He may die at 53.
But we have something to worry about much sooner.
The death of a relationship, of a strained relationship. Of a never-changing, fucked up relationship. A father-daughter relationship, in all its splendor and gore.
--
When you have the same problems for this many years... I was trying to do something good- something thoroughly good.
And now, the dream makes far more sense. It isn't the death of my father I need to worry about. It is the death of... making attempts.
We, Lee and I, will never be exactly right- not for him. We aren't those precious little, look-at-them-and-fall-over-with-pride type kids- not to him. To our mother, yes, the majority of the time. To my father, only when everything else is so good he can shed a ray of sunshine on us little twerps, or when its so bad he has no choice but to find us appealing. Call me cruel, fine. Sure I am: he's sick and in pain. Goody, my eyes are filling with tears.
Please. If I thought he wanted me to be informed of his medical condition and its repercussions, I would start mustering up some real pretty grief and emotions. But he doesn't, so I won't. And that's how this relationship works: when its not 8 more years of rejection, even 2 weeks of rejection, then I would gladly stick my head out.
-
Ask me: why am I having this reaction?
Because when I told him I was coming to town, there was this nice pause... And when he spoke again, there was no excitement, enthusiasm, affirmation in his voice. My arrival and caring for me would simply be something else to deal with.
Unfortunately, FOR ONCE, for the first time ever- I was taking care of that. I booked the flight, made the calls, wrote the emails, had arrangements made. For the first time, I thought I could go back there and not fuck up, not be emotional, be really strong for my dad and do good.
Now, there is a part of me that hopes he will be out of town. There is a part of me that wants to cancel. But there is a bigger part that wants to see Cindy and Kristin.
And damn me if while I'm gone, papa dies. Damn me, unless that's how it is supposed to be. Because if this is another, fatal example of my good intentions making things worse, I won't hide the guilt.
-
From here, nothing moves until I hear from my father.
And seeing as how its no longer "some time in the afternoon" and he didn't answer when I called earlier, I'm thinking that nothing is going to be moving for a while.
I'm pissed.
I'm sick of feeling like a burden.
And I'm sick of the continual disappointment of my father's continued ignorance on me, anything to do with me, or my own level of competence. If there was any attempt to make better on this, I wouldn't feel the disappointment.

Partner in Crime

The little girl ran from the living room, down the hall, into the bedroom. Her mother stood on a step ladder, painting yellow trim above the closet doors.
"Can I hide in there," the little girl pulled blonde hair out of her face and pointed at the closet.
"Of course," her mother said in a low tone, so the enemy didn't hear, holding the paintbrush a foot away from the wall.
"You won't tell?" the girl panted.
"Nope. Now hurry," the mother said, casually resuming her painting while the little girl scampered into the closet, pulling the accordion door closed behind her.
In between the slats, she could see her mother leisurely painting, and humming too so it'd look as innocent as possible.
Soon, the little girl's brother came, and asked "Where'd she go?"
But the mother just kept painting, slow and deliberate, and said "Well, I don't know Hun."
In the dark of the closet, the little girl smiled at her clever ally. After the brother had run off in search of the missing little blonde, mother peeked in one of the slats.
"He's gone," she whispered with a smile.
The accordion door opened and the little girl stepped out happily.
But wouldn't you know it, in swooped the brother.
"I FOUND YOU! I FOUND YOU!" he pointed, successful.
So the game goes.
But she trotted into the kitchen to count, smiling, having never had a partner in crime before.

From 1-24-06 on Mama's Viewing.

