Catharses or B.S.

 Probably do a little bit of wallowing in my own pity...  Play the small violin for me.

Still fighting depression and hopelessness.  Still praying every night asking the God (or whatever) helps the people around me.  I try to leave myself out, except to ask help in seeing my faults, so that I can have a chance to correct them.  I've felt a small amount of joy in my heart on two recent occasions.  My in-laws are beginning to walk every day (I'm a big believer in the health benefits of walking) and a former colleague from years ago posted a photo of her husband home from the hospital.  Both things I have prayed for and will continue doing so with a modification of improving their health.

I believe/want to believe in the divine, whatever that may be.  At the same time, I feel overwhelmed by nihilistic thoughts.

I have conflicts.  I want to have friends that want and enjoy my friendship, but at the same time, I just want to cease to exist and be forgotten. I read an article about the company, Recompose.  They compost the dead and return them to the soil.  The process completely breaks down teeth and bones, too.  Nothing left but soil.  There's a beauty to that, but also a little frightening.  I want that for myself.  Nothing left.

I am nobody.  I am but a grain of sand in the beach that is humanity.  I've left no mark.  I doubt that anyone would mourn for me.  I do hope that my daughter would.  If I disappeared, I wouldn't even leave a hole in anyone's life.  This is the pointlessness that I have been feeling and it feels smothering.

I feel angry, too.  When I was younger, my brother told all my neighbors that I was a devil worshipper.  I had placed a candle on top of an animal skull.  Wow.  Really dark there.  Years later, I took a new acquaintance to a club in Atlanta for some live music.  She told me that she might look weird on the outside, but that I was weird on the inside.  I don't understand people and have been called odd and strange all my life.  It does hurt.

It's hard to connect to people.  I'm in a marriage, but she barely tolerates me.  I blame both of us for our issues, and I am trying to change myself.  It can be hard, especially when I feel so disrespected.  It's a vicious cycle.  We get mad at each other and it goes around in circles.

Enough for now.  The pity pool has been drained some,

Yes Sir/No Sir Lesson

I loved my grandfather very much.  He did have his faults and I won't make excuses other than set context.  He grew up in a rural town in Virginia.  He had to quit grade school when his father died, so that he could support his mother and two siblings.  He was an uneducated, blue collar worked drifting from job to job, just trying to make a living.  He did factory work, carpentry, odd jobs, gas station attendant, etc.  And, sad to say, was racist.

The Lesson

My dad never taught my brother and I to say "yes, sir.", "no, sir", "yes, ma'am" and "no, ma'am."  He wanted us to mean it when we said it.  For myself, I started using it when I worked in retail.  There were people that I wouldn't say it to, because, well, they weren't nice.  Today, I will use that when talking with someone.  I believe in giving respect until the other person proves that they don't deserve it.

The lesson was given to my father by his father, and the effect was opposite of the original intention.  I do not recall all of the details and both men are gone from this life, so I cannot fact check.  I rely on my own faulty memory.  Read into the meaning, not the details, please.

My dad was a young boy, I think in middle school when this lesson took place.  A black gentleman came to their house (I do not recall why.)  My grandfather introduced the man to my dad, and my dad responded with "pleased to meet you, sir."  His dad corrected him:  "Oh, you don't have to 'sir' no n****r."

Learned

Right then, my dad decided that if he didn't have to 'sir' this gentleman, then he didn't have to 'sir' anyone.

That's why my dad didn't teach us to do that. I believe that my dad recognized the unfairness at that young age.  I am happy to think about that.  He realized that his father was wrong, though he wouldn't correct him for fear of harsh punishment.

I wish that I could reach out to that gentleman and apologize for the words of my grandfather.

Prayer and Chaos Magic

 I'm Nobody

First, let me say that I am a nobody in an ocean of billions of people.  I am not an expert on what this post is about.  I am writing from my perspective for myself, sharing my thoughts with whoever might read this in hopes that it is food for thought.  I am not trying to stir up controversy nor tell people what to do.  Please try to understand the ideas that I am trying to convey.

