A Letter to My Father

Dear Dad,

I always called you "Father."  Until the later years, then I called you Dad more.  I think we became closer by then, even though we were always close.

The past few months have been hard, but not in a pull-out-my-hair kind of hard.  Thanks for making your estate as easy as possible.  The mortgage company got the house.  I'm fine with that.   It took a huge load off my mind.  It was hard to hand it over.  Total strangers selling it.   Who knows who will buy it -- I know that prayed on your mind.

We had so many great times there.  Robin's mentioned she didn't like it at first when they family moved there, but I think she got used to it and it became home.   For me, it was the home I always knew.   I remember my crib being in yours and Mama's bedroom.  It's only a flash of a memory, but it's there.

So, fall is on its way.   I had a much needed vacation. The holidays are coming.  I'm not sure how I'm going to handle it.  Christmas was always your holiday.   You were the master of ceremonies.  Remember that year the you switched names on Jennifer Kay's and my presents?   You really had us fooled that year.  Of course, I know you like to tell the story about a baby Chris pulling off the tags so you had to play the guessing game.  Or knocking off the red balls so the tree was bare around the bottom.

Aunt Carolyn isn't doing too well.  I'm kind of preparing myself for you to come get her.   I know the day will come.  I haven't actually seen her for a while.  I sometimes think I should visit her, but I'd rather remember as she looked when I was going up.   She still sounds the same on the phone.

Anyway, I wanted to talk to you about something.   Even though you made me really mad at times, I want you to know that I really loved you.   You did so many great things for me.  You encouraged me.  Sometimes, you did drive me nuts when you thought I should do one thing and I wanted to do another.  You helped with the first couple of years of college, lent me a car to get there, tried to always get me what I wanted for Christmas.   You were and still are a great Dad.  You're weren't perfect, but I think you did the best you could with what you knew.  Of course, I was the youngest of three, so you had two others to practice on.

As far as I'm concerned, I couldn't have asked for a better Dad.  You and Mama did a great job.

I miss you.

Christopher the Third

A Letter to My Mother

Dear Mother,

It's funny to think that I called you "Mother."  Never "Mom", sometimes "Mama."  I always thought of "Mother" as an endearing title.  I also thought it provided more respect.

Oh, I wanted to say thank you right off the top of the bat.   I just know it was you that said "Why don't you write a book" that early morning.  After all, I was thinking about you and all of your books when I got the idea.  Book one is out there and now I'm onto book two.  It's almost ready for the world.

I can't believe that five years have past.   It doesn't seem possible.  Of course, now Dad's with you and who knows what you two are doing.   I was right.  Somehow I knew when you went he would follow within five years.   To be honest, I never really stopped morning.  It just transferred from you to him a couple of years after you.  Somehow, I just knew he wouldn't be around much longer.  

Can you believe that it's been a year since Uncle Dick died.  And almost a year for Uncle Ron.  It makes me realize how time flies.  I never fully understood that when I heard people talking about it, but when I turned 40, it really hit.

Well, we've got to go through our first Christmas without either of you.   I started my own Thanksgiving tradition and I'm fine with it.   This Christmas will be so hard.   I think I'm more worried about Robin than anyone else.  And maybe John.   Dad's with you. The house is gone, so no Christmas morning rituals.   Jess is in jail.  I'll have to keep tabs on her.   We're planning a family get together the weekend before Christmas as a new tradition.

Anyway.

Gotta go.

Love ya.  Miss ya.

Christopher the Third

Reviewing My Recent Past

The other day, I sat reviewing my recent past, not long past, but back to the late summer.   As you may recall, I posted about what friends mean to me.   Defining a friend vs. an acquaintance.  Getting rid of a person out of my life.  All that jazz from a few posts back.

Well, here I am, a few weeks later.  A vacation has come and gone.  The completion of my second book.  Parting with my childhood home.  The fear of cancer.  You know, just a few minor things...

I still wonder if I did the right thing.  Pushing someone out of my life.  I hated it.  I still hate it.  I've only done it a couple of times before with the same question -- Am I doing the right thing?

Let me say this...  Who the hell knows!  I might have dodged a bullet.  This year has sucked in many ways!  It actually started last September with the death of Uncle Dick, followed by Uncle Ron in December.  In October, a year ago, I sat in the Doctor's office with my Father who looked like a frail old man.   Now that I think back, he didn't even really look like the man I grew up with.  He looked like an old man.  A skinny, bald, no-teeth frail old man who seemed to age over night.
 
Outside the office door, I asked the Doctor. "What's your thoughts?"
He looked past me.  "Six months.  That's my gut feeling."
A year has come and gone since that day. 

And six months it was.  April 15th at 2:30 in the afternoon.

