Matisse and Me

I spent the afternoon with my sister, Trina. She offered to help me learn how to drive stick. My dad's car is a stick and considering I need an economical car as I commute beginning in the fall to my practicum, it makes sense to keep the car since my car is being held together with duct tape (literally).

Only killed the car a few times. One abusive looking black truck got up on my ass when I stalled out and of course honked and honked. "Go around!" Jeesh. He eventually did. Not sure if the driver was a 'he' but, it sure felt like it.

Anyway, got that done. Then, off to Goodwill. Trina is the only person on the planet that enjoys junkin like I do. Given the choice between an afternoon at a mall or an afternoon at a big ass Goodwill store, well, hands down, we'd go with the Goodwill. Paradise is looking at weird stuff, holding things up to one another and asking, "What the hell is THIS?" And, just taking our time, looking at doo dads.

Anyway, picture frames: no need to ever buy two things in this world for sure: picture frames and wicker baskets. I think they propagate in the back room at Goodwill. There is always a healthy stock of each. We found a few nifty frames and skipped the baskets. Our purchases included a huge matted and framed Henri Mattisse, you know, the one with the fish, anyway, that now hangs proudly in my livingroom.

Life has been hard for me lately. I won't get into the reasons why. Loss, change, concern are all intertwined and curling around me. The combo keeps me up at nights. So, a casual afternoon at Goodwill was just what the doctor ordered.

Back home, we ended up looking through stacks of framed pictures stored in the garage. Tears. Pictures of dad, or, things that reminded of us dad, are everywhere. I believe that a person successfully grieves when they can cry with someone who doesn't try to wipe the tears away.

And so, eventually, I was alone in the house. No kids. Just my $5.00 CD player and the soundtrack to 'Garden State'. Incense. A big ass Route 44 Diet Coke. I felt brave dusting off framed photos of my late husband, Gordon, too. He is smiling at me from his frame, as we speak. And, I can handle it.

My birthday is inching closer towards me. So many changes this year! Last year was, by all accounts one of the hardest of my entire life. But, it is amazing what things look like, with the proper frame

Happy Papa's Day

I have been steering clear of writing lately. I know why, too; there is just too much rattling around in this little noggin of mine. And, none of it is all that ‘rosy’, either. I suspect if I was an art student, I would be drawing/painting/carving something dark and foreboding. But, I’m a middle aged mom, going to school, awaiting the arrival of her first grandchild, running a cleaning business and, oh, yeah, that’s right, grieving the loss of her beloved dad.

Oh, that’s right, there’s that. The empty chair. The table for one and not two. The sparse amount of mail each day. Oh, yeah, that thing called, ‘grief’.

I am amazed. How dumb of me not to recognize all of these phases or stages, whatever theory you connect to, that I am experiencing. I have written countless papers about this; I have read dozens of articles about this, I have listened to lectures about this, and you would think that I would be ‘good’ at this by now. Well, if good is feeling like crap, then, I am golden. This sucks.

But we all go through it, some sooner rather than later. I suspect that dad is absolutely fine now, riding a bike or fishing with Sam or laughing with Ann or telling tales with grandpa and grandma and mom. I like to think about that. He’s just fine, perfect, now.

No more burned popcorn! No more lines at Walgreens! No more medication! No more support hose! No more hearing aids! Pork chops every night! ‘Law and Order’ on every channel! But more than anything, love, everywhere, all around him and living with Him. That is pretty awesome.

If you were to see your grandsons, you’d see them all wearing parts of you, mimicking things you do, just to be ‘like’ you. Sam wearing your Korea jacket, with all of the patches. Josh riding your bike. Ben reading his bible at the table, just like you. Alex wearing your marine corps hat; Jack wearing your slippers. Georgia making popcorn everynight, just like you. Those grandkids LOVED you.

So, dad, I’ll man the fort here. We are fine. But, we miss you so. Thank you for being the kind of dad/granddad that people really miss. Thanks for that. Thanks for being an amazing grandpa, greatgrandpa and papa. Love you lots,

Rose