Prayer

Years ago, I read the book, The Healing Power of Prayer by Chester Tolson and Harold Koenig.  The ideas posited by the book were that prayer had a positive effect, especially healing when used in that way.  They did not push a religious agenda.  To them, the religion was less important than the prayer itself. It's a beautiful idea and one that I believe in.

I believe that prayer is important and I have begun to think about how I should be praying.  It's still a gray area for me.  I do not have a clear path, but I have begun formulating one. And I admit that I have only recently (May 2020) committed myself to praying consistently.

Chaos Magic

"Magic when talking about prayer?  What the heck?"

Please bear with me and I hope to make the connection clear.  I was listening to a podcast that covers a variety of topics.  The hosts did a couple of episodes on Chaos Magic.  Two of the hosts did delve into the practice and they had a few opinions.  I may not remember everything correctly, but I believe that I have the general concept down and I may have extrapolated.  The next paragraph is my take away and it is combined with many other thoughts and ideas from a variety of sources.

Most people are probably familiar with the concept of white and black magic.  White magic helps other people.  Help as in helping those in need.  Black magic is selfish and is usually used for personal gain and acquisition of power.  White magic doesn't exact a price from the caster.  Black magic always comes at a cost.  The idea has been with us since the beginning.  "What you sow, so shall you reap."  "What goes round, comes around."  The concept of karma, etc.  Basically, white magic equals selfless, black magic equals selfish.

How Should We Pray?

I really don't know, but here's what I am trying to do.  Keeping in mind white and black magic, I am trying to pray primarily for others in need. I believe that by doing so, I will have a positive effect on others and by focusing on others, I will improve myself. I hope that the practice will help me develop more empathy for my fellow humans in addition to helping them spiritually.

Was I Wrong?

Over a decade ago, I prayed hard for my brother to live.  I begged others to pray.  He died.  More recently, I prayed hard for my dad to recover from a surgery gone wrong.  He never did.  He lingered for five months before passing from this world.

Both times, I prayed because I didn't want to lose them.  I was thinking about myself.  I didn't want to lose my big brother.  I didn't want to lose my dad.  For my brother, it has been so long that I don't remember all the details.  I just remember the building dread as the brain tumor came back and his condition worsened until finally his brain just shut down from the pressure.  For my dad, I prayed every day (except one) that he would recover.  I wasn't ready to lose my dad.  I thought that he should have, at least, a decade more of life.  I didn't pray for what was best for him.  I prayed for what I wanted.

Trying

It's hard.  There are people close to me that I do pray for.  I am trying to phrase my thoughts and prayers to address their needs, not the outcome that I want or desire. I am trying to remove myself from the equation.  I am trying hard to pray for the good of the individual.  Mostly, I pray for those that have some kind of connection to me: co-worker, friend, relative, my child's teacher, etc.  I wrestle with that.  How should I pray for those that I do not have a connection, however tenuous?  Should I have a "blanket" prayer for groups in need?  A general prayer for anyone suffering?

And I do pray for myself, though not every day.  I do ask that I recognize what I am doing wrong and give me the insight on how to self-correct. And I make apologies for my failings whether it is forgetting someone on my mental prayer list or for getting frustrated over a silly domestic situation.

Follow Your Curiosity

 A dear friend sent me a link to a Ted Talk.  He had good timing, since I was/am in a depressed mental state.

https://www.ted.com/talks/elizabeth_gilbert_it_s_ok_to_feel_overwhelmed_here_s_what_to_do_next?language=en#t-1573508

Please give the video a watch.  The first story that she told was inspiring.  The other topics that she mentioned that hit home were "passion" and "purpose."  Every few years, I go through a period where I am just unhappy with myself (more than usual.)  I feel that I don't have a purpose and haven't found my passion or what I'm really good at.  I feel useless. I have no idea what I want to be when I grow up. And I'm in that state right now.  A little bit worse this this time due to extenuating circumstances which I will not address - not to the point of this post.

Elizabeth Gilbert wanted to replace "passion" and "purpose" with, in her words, a gentler word: curiosity.

Too Crowded

In my opinion, there are just too many people in this world for us all to have a "purpose."  Imagine a Norman Rockwell town.  There's a mechanic who takes care of everyone's cars.  The Milkman delivers fresh milk to everyone.  Hmm, probably too romantic.  Going back further, the blacksmith, the farmer, the tanner, the weaver, the cooper, etc.  There were times when all professions were important to the community.  A loss of one person would be felt throughout the town or village.

