05 February 2015

Time Passes

Hiya Dad,

            Yes, time passes, and I have tried to allow some time to pass since last I wrote to you.  Why?  I do not really know.  I guess I was trying to let you rest, leave you alone a bit, and see how the days and weeks and months would feel.  Well, it's been okay, I guess.  It isn't really any different: I still "think" to you all the time and see you and feel you around, here and there, every day.  Writing it down or not writing it down ~ doesn't really matter.

            Christmas was hard, even worse than I thought it would be, but Aly was here and that made all the difference to me.  Mom did come over, and we did have a nice meal all together; we all kept it as light and happy as possible, whilst missing both you and Johnny.  It helped to know he was in Paris, with friends. He kept his promise to me: he sent me photos of his feet in your shoes: 

With Grandpa, outside the Louvre

With Grandpa, in Reims

      Honestly, he amazes me ~ his strength, his ability to adapt, his thoughtfulness.  When he sent the photos, he said, "with Grandpa."  He wears your sweaters a lot, especially for good luck ~ like the day he wore his favorite of your sweaters for one of his big presentations.  He's told me that he thinks of you always, but especially when he is really happy or really sad ~ and he knows that in those moments, those highs and lows, he is comforted that you are always with him. 

            Dad, I know you are also with Aly ~ you  know that the winter season for her has always included the films awards season.  She told me this year, she isn't excited for the awards shows or planning to watch any of them, because always in the past she had you to talk to about the movies, the nominations, and the awards.  She cried when she told me; Aly is so stoic, but your loss breaks her in two.  She will be alright, you and I know both know how strong she is; it is just so hard for me to see her hurting. We went to a movie together, just the two of us, to sort of honor the love of movies that we three share, to sort of replace all the awards shows stuff "for" her, and just to have a little time together (she is so very busy these days!).  The movie was a pretty good biopic, not really remarkable, but in a way the perfect movie for us to see "for" you, for do the three of us not all love Christoph Waltz?  It was a good day, Dad; we were as happy as we could be, mostly because we were together and you were so very with us.

            The day after Christmas, everything turned upside down ~ you know Jamine. You know what she did.  You know how Mom is; you know her reaction.  Jamine's cruel timing, her insanity, are no surprise to me; Mom just isn't ever wary.  It is so bizarre to me that she simply believes whatever she hears, from anyone.  She questions nothing and has no intuition of her own.  Dad, all those years with you did her no favors in that department; she truly has trouble thinking "for" herself.  She does not know how to NOT listen, even to crazy people.  Mom is most notorious for believing ANYTHING Jamine and Charlie say to her ~ they are the most like you in personality, and I know that is Mom's comfort zone, but god it is annoying.  I am constantly pulling Mom back from some crazy edge Charlie or Jamine have led her to ~ now,  Jim, Phil, and I are still dealing with the fallout of Jamine's Christmas night actions, and of course the burden is mostly on me because I am the one that is here.  It is okay, Dad, you know that I will sort it out and Mom will be okay.  You also know that she is going to  forgive Jamine and still want us all to "be sweet to each other" and you also know that I will not bend.  So, help me out in the future, when Mom pretends everything's fine, when she wants Jamine and me to be together for some occasion ~ help me out, Dad.  Help me get Mom to realize that I will not, ever, spend time with my sister. Hopefully, Mom will be able to leave me alone about Jamine; the years and years of crapola from her have just worn me down and this last thing is the proverbial straw for me.

            January came and went with its usual bitter cold gray days. Winter is hard ~ no way to while away time puttering in the yard or anything like that ~ the cold makes life so confining.  I can report that I was juried into the Hamilton County Artists' Association as a painter  in January ~ one of those "bright moments" to which you so often referred. This year promises to be busy for me insofar as my art and writing go; I have so many projects in mind, and some actual deadlines and events upcoming ~ you know, Dad, life goes on, right?  Nevertheless, life is changed, life feels different to me; I'm still waking up every day feeling like yesterday was 23 June 2014.  It takes me a minute to realize that almost eight months have passed.  There are still, every day, so many things I want to tell you, so many things I want to share with you, so many things I want to show you.  Some days are harder than others.  I wrote this poem and painted this painting on 23 January 2015, the day that marked seven months after your death:

Cornflower Blue

A simple weed along a roadside

or sprinkled through a field;

you called them bachelor buttons,

and their color matched your eyes,

we'd race to see who'd spot one first

~ for you ~

scanning across browns and greens

and pinks and yellows

for lone blue blossoms

proud and bright atop

long gray cobwebbed stalks

so tough and wiry,

resisting the farmers' scythe

like steel covered in soft down,

bolstered by perfectly placed leaves

painted by nature's Vermeer,

each star-like blossom supreme,

rising head and shoulders above the other weeds;

my eyes automatically dart

left to right as I drive on,

and the old tunes play on;

 Billie mournfully sings

one of your favorite songs

(Mandy is two

you ought to see her eyes

of cornflower blue)

humming along I still scan

the weeds along the roadside

tumbled and jumbled together

all the browns and greens

and pinks and yellows,

still I search

for a bright spot of cornflower blue

as if I'll see you again;

they were always your favorite ~

you loved them

because they looked like you.

           

            So you see, some days are harder than others; if for me that is true, then it is a thousand times more true for Mom. I do not get over to see Mom as much as I should ~ winter is tough on my lungs; breathing the very air is painful ~ but, I also have not made the effort as much as I should, to go visit her.  I know she needs company, but I also know she needs to learn to be alone.  Right now, "alone" equates with "lonely" for her.  I hope she can overcome that feeling; what a hard change for her.  I do worry about Mom because she hasn't discovered anything yet to fill her hours, her days, her weeks.  Spring will get her out in the yard, of course, but she needs an interest, a hobby, a passion.  She also needs to be out among people.  That 60-year lifestyle of spending time with "only Cavinesses" ~ only her children, only her grandchildren, only YOU ~ is now her greatest enemy. I look forward to Spring, if for no other reason than the fact that it will just be easier for me, easier for her, to get out and about more often.

            Well, Dad, I best get on to my day ~ some laundry, some painting, and an afternoon bodrhan lesson. Do you think it is funny that I am trying to learn to play the Irish drum?  I certainly find it amusing, because I have very little natural musical ability ~ VERY little.  Still, I like the physical expression and sound ~ it is a wonderful way to express something artistic in a more out-of-my-self manner.  Sound, rather than the silence of painting.  It is a therapy of sorts, as well. It is a healing of sorts; it brings our Irish and Welsh ancestors to me. Anyway, I shall get on with my day.  I love you.  I miss you.

Love,

Alys