Since then, I've started making new friends and having new experiences.  And personally, I feel great!   Just today, I was at work, minding my own business, when I heard someone humming.  My co-worker turned to me and said "What are you all cheery about?"  It was me.  I was humming.  A simple happy tune.

So, now I sit here wondering "Did I do the right thing by pushing someone out of my life?"

In relation to everything else that has happened, it doesn't matter.  But the real answer is no.  I didn't.  I should never push people away not matter how angry they make me.  In this case, he was there for a reason.   To make me angry.  I haven't been that angry at someone in a long time.  I wasn't just angry over one incident.  I was angry over several incidents over time with the same person.  It had accumulated to the one-last-straw.

I also know that I have moved on to bigger, brighter, and maybe more important adventures.

And so the phoenix life's end and a new one emerges from the ashes.   I feel that way, but every once in a while, I have to review the past to remind myself of where I'm going.

CSM

A Few Words about Destiny

Looking back over my life, I began to realize that early on my destinies were set for me from an early age.  During my whole "growing-up" period...

OK, I have to stop there for a moment.  Do we ever really stop growing up?   I don't remember there being anything about completely growing up.   Growing old isn't an option...  I'm sorry, but "growing up" is an option.  Of course, there's a difference between "being child-like" and "being childish."  It's a fine line that you have to walk.  It's a fact.  Use it as you wish.

Anyway, I digress.

During my younger days (that's sounds better), I had shelves packed with books, neatly and tidily organized.  Especially paperbacks.  I've parted with some. Many of them are still with me.   Some well-read with worn spines and bent corners. Others crisp and clean, not because I didn't like them, but because they had better bindings.

When I revisit them, pulling them from the shelves that hang above my closet doors, gently blowing the dust off, I can see the "signs." Signs of my future life.   Rotting masking tape on the lower spine with a faded hand-written number.  I remember organizing them by putting a number on the outside using that masking tape.  As I open the cover of one of the Disney children's series, inside is a blue number written with a felt-tip marker was the corresponding number.   A young librarian in the making...  And now, many years later, I am surrounded by books and DVDs and Cd's and magazines...  Oh my!  It's truly the book/information lover's orgasm. 

The other sign began with a book on the Loch Ness Monster and an episode of Scooby Doo.  I remember reading a thin paperback on Nessie, then, at the age of eight, deciding to write my own book and start a small publishing company in my Mother's sewing room.  At the time, I was totally unaware of copyright law or plagurism as began to basically rewrite the book by hand on old loose-leaf paper and staple them together.  I also "borrowed" the illustrations.  The other half of this story revolved around an episode of Scooby Doo where they gang meets the Addams Family.   Complete with crayoned illustrations, I wrote myself into the episode.   Both have gone with the wind, but the effect lives on.

Becoming a librarian and a writer seemed to written in my stars.  I just hope that the stars also planned on offers to buy the movie rights to my books.

CSM

 

The End of a 44 Year Old Relationship

The other day, I ended a 44 year old relationship... Not with a person, but a place.  I feel sad, yet free, at the same time.

The day has come to hand over the deed to a unfamiliar stranger. 

I may keep something... The worn key that opened the door to a now quite place that was always there.   A familiar loving place.   A safe and secure place.  The hallowed place where I learned to walk, talk, play, cry, grow, and eventually leave to find my place in the world. 

There was always the option of coming back to feel the familiar security.   Into the safety of the four walls called "home."  Now, no longer, taken from the list.  A vast void that will need to be refilled.

The home were Mom and Dad lived.  Where they welcomed you back home every Christmas.  Every Mother's Day to tend the flower beds.   Every Father's Day for cooking out on the grill.   Every birthday with or without presents.  And even when there was no occasion, just to stop by and visit.

Now, the gas grill is gone.  The once-well tended flower beds are overgrown with weeds.   The Christmas tree laying in parts on the garage floor, soon to be taken away.   The small shed rotting on its foundation no longer serves a purpose.  The clothes lines waiting for new duties of holding up sheets to dry in the warm summer breeze.

And now Mom and Dad have departed.   The once loved-filled home is an empty and silent shell.  The comfy furniture is gone.  The washstand and kitchen cabinet from the family farm now stand in new places in a new home.  The generations of dishes all packed and loaded.  The soft warm beds with woolen blankets and patchwork quilts taken away.   The path-stained carpet has recesses where the round feet of tables one stood.  The rooms sound hollow and lonely when you walk across the bare hard-wood floors.

I can remember the corner of the closet where I would hide.   The attic where I stashed treasures.   The living room floor where I played. 

Although the physical walls are no longer a safety option, my memories live on. I have plenty to keep me warm and comfy when I need them.

Bless this home and all it meant to me.  It was a great 44 years.

CSM