23 October 2014

The Places Where You Were

Hiya Dad,

            Well, four months have passed.  Dad, I guess we've come a long way ~ I'm out and about a lot more, Johnny's doing well in Germany, Aly's perking along like the trouper she's always been, Mom's move is done, other things are slowly getting back to normal, I guess.  Honestly, what the Hell does that phrase even mean?  What is "getting back to normal"?  Is normal this "Robot Alys" who doesn't sleep (yep, still) and tries so hard to "keep on the sunny side" for Mom?  I told her yesterday that I know we have to get to the point where we don't see each other every day, because we need to get back to "normal," right?  She's moved, she's happier there, but I don't know if she's really okay through every long damn day.  It isn't easy to get back to normal ~ and I'm not sure what normal is anymore.

            Is normal feeling like plastic when I'm in public, like my face and my words are some plastic doll's face and words?  If that's normal, then I'm there.  Is normal feeling like a shell of myself when I'm alone, like there is a great emptiness within that all the sunshine and beauty in the world cannot even begin to fill?  If that's normal, then I'm good.  Is normal feeling like my heart's caved in when I see the emptiness of all the places where you were ~ the chairs you sat in, the rooms you walked through, the roads you ran on, the projects we worked on side by side ~ all those places are there in my mind's eye, but you are missing from them and I feel your loss sharply.  Is the sharpness of loss normal?  If it is, then I'm whole. 

Love,

Alys

16 October 2014 
Happy Birthday, Dad

Hiya Dad, 

     Today's your birthday; you would have been 81 today. It's the crack of dawn, of course ~ I'm still not sleeping much. Any other year, I'd be looking forward to seeing you on your birthday. I would've gone to your house to have lunch with you and Mom, and I probly would've taken you some treats, like tootsie rolls and pistachios and maybe some peanuts in the shell. Perhaps I would've painted you something. I'd have hugged you in your chair and said, "Happy Birthday, Dad! I love you!" and kissed you on the head.  We'd have had lunch, with Mom flitting about, never quite sitting down to eat with us.  We'd have talked about my art projects, about what Aly's up to and where she's looking into PhD programs and how Johnny's adjusting to life in Germany.  You'd have been happy to hear how they're both doing, and you'd have nodded your head at me as I rattled on about them.  I wish I could tell you all their goings-on, about the PhD programs that Aly's interested in and how her classes are going now and what projects she is working on and I know you'd love the fact that she's running a comic book club for little kids, and about how happy Johnny is and that he's adjusting well and that he loves his classes and I know you'd love the fact that he's growing and learning so much on his own ~ you'd be so proud of them both, Dad.  It is hard for me to not be sad, because I am selfish and I miss you, and I know that this year, this birthday, I won't see you or hug you, or tell you about Aly and Johnny. 

      I'm going to spend the day with Mom, of course. We're both determined to celebrate your life and not mourn your death.  We'll go to lunch and then go back to her house to have cheesecake in your honor.  Oh, speaking of her house, you'll be glad to know that yesterday her Georgia-red counter tops got installed.  She cried from happiness, remembering the ones in Georgia and being so happy to have the back with her here, in Indiana, in the house she loves.  Remembering is a double-edged sword.  For her, everywhere she looks, everything she sees, is part of remembering you, from Oregon to San Diego, in Georgia, in the house here, everywhere. Mom grieves for you, but her memories also comfort her. This day will be hard for Mom, but I will try, Dad, I will try to keep my own emotions in check and help her to be as happy as she can be today.   I don't want to be sad on your birthday. My day has just begun, with tears and this letter; I promise to put up a good front for Mom today. 

      Dad, I wish I could tell you about my altar.  A few days ago, I found out Nickel Plate is having a Dia de Los Muertos celebration all day on November 1st.  They are including homemade altars in the exhibit; I am making an altar for their event.  The altar is really for you, Dad.   I know you did not want a funeral service or an obituary, but I know you would love a Dia de Los Muertos altar.  You and I both love Calaveras and Day of the Dead stuff; our "Mr. Bones" collections.  I'm using a lot of your things on the altar, and I'm using the top of your rainbow "sushi table"; Mom gave it to me about a week ~ really, she insisted I take it, saying that I "had to have it" even though I was not sure what to do with it.  You know the last thing I need in my house is another "coffee table" but at the time, that's all I could think to do with the piece: make a coffee table by attaching legs. 