If I were to go missing today, I would only have an effect on my immediate family.  Otherwise, the community wouldn't even know that I was gone. My job is non-essential in regards to the good of humanity.  I don't see that changing in my life.  Just a fact.

Curiosity

That greatly appeals to me and fits with what I have done throughout my life with success.  I have had minor successes in my life from curiosity.  I have learned new things that helped me in my various jobs by just exploring because I was curious.  I've learned skills simply because I wanted to know how to do something.

I shouldn't worry about finding "my passion" any more.  And I should forget about a larger "purpose."  I do have a minor purpose.  I use "minor" in that it doesn't go beyond my family.  My greatest purpose right now is to ensure that my daughter is provided for, taking care of her physical and mental needs.

For my free time, I should explore my curiosity, and let it lead me wherever it goes.

• Archery - make a range, and practice more.
• Net Weaving - learn how to weave a net.  I made a needle and need to figure out how to knot it properly.
• Basket Weaving? - can stiltgrass be used for this?
• Constellations - relearn some basic constellations.  I am outside in the dark in the morning and night, and have enjoyed looking up at the night sky.  I would like to learn some basic navigation techniques based on stars, too.
  

Something Different

I started writing about my current existential crises which is probably a bout of depression.  Most of it was typed out and was morose.  I deleted it all.  I'm going a different direction with this post.  I was about to stop everything and play a video game.  That got me thinking.

Pre-Dad Days

A video game series that I loved is the Fallout series.  I played the heck out of Fallout and Fallout 2.  And I loved those games.  On a tangent before continuing, Arcanum: Steampunk and Magic was by the original Fallout team and the end story changed depending on your actions just like Fallout.

My standard MO was to play a good character.  Help people and get rid of the bad guys.  I don't think that I was pretending, but trying to do as if the situations were happening to me and how I think that I should act.  I think that my character had the reputation of "savior of the wasteland" or something like that.  Fact checking, it looks like "Champion" in Fallout 2.  

After completing the story line, I'd go back and play a demon from hell which meant my game character killed anyone and everyone in the game.  Bounty hunters would be after my character (random encounters.)  It was sort of fun, after being so good.

Dad Days

Fast-forward 10 years, I was married and had a one-year old. AND Fallout 3 came out!  Okay, I was much more excited about my baby, than the game, but was excited for the game.  No fear, baby took priority.  Game play was a rare luxury.

Back to my MO.  I played good characters.  I helped everyone.  I finished the game.  Also, on a tangent, as much as I loved the game, the ending was so terribly that it wiped out all my good feelings.  I was so mad.  Alright, back to the topic.

After completing the game, I went back and intended my character to be a total bastard.  My character shot one innocent NPC...

Oh my god...

The feeling was terrible.  This was just a video game.  It's not real.  Why did I feel so bad?  I just couldn't do it.  I turned off the game and tried to understand what happened.

Baby

My baby did it.  She changed me.  It's amazing to think that she could have such a profound effect on me.  Years later, I did read an article that researches discovered physiological changes in fathers.  Previously, the common belief was that changes only happened to mothers.  Biology is an amazing thing.

Last Day with My Dad

 The purpose is to write down the details before I forget too much.  It's been two weeks, since his passing.  I still have a lot to do to help my mom.

Day Before

My dad had been sent to the ICU from the rehab center, one day before he would have been released to go home.  My mom saw him there.  The doctor told her that he was dying.  They said that if they took him off life support, he would pass on then.  She wasn't prepared, so she asked to wait until the morning.  She secured permission for me to accompany here and to see him at 9:30 AM.

The thought of watching my father die within minutes was hard.  I would be there for him.  I would hold his hand and tell him how much I loved him.  

Last Day

I got a call at 7 AM.  It was one of the doctors.  He told me that my dad was awake, alert, and responding to questions.  He asked that my mom and I come as soon as we can, and that he would probably live for several days.  I was happy that he was alert, but it was an emotional punch to be told the day before that he'd die almost immediately after removing life support.

