My Son, Part 3 of Gratefulness 


Where do I begin, Seth. You’re a hard one. Even finding a photo of you is next to impossible, my secretive son. I’d give anything to be inside your head for a day. 

As a small boy, you’d walk around the house creating stories. Dressed to the nines with matching pajamas, slippers and the toys to go with their theme for the day. Neat. Clean eating. Bedtime regime, without parental guidance. 

It’s like you knew who you were already. Sitting in the recliner watching television upside down. Drawing, upside down. Crowds made you scream. Water frightened you. You were and are eccentric. A spy maybe? Or maybe someone who just likes to view the world a little differently. From within.

You lost a friend when you were young. His death was tragic and even more so since it was by his father’s hand. I felt a piece of you leave Earth after that. I’m so sorry. 

Your talent in art is nothing short of incredible and I hope someday you will let the world see it. 

Your mind is photogenic and always learning. Without you, I’d never know Mike the Headless Chicken ever existed.

I remember a day that I was snuggling with my soon to be husband, Joe… the one you called Joe Mama. We were in our own little heaven and you walked by us and said quietly something I won’t share. I’m keeping it. It was then however, that I discovered your talent for dark humor and I got you. I get you. I love you. 

My Husband, Part 1 of Gratefulness

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Change often leads to wonderful things.

I found him one morning at around 5:45. The two of us were alone in the elevator going to the 4th floor. I couldn’t stop staring at his pulsing jaw and wondering what had made him so angry.

Neither of us said a word. In fact, I’m pretty sure he was alone for the ride. I often wondered if I was invisible.

It was Winter and the air cut through my skin in a way that only Midwestern know.  My heels were loud on the parking lot making their presence known against the asphalt and the cold dark morning. I was looking for the angry man. I couldn’t stop myself from seeking out his impassioned marrow.

Days went by of being alone with this newly found excitement. I think he may have looked at me once. His jaw, always pulsing.

I parked my car one morning in a different spot. I was always so predictable and this made me feel secure again. There he was walking by and I was unnoticed. Invisible once again. My sense of cover was shattered when I realized the angry man seemed to be searching for me. His pace slowed, he looked left and right. The very fact that this excited me made me wonder if I should wear my cloak again.

He should have already been long gone; yet there he was waiting, ready to ride the 4 floors with me. We were alone again. Is it possible that I have found fate?

I was the first to utter a word.

I said good morning to the pulsing jaw. It seemed to relax as it answered back. Somehow in the months to follow as Winter thawed into Spring, I started to learn that the anger came from tours in Iraq and Afghanistan.

His jaw was starting to become more relaxed with each passing day.

My angry little bird turned from missile to feathered fowl. He was soft to the touch and soothing to my soul.

 

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There isn’t much to say right now about my father. This evening will mark exactly two weeks that he’s been sleeping inside the psych ward. I’ve only missed one night in regards to visiting. I was feeling ill and was afraid that I would make him sick. He seems to be a little different with each passing day. Some days he says he’s good and then the next day he’s completely agitated or he’s back down in the dumps.

I’ve been utilizing my alone time with painting our bathroom vanities. It is surprising to me how therapeutic it’s been. I feel myself kind of slipping into more of my introverted side. I have all this free time, yet I do not care to really seek out others and get my socializing in while I’m free.

In fact, five days ago I even deleted my Facebook account. I don’t have any other social media accounts. Facebook has become this world of hate in my view. I post my blog, people read it and then there’s a few that reach out personally to ask me how things are. It’s nice to discover those empathetic types. I doubt anyone has even noticed I’m gone. No one has asked me. I’ve always used Facebook as a way to communicate little funny things or great happenings. Most these days are just too full of hate. Politics will ruin friendships. Plus, when you’re feeling like life is a train wreck and someone is posting about their bad day, you become a bit snarky when you discover their bad day consist of just having to wake up. Whatever.