      Anyway, Mom insisted I take it.  Who knew that a week later, I'd be making a Dia de Los Muertos altar and that your rainbow slab would be the perfect altar top??  I guess YOU knew, so that's why Mom gave it to me.  I've made legs for it; I'll attach them tomorrow and then start arranging the items I've chosen.  The back of the altar will be that board, the movie poster piece from my bed, that you used in the linen closet of Tower Court some 30-odd years ago ~ celebrating your love of movies and my love of movies and the whole Tower Court story.  I'm so happy to make this altar for you, Dad.  I'm calling it "Somewhere Over The Rainbow."  I'll put things on it that you loved, the Joker and Frankenstein, and your Cornel mug, and the mug with Aly's and Johnny's picture on it, and some of your old paintbrushes, and some Navy things, and your purple gloves.  Remember that clock I gave you when you retired, with the Latin inscription?  Mom gave that clock back to me last week; I'll use it on the altar because I believe now, finally, "tranquility is yours".  I stopped the time on the clock at 3:45, Dad. 

      I'm using your little skullcap hat and your black round-rimmed glasses that you loved so much; I fixed the broken part of their frames, Dad.  I painted the skull you gave me, the one that has forever been on my hearth; I put blue "gems" in the eye sockets because I know you would not want them just black and empty.  I used a lot of your favorite color orange, in the Calavera skull design, Dad, and your hat and glasses will be on that skull.  I chose photos of you that I know you like.  I'll put your big bottle of Bootles gin on it, and some pistachios and peanuts in the shells and tootsie rolls ~ for your Dia de Los Muertos journey.  It is a labor of love, creating this altar, and I am so happy to do it for you, but I have to tell you, Dad, that I cried and cried when I came home from the store with my bags of treats to scatter on the altar.   I cried because, of course, those are the very things I would've taken to you today, for your birthday.  That fact just didn't really hit me until I got home.  It broke my heart to realize that I cannot ever again on your birthday give you some treats like pistachios and tootsie rolls and peanuts in the shells.  I love you, Dad.  Happy Birthday. 

Love, 
Alys

P.S. Here is a poem I wrote for you.

Distance and Death

There were those years of distance

that cast a shadow between us,

when long dark roads divided us,

and our town was not home

for me;

those years fall away

and now,

the unrelenting distance

of death

casts a deeper shadow

yet always

you are with me ~

in our beloved town,

I see you standing

just across the street,

on a sidewalk hazy

in the last of summer's heat;

I'm working on some project,

thinking, 'I just cannot do it',

then I feel your hand resting

gently on my shoulder,

I hear your encouraging whisper,

"You can do this, Alys";

as I fall asleep,

I hear you calling my name

as if we are still

just across from each other

in that old living room,

and I stay awake to listen;

with dawn's first cup of coffee,

I remember

the first coffee I ever drank

~ bitter, sweet, and creamy ~

was with you.

In the smallest of things,

I remember you.

08 October 2014

Under The Blood Moon

Eclipsed,

the moon loses itself

and fades into orange,

molested by the sun's overbearing light,

on the far side from me;

Everyone loves the Blood Moon.

But I just want the moon back,

I want to know it is there,

when I look up ~

shining glowing whitely

against the night sky

or hovering softly

with the morning's first breath,

I want to know it is there,

whether or not I look up ~

as familiar as your face in the window.

Everyone else loves the Blood Moon.

Hiya Dad,

             I found out yesterday that I am not crazy and ghosts are real.  Of course, I knew both those things already, but sometimes it is nice to get confirmation.  I know you never really believed me when I told you some of my "ghost" stories ~ when Dedo and Grandpa Al came to my hospital room when the kids were born, the breath of Emeraude that wafted past me the day that Grandmommy died, Baba's yellow rose, and all the dead and dying lying in the field at site of The Battle Of New Orleans.  I know you never believed in any hocus-pocus. You must be kinda mad to know now, right? 

            I've seen and felt ghosts of all kinds my whole life ~ some of them are familiar and known to me and some are strangers, unknown to me.  Maybe they know me somehow or they have some connection that I do not understand ~ perhaps to a geographical place or a physical thing.  I've seen you so many times, usually in the little laundry room window or standing very still at the side of a doorway ~ you said you never wanted to leave that house, and I guess you meant it.  Dad, I found out yesterday that Jim and Charlie have seen you, too, so I guess that's pretty good confirmation.  It's funny, I feel you so completely as a well and whole spirit at Tower Ct ~ like the you that exists now has dropped Ego and all of the pretense and all of the posturing and all of the need for superiority, like you are finally really completely whole and happy and above all those negative things that dragged you down all your life.  I feel you that way, so completely, at Mom's new old house ~ I feel you there, so absolutely and purely happy that it is HER house.  You were right there every step of the way, guiding my hand to turn that handle, helping the boys do everything, helping me put in all the flooring go into the crawl space and everything else; I felt your hand on my shoulder as I wrestled with your panty shelves and I was about to give up ~ you put your hand there and whispered, "you can do this, Alys." You are there.  I'm so glad you are a completely whole spirit there, Dad, that you are truly "resting in peace" and contentment and you have no more need for all that horrible baggage you toted around forever when you were alive.  I am so glad it is all gone from you and you can just be.  There, at Tower Ct, you are free.