I want to say that we got to the hospital around 8 AM.  We signed in and headed up to his room.  He was indeed awake and alert.  I could see it in his eyes. I went to his right side and my mom was on his left.  We both said that we loved him.  My mom told him that he could leave this life and that it was selfish of her to ask him to stay.

He held my hand tight and looked at me with his bright blue eyes.  The doctor came in and said that they were going to remove the breathing tube and suggested that we step out.  My mom left the room.  I opted to stay.  They removed the tube and he seemed fine.  His breathing was good enough.

He had no voice, because his lungs and muscles were too weak to make a strong sound.  He could only mouth words.  He did say that he loved me.

The doctor came in and said that he wanted to talk to my mom and I in the hallway.  My mom goes.  I tell my dad and start to stand up.  He doesn't let go of my hand.  I smile at him and sit back down to be with him.  The doctor pops his head back in the door and I just tell him that my dad won't let go and I'm staying with him.

I don't remember everything that I told him.  I said that I loved him and that I hoped that he was proud of me.  And that I knew that I was a strange person that he had as a son.  It's hard to read lips, but I think that he was reassuring me that he was proud and loved me much.

Decision

My mom came back.  She said that the doctor had told her that his body was shutting down.  There was no chance for recovery.  The doctor came in and said that we could take him home or that he could stay at the hospital.  My mom didn't know what to do.  I said that we should take him home and she agreed.

This was around 9:30 AM.  I told my dad that we were taking him home and that I was leaving to get the house ready for him to come home.  He nodded and let go of my hand.  I said that I loved him and would see him soon.

Setting Up

I got to my parents' home and began getting it ready.  There is a room with sliding glass doors looking out into the woods.  I thought that facing the bed to those doors would be best.  I moved my dad's reclining chair and moved a sofa over to give enough room.  My mom's piano was close by and I hoped to get my daughter to play for her granddad.

I called my niece and said that she could come down at any time.  I let my wife and daughter know what was going on.  And I waited.

A truck arrived bearing the bed and oxygen tanks.  The delivery man and I set everything up and he walked me through the usage of the equipment.  My niece and her mother (my brother's widow) had arrived, and her mom helped make up the bed.  I think that my wife was there, too.  My daughter was still taking her virtual classes at our home.

And we waited.

Homecoming

The ambulance arrived close to 5:30 PM.  I almost regret not staying longer with my dad, but I did need to get everything ready.  The EMTs brought him up into the house and got him settled in the bed.  They told us that he was still bleeding from where an intravenous line had been removed from his right inner thigh.  

I walked the EMTs out.  They remarked on how beautiful our woods were.  I pointed out the hobbit holes that my dad had made down the bank from our house.  I told them to be safe and I went back inside.

My dad was pretty much gone.  Eyes closed.  Mouth open. Little to no response to us.  I still feel that he was still there on a subconscious level.

Goodbyes

His two granddaughters got to see him.  My niece is the oldest and she got right up to her grandpa and told him how much she loved him.  My daughter is young, so she was a little afraid.  Her mother and I didn't push.  Her mom probably understood better than I.  I did get her to play a piece on the piano.

I don't have a strong recollection of what happened.  I was frazzled and tried to do all that I could.  The hospice nurse came to "admit" him to home care.  We had to change the dressing on his thigh, so I helped the nurse.  My niece's mom helped prepare dinner, before she and her daughter went home.

On Our Own

My niece and her mom went home (an hour plus drive.)  My family and my mom ate dinner and then we cleaned up the dishes.  And my wife and daughter went home.  I asked my mom for his Kindle and found "The Hobbit" on it.  I thought that reading some to him was appropriate, since he named our road, Hobbitt Trail.  It was one of his favorite books, and I had read it and the trilogy many times.  I read most of the first chapter to him, until my voice was dry and cracking some.  I asked my mom for a hard cider, and I took a break.  She played a CD of his favorite classical music.  I should have noted the music, but didn't.

My mom checked his thigh and it was a bloody mess.  I cleaned him up and changed the bandage,  Even though he didn't react to any physical discomfort, I still tried to be as gentle as I could.  This was my dad. I tried cleaning his mouth that was still bloody from intubation.  I cleaned gently and he did close his mouth on the sponge.  Some of him was still there.