Tonight was mama's viewing.
It was the weirdest thing coming around the corner and seeing her there. But there was always that... I always knew it was just a body, a vehicle, and that my mama wasn't there- it didn't give me the realization "oh my god, she's dead", just made it abundantly clear that a body is not a soul: that the 2 are divisible by the process of death. I knew she was dead (though I never believe she is gone) and that she no longer resided in the body I last saw but this was just amplifying that.
It grieves me that her soul is no longer with us physically, totally tangible, but it doesn't hurt me that her body is. Does that make sense? Caterpillar to butterfly.
Papa came and mom and Scott each held a hand to help him stand from the wheelchair and see her. Then I cried a little, when he put his hand on her hair.
Bill, Annette, Scott, Cindy, Mom, David, and I were all there and all cried. David spoke- read 2 poems and some scripture and that was really nice.
Then papa, mom, and Scott left and turned up Vocalise and I thought about getting up then but didn't. And I thought about counting butterflies and paper dolls and fudgesicles and Juicy Juice. Then I did cry and thought that she never, ever made me feel worthless.
So I stood up and went over to her, a formality or maybe insurance, because I knew that wasn't my mama but maybe I should say something to her in case there's something to it, but I still couldn't bring myself to touch her and said thanks and left.
I went out and mom and Scott were kneeling and sitting beside papa who was crying as much as he would let himself, and I sat with them for a few seconds but started to want to cry again and said I was going to step outside.
Went to my truck and lit a cigarette, getting a sandy jacket out of the back and brushing it off a little before putting it on.
Then I sat Indian style on the tonneau cover and smoked. I wrote a note in black permanent marker saying that in 17 years she never made me feel worthless, and the wind blew and I thought I heard voices so I finished my cigarette, put the jacket up, sprayed myself, put on lotion and went back in.
Only Scott was with papa and I went and sat down next to him. He was crying a little and said "Pull it together, Griff" and Scott said some times you have to fall a part, and papa said its just because he loved her so much and I said that’s why if he wasn’t crying I would think something was really wrong, and he looked up out the window and it was blue outside too.
Then everyone gradually came out of the other room and we decided or it was time for us to leave. Cindy had the stereo and everyone walked into the chapel to exit and I ran back in and told mama, or her former body, thanks for the fudgesicles and then left too.
And we all went down to King’s for dinner. There was pretty much no one there and we got a big table with papa at one end and Bill at the other. Papa ordered coffee and shrimp, the waitress was really nice or funny and responsive more accurately, and we all ate and talked and joked. Towards the end, papa looked a little tired or detached, or both, and no one had dessert which was probably good.
In usual formation, we all went to papa’s, in a conga line, in pretty thick traffic. When we got there, we all went in together. Raphael was there and let us in and was a little surprised by how many there were. Eventually we all sat down, mainly around papa. Mom was in mama’s chair, Bill pulled up a chair to by the TV, Scott was at the desk-side chair, Annette sat on the ottoman, David at mama’s dining room chair, Cindy in the guest dining room chair, and Raphael pulled the desk chair to papa’s dining place.
And I sat on the couch, way at the far end of the room, out of the line of fire. Everyone talked and joked and Bill and Annette came out of their shells which was nice. I entered a few deadpan jokes when it was my turn and we learned everyone’s middle names which was interesting. Then papa and the rest decided maybe it was time to get to bed. So we said bye to Bill and Annette then and they left, with a morning flight out of John Wayne. After that, the remaining 5 relatives said bye to papa and he asked Scott when he and Cindy would be coming back. Scott said soon and Raphael held the door for us while we all filed out.
David walked on out to his car and Cindy rode with mom and Scott after I told mom I wanted to be alone. They all left and I stayed in my truck a minute, changing into my sandy jacket and getting some distance between me and the other cars, then I left too and lit a cigarette at the Oso and Antonio light, listening to “Trampled Underfoot” and I took the 405 to the 55, then Edinger to Harvard, to home. Everyone else was here and mom let me in.
Per request and banter, I gave mom a hug and went upstairs to change into cold weather clothes and write in the backyard. Cindy and Scott came downstairs just before I went out and mom walked the dog and they said bye to all of us and left for their hotel.
I wrote a little bit of nothing and smoked and then went back in and listened to mom and David’s discussions. After that, everyone went to bed. And I started writing this.
Today was Tuesday, January 24, 2006.
There it is.
-Katie

I will be there when you die

(Already on Pistol)

I will be there when you die. In a hospital room, when your eyes are trying to open and can't find where my voice is coming from. When you breathing is still steady and we are waiting for it to become shallow and urgent, waiting with sad faces for the sound of struggle and then silence.
I will be there when you wake up in pain. When you are sleeping in bed, at home, in peace, and it is so strong you can't speak. When you know that the end should not, please God, will not hurt this bad. When silence, darkness, and eternal sleep seem nothing but warm and pleasant.
I will be there when you cry. When silence only makes it worse, when nothing makes it better, when nothing brings her back. When it is almost unbearable and you reckon after 54 years together, it'll take at least that long to make it stop hurting.
I will be there when you lay peacefully, when you've passed away, when you're dead. I'll look at myself in the mortuary bathroom and take note of all the features so much like your own.
I will be there, among everyone grieving, the one passing around tissues.
I will be there, in front of an open suitcase, antique chest, photo albums.
I will be there when it all changes, we all change.