            At Herriman, I guess the last part of who you were in your lifetime, the last bit of the old you, is hanging on and that's okay with me ~ if you want to stay there forever, that's okay.  Someday, I won't be sad when I catch a shadowed glimpse of you in the window or a doorway or at the top of the stairs.  Someday, it won't hurt this much.  Don't stop, Dad, because despite the grief, I'm glad you are there, too.  Please stick around as long as you want to, because I do actually see you there ~ there, you are still a little frail and a little sad, but you are there, with your know-it-all smile, because you are doing exactly what you wanted: never leaving that house.

I love you.

Love,

Alys

07 October 2014

The Move

Hiya Dad,

            Well, I'm happy to report that we got Mom moved this past Saturday, as planned.  It was a cold, windy, threatening-to-rain day, but we did it in about five loads, using my van and the trailers that Charlie left at Herriman Friday night.  The first two loads were trailers full of the big stuff (furniture) and my van full of as much as I could pile in it.  Phil and Cris did the first and third trailer loads alone; Charlie helped with only the second load of furniture (I had to text him to ask for his help ~ apparently "knowing" Saturday was "Baba's moving day" did not mean much to him, but he was moving more of their things into Herriman that very afternoon and completely moved in by Sunday).  No trailers after the third load ~ just my van for all the "smalls".  Because Cris and Phil were busy at Tower setting up beds, furniture placement, and stuff like that (Cris also set up the computer stuff), I loaded and unloaded my van all day; that was quite tedious by the third load because Mom didn't really have enough boxes.  She had a lot of things in those crazy little plastic buckets (they did work, but they are so SMALL!) ~ there must have been 100 of those buckets.  The last load was pantry and refrigerator food.  Cris and I got home around 11:00 that night; I broke the Department 56 snowbaby with the crescent moon ~ but, that was the only thing we broke.  Not bad, really.

            After Phil and Cris and I unloaded the first load, I zipped over to the Farmer's Market to get Bob's bouquet of flowers for Mom ~ I placed them on the dining room table at Tower Ct (we had left Mom at Herriman to continue her packing).  When she came to Tower Ct, and saw the flowers and read Bob's card, she cried.  Happy tears, mostly, at his thoughtfulness and well wishes.  I've had the money for the flowers and the card for about a month; he sent them to me as soon as he knew she would have back Tower Ct, and asked me to get her the flowers for her moving in day.  That is your friend Bob, Dad ~ he is a nice man.

            Gilda and Charlotte came in the afternoon: Gilda completely painted the trim and cabinet in the middle bathroom ~ she did a great job, all white and the cabinet has black detailing hand-painted freehand by her.  She even painted the handles and hinges.  It looks awesome.  Charlotte brought lots of rice krispie treats and watched DVDs while we moved; she was patient and good.  She is such a sweet little girl.

            Of course, Comcast screwed up the internet/telephone account transfer ~ I spent hours on the phone Saturday and Sunday and even Monday morning trying to get all that fixed ~ late Sunday was when I figured out that they had changed Mom's phone number.  Yes, the phone number she's had for 39 YEARS.  That was a crushing blow.  However, I was determined to try (Monday) to get her old number reinstated.  Calls to Comcast on Monday morning did not work; so I took Mom to the one Comcast "store" in Indianapolis and a woman named "Yokeshia" helped us ~ she redid the transfer and gave Mom BACK her original phone number, thank god.

            For the rest of the day, Mom felt very celebratory, and I took her to get the last few things Phil needs to finish up some repairs/renovations (he's coming up tomorrow), and to purchase a few things like door mats and shower caddies.  All good, all happy.  I was so very relieved she is moved, and she is so much happier at Tower Court.  Still, to be honest, I do not feel happy inside: relieved, yes.  Isolated moments feel happy, but Dad, I miss you and I miss Johnny; I still cannot separate the two of you.  Johnny is doing really well in Germany; he started his Library job this week, he has friends, and he is happy (a little homesick, sure, but he is adjusting so very well to being there).  I just miss you both, it is hard to NOT feel "loss" quite intensely.  I hope the intensity fades, but at this point, I'm still not sleeping and I am so very tired in a way that is hard to describe.

            I started two new paintings ~ that always helps me feel better; this one is so far called, "Untitled Landscape in Yellow and Purple" but it isn't finished yet.  

