured up inside...I hated myself then and there... "What would you like for breakfast this morning? Would you like something to drink??" The nurse asked. "Yes, orange juice, please..." as tears rolled down from my eyes |
take a little walk...
into my heart... arteries and ventricles and capillaries and what not... follow the blood, follow the clot, follow it all and you'll end up in a place that is full in a place that is empty in a place that is both yet it contradicts with so many but walk a little closer and you'll see that it's full of this thing eternal that will never cease... some die over it some fight over it some even try to capture it but none can contain it it's bigger than earth it's bigger than the sun it's bigger than the universe! in this little place that's heart shaped... it is this thing called... LOVE... (not a poet but oh well...they say to go with the FLOW... note to self, do NOT attempt to write poetry at 2am.... heckit, do NOT attempt to make any sense at 2am...) |
Hey, Moi? Why don't you go and tell your mom what you just told us,...if you haven't already. Maybe it will cleanse your thought processes.
I bet there are many of us here that have had an event like that...one that we desperately regretted later. I still hold some of those regrets in my heart from that last year, an entire year, when my sister was slowly dying before my eyes. I did and didn't do and say things I felt so guilty about for years after she left. I still work hard at understanding WHY I did or didn't do or say or didn't say something at that time. You had your reasons for doing what you did and I understand where you're coming from. You had your reasons (((Moi))). And I'll bet anything both of your parents also held many regrets that weren't discussed. It's okay dear Moi. Really, it's okay. Now work on understanding why you did what you did at that time. You had been (and have been) through a lot because of your illness. It's okay to start letting it go. We have to in order to love the rest of the life we have left here on this earth. Love you. |
((moi)) :hug:
Thank you for sharing your beautiful heart with us. |
hi doody,
you know, I am OK. It was nice to get these off of my chest. I guess with his(Dad's) anniversary coming up and for some reason, I have been really down as of late, all these emotions are just whirlpooling outta no where. I have talked with my mom about these things before but it always ended up kinda...well, not good...LOL But I think I will keep on trying with her. She's mellowed out a lot thanks to da wife and I have her and you wonderful folks here to thank for for letting me vent. I don't want anyone to think badly about my mom. She is old school and from another era. But she has a heart of gold... she and my dad just were NOT meant to be...I accept that now... love you much and miss you, doody. I saw those Sand Dollar chocolate the other day with Dale. If it weren't summer, I'd get you a box. I still remember driving to the airport with you. You may not have realized it, but it helped me as well... ((((BIG HUGS)))) love you also hey KM, thank you...not sure if my heart is beautiful. I have been on this life long quest asking about my "heart" and I just want to do the "right" thing, no matter how "wrong" they are. LOLOL but thank you nevertheless because I know you are sincere in what you said. And that means a lot to me. I think I might be on the right track cause I am the happiest I've ever been even though I am at a low point in my life right now...weird, isn't it? you have a beautiful heart yourself. (((((BIG HUGS))))) and thanks to all those that listened... (((((group hugs))))) |
all I can do right now is listen so extra thanks and extra hugs for talking
|
I think that most of us can think of times when we were not the greatest with our parents. I know I could rattle of a few without much thought.
The way I see it is all these experiences we have cause us to grow. When one of my kids say or do something to hurt my feelings I try to remember they are just kids and kids are selfish at times. Especially teenagers. So when they do I try to think back to my transgressions and realize that they too will hopefully learn from this and think before they speak the next time. You know Moi, the very fact that you are able to share here and help others shows how very much you do care about people. You bring up memories for us, both good and bad and that is ok. We learn from our past and it helps guide our future. I am glad to hear that you are happy. ...Sue |
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((((BIG HUGS)))) Quote:
my brain is one that is stupidly confused. As soon as I post something, I regret it, but if I don't post it, I feel like I am going to explode. It beats hurting myself like I used to do. It beats the suicidal thoughts that I couldn't shake... I am so sincerely thankful to be able to shake these thoughts out. All the replies and genuine friendships are all icing on the cake... thank you for sharing... ((((BIG HUGS)))) |
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