Go to Bed

I was at my dad's side again, holding his hand.  My mom told me to go to bed.  I told her that I'd stay, until she was ready to lie down.  She was going to sleep on the couch beside my dad.  I would be in the guest bedroom.

She went off and did whatever she needed to.  I have no idea.  I was just there holding my father's hand and talking to him.  I told him how proud that I was of my brother for how good a father he was to his stepson.  I told my dad that was because of him.  I told my father how he did have a good effect on people.  One neighbor said he was the toughest on the road (hard work, not fighter.)  Another neighbor remarked that the street wouldn't be the same without him.  One of his friends confided in me that he couldn't read a book that my dad had given him, because every time he picked it up, he thought of my dad and started crying.  My dad wasn't famous.  He didn't do great works, but he was a good person. His circle of influence might be small, but he left his mark on those people.

Last Breath

My mom came over and she was finally ready for bed.  She told me to go.  I was still holding his hand and she was standing at the top of his bed, stroking his hair.  He took a gulping breath and stop.  She asked if he was gone.  I said no and that he had been doing this.  He took a longer, gulping breath and was gone.

We were both in shock.  "Is he gone?"  I felt for breath.  I felt for heart beat.  I got their blood pressure cuff to check, then had to check on myself to make certain that it worked.  10:40 PM.

I called the hospice number and reported that he had gone.  The same nurse that checked him in came by.  They did the paperwork.  His official time of death was listed as 11:10 PM from renal failure.

The Last Goodbye

The men from the funeral home came to get him.  They wrapped my father in his sheets and transferred him to the stretcher.  I caressed his shrouded head one last time before they put a velvet cover over him.  I walked them outside and said thank you and to be safe.

Memorial Garden

My paternal grandfather, Papa*, had a garden when he first moved to the house that my dad built for him and my grandmother.  He grew flowers and vegetables.  After he passed on, my father took over.  There's a granite slab inscribed with "Paw Paw's Garden*."  We have plaques for my grandmothers and my brother.

There's a Japanese maple that I love there.  My dad built a stone circle around it.  I will place a memorial marker for him there.  This is my garden now.  I've never been a gardener, but now I will have to learn.  It will change some under my care, just like it changed when my dad took over from his.  I will seek to honor everyone that the garden has been dedicated to.

I love and miss you all.

 

* I always thought of the spelling "Papa" whereas my dad spelled it "Paw Paw."

It's Monday, but It's Okay

 One of the managers posted a picture with that saying.  It's another day and we're still here.  The morning was overcast, so I couldn't see any stars.  I pulled weeds in the dark, fed my ducks, and put the rest in the compost pile.  

Speaking of composting, I read an article about a startup, Recompose, in Seattle.  They seek to compost humans.  I have to admit that it appeals to me.  Personally, I'm against embalming and burial in a concrete vault.  Place me in the dirt and let me return to the Earth.  Recompose "sounds" romantic and beautiful.  Place your loved one in a bed of alfalfa and let them return to soil.  Don't dig deeper.  Let's just stay at that point.

Details to Dissuade

Not trying to get morbid, but still on the topic of death - losing my dad is still too fresh.  He had opted for cremation.  I went with my mother to the funeral home to sign all the papers and confirm what was to be done with his body.  In the paperwork, she had to sign a statement that she had read details of what happens during a cremation.  The director told us that it was a law in our state.  It came about when cremation was a new option and the funeral homes lobbied against it.  They got our state to pass a law requiring that the relatives of the deceased had to read the gruesome details of what cremation did to a body.  They did it to get people to choose the embalming route.

Transition

Still going through the grief process and the changes that come with losing a loved one.  I still think that he was robbed of life, but so many people in this world have had their lives cut short.  I need to remember that.  I still worry about my mother.  They had a great marriage and loved each other very much.  Now she is alone.  I can walk to her house, but we're still so far away.  There are hours that she must fill and the pandemic makes time feel longer.  I stopped by her house to check on a few things, and found her lying on the sofa.  I asked her if she were okay.  She said that she was tired.  I asked about gardening or cleaning.  She said 'no' and that she was just tired.  Grief weighs heavily upon her.