I'm using your canvases.  I miss you.

Love,

Alys

03 October 2014

These Days 

Hiya Dad,

        These days recently have been strange, busy, exhausting.  I'm keeping busy.  I'm moving forward.  I'm publicly more "myself" again.  I'm so sad, though, Dad, I'm just so sad inside all the time.  Nothing feels quite right.

        I'll try for some positive things here first.  The Rosanne Cash concert was amazing; at the end, she sang Tennessee Flat Top Box and The Long Black Veil.  I barely made it through The Long Black Veil, remembering all those long hard days when I was little and sick and I would wait, holding on, for that song to come around on my Johnny Cash albums, remembering traipsing around Grandmommy's house trailing that long black scarf pinned to my head.  Remembering remembering remembering.

       I did meet Rosanne Cash, Dad, and she was lovely.  She was kind, gracious, amazing.  Her tour manager introduced us and gave her some details about why we were backstage: the other people who met with her that night were two friends of hers and Jimmy Buffett's tour manager and his friends ~ we were definitely the "odd" group in the Green Room.  When her tour manager told her about me spending my birthday with you in the hospital and you passing three days later, she looked at me and said, "My mother died on my birthday, so I know exactly how you feel."  Then, she said we should not talk anymore about sad things, and her tour manager took our photo: she put her arm around me and so I put my arm around her, and I felt our hipbones touch.  

        Dad, she remembered my "Forty Shades of Green" necklaces; she opened up my "Guitar String" pendant and put it on immediately (I did not want to be pushy and ask for another photo with her wearing it!).  Aly met her, too, Dad; I was so happy they let ALL of us go back to meet Rosanne Cash.  Simply put, she could not have been nicer, more gracious, more kind.  It was a night to remember; I know you and Johnny Cash enjoyed yourselves, watching me babble rather incoherently and seeing how wonderfully kind she was in response.

        So, you can see that my days are an emotional rollercoaster: up, down, and all around.  I have the highs like Rosanne Cash and finishing my Reclaimed River Salvage project.  Thank you, Dad, for saving that old wooden frame for me ~ it made my piece possible.  I also used your four little green plastic things as "feet" ~ I have no idea what they were for originally, and neither does Mom, but we both are happy that I found a use for them.  I took my finished fireplace screen over to Tower Court and took some photographs of it there: it looked great on the hearth and also just up against a plain white wall, so I think it is a success.

I turned it in yesterday, and received my commission check.  Tonight, I will go to the "unveiling" of the three River Salvage pieces; the other two artists' pieces are really good, so I just hope that people will like my "Bringing The River Home" fireplace screen.  I'm happy it is done, I am happy with what I created; as with everything lately, my happiness feels kind of out-of-body, like it is someone else's happiness.  These days, only feelings that truly feel like they are mine are the sad ones. 
        I think Johnny is right: I need to take at least a day for myself soon, with no outside communication, no phones, no computers, just me and the backyard. I need more than five minutes back there, in my rocking chair, listening to the breeze move the branches of my trees, listening as the leaves murmur to me in voices from the past: Grandmommy's, Baba's, Dedo's, Uncle Jack's, and yours.  I need to grieve alone for more than a few minutes at a time: I've just been too busy with Mom, the house, my art projects, and just trying to keep strong.  I need to cry all day for a whole day. I need to fall asleep from crying, and it would be better to do that under my trees.

        Dad, do you remember all the trees we planted when I was little? Seems like everywhere we lived, we planted trees.  I remember holding their trunks straight while you filled in the dirt around their roots.  I've planted trees everywhere I've lived as an adult ~ even at rentals!  You remember when I planted all the trees here, and Cris thought they'd never grow?  Maples, the  curly willow, the regular willow, the black walnut, Johnny's little helicopter seeds ~ they are all sky-high now.  Yesterday, I planted a curly willow and a regular willow at Tower Court ~ in the backyard, near the top of the rise, where they can suck up a lot of water before it drains down into the crawl space.  Mom was so happy ~ she blew kisses to Aly and Johnny as I took her picture with each tree.

 

We had a good day, Mom and I.  After I turned in my River Salvage project, I went off to find Mom, and we went to lunch at The Hamilton Restaurant.  She loved it; said it was the best veggie burger she ever had, and she loved the desert, too (Hummingbird cake).  We took two coconut macaroons to eat later.  We had no plan to shop, but on a whim, we went to Lowe's and I bought the trees, and we went to Whimzy and found a wonderful old Polish doll that is perfect for the top shelf in Mom's closet.  After I planted the trees, we sat in the screened porch and ate our macaroons. We had a good day, Dad, we truly did.
Love,
Alys