This has been one of those days
that has been “off” for me since I woke up this morning and I haven’t been able
to figure out why. I don’t think its one
thing or the other…but it’s something… and it’s frustrating that I can’t put my
finger on it. I’m the kind of person
that needs a solution to the problem (even if the solution isn’t doable); I don’t
do well with the abstract kind of solution.
The other day I was talking (i.e.
texting) with Russ & he asked me how I was doing. Russ is one of the few friends that I can
actually say anything to & it doesn’t phase him in the least little bit
(yes even those monthly issues). I just
blurted out that my eyes were tired and how strange that felt to me. I didn’t know how else to explain it… they
just blasted hurt. If I closed them they
felt better but otherwise they just burned, ached and/or hurt. As is his nature (at least with me) he said
that was pretty normal and that I’d been through a lot these last few months; I
just needed sleep and water. Sleep and
water? Ok if you say so. Don’t tell Russ, but I did sleep in an extra
hour the next morning. My eyes are still
‘sore’ but not nearly as much as when I talked to him.
I know it’s hard to believe someone
like me is a private person…especially considering how much of my non-existent
life is on Facebook and my blog… hang on a second. I don’t think I’m a private person per se… I
just don’t tell anyone how I feel about things that are important to me because
they won’t get it. That sort of hit me
today when I was cleaning the house (sort of).
Let me explain.
I was dusting off the bookcase that
I wasn’t sure I wanted to bring home with me (although secretly I really did
want to save it)….and at the time I couldn’t figure out what the hesitation
was. Even while I was at Dad’s I felt
like I let Shawn talk me into taking it back with me (I needed something to put
all this stuff I was going to have to go through of Dad’s but I wasn’t sure I
really had the physical space for it…. at least that’s what I kept telling
myself). So I’m sitting on the floor
& I’m trying to dust the bottom shelf when I get a memory flash that hit me
hard. It’s a Saturday morning at the old
house (the one I grew up in, the one we’re … ooops I’m renting) & I’m
sitting on the floor dusting this very same bookcase. It’s up against the half wall that separated
the living room and kitchen. It was
loaded with some of Mom’s books & I had to make sure I put them in the same
order she had them in (gee I wonder where I got that from). I’ve always thought that Dad built that bookshelf
for Mom; don’t know if it’s true or not, but it’s always been her shelf… and I
didn’t even realize that until today.
Funny how that works out isn’t it.
Fred came by to pick up the camping
stove and spoon today. He kept saying if
I changed my mind about some of the things he put his “dot” on & wanted to
keep them he’d understand. That’s
something else I keep hearing from people that had “dotted” items. I have yet to understand why I keep hearing
the same thing over and over again until I talked to Fred.
Because of his drinking, Dad and I
have had a rocky relationship since day one; it only got better once Mom died
ironically (there’s something about realizing we are the only ones we had left
that made us work on our relationship). I’m
starting to see how funny it looks to “outsiders” the things I want to keep of
his and the things I have no problem getting tossing in the trash. For example there is one tool box that I
wanted – have no idea what’s in it or if I’ll ever use any of the tools in it
(and I KNOW I don’t have the space for it) and one particular plant. I wanted to make sure I had room in my truck
to bring that plant back (and one for a friend of mind that I had no attachment
to what so ever) that I was kind of short with Shawn when I realized
I didn’t have room to bring it back this trip.
I’m just glad she stood her ground and didn’t back down to me b/c
frankly right now I haven’t pulled out space for it yet. Dad’s plaques and ships had to come back with
me, I want his water bottle full of change, and all the records/camera
equipment. There were a few dishes,
pots/pans that I wanted….seriously who wants a pot that is only 3” across? Me that’s who.
The other thing I’m having a hard
time getting used to is not jumping every time the phone rings (which doesn’t
happen nearly as much now that he’s dead… which brings point #2: dead vs
passed. Dad is dead, he died – he didn’t
“pass”). I don’t have to answer every phone
call I get (which means if you call from a number I don’t recognize you better
leave a message) and/or have to have the phone sitting on the table 24/7. Very strange feeling since that’s been my
main concern for the last few years –phone above all else in case something
happened with him. Things are so much
more different than they were when Mom died.
When do I go back to normal?
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