Tag Archives: grief

growing…

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…a pair

“Are you feeling better, today, Dad?”

He’s literally screwed into my side  on the futon. His fifty-four inch scrawny naked body is all angles and and sharp points. But it feels good. My boy.

“Yeah, thanks Noah, I went to bed early. It helps.”

Yesterday was a nightmare Monday.

He did everything wrong and I noticed everything he did wrong. Worse, I told him everything he did wrong.

Nastily.

I snapped at having to tell him again what I’ve told him again and again on a daily basis for what seems to be for ever. He needs to do better and not expect me to tell him when to put his socks on in the morning, for example.

But yesterday, it was all about me. I was fighting through the wind tunnel of my self -induced misery. I felt like raging and I felt like hell and everywhere I looked I saw sadness or anger or ugliness. Often all three.The best I could do was to not ‘do’ because I would have done harm.

That was me. Noah was just the guy in the way.

“I’m sorry, dad, I wasn’t like you know, not helping. You told me that you were having a hard day and that you didn’t like, ehm, want to tell me what to do, so you said, ‘uh, try Noah just to stay calm and do what you have to do’. And I didn’t. Sorry. ”

“And I’m sorry I was so angry.”

“Its ok, dad, sometimes it happens to me. I don’t control myself. You know, I don’t think and I do dumb things.”

My problem is I think too much, but in circles that grow ever tighter and more painful, and repeat over and over the same noise until I feel like going crazy, for relief.

I need to grow a pair….of those guy things. Fight my way back to self-belief.

Noah is in snuggle paradise. “Dad, you’re so soft and warm and its like you have boobies with hair.”

Yup, I grew a pair of those ever since his mother left us, a few years ago.

Now, for a pair of those guys things…rat sized. Yup, rats b…. dozens of times bigger than their human counterparts.

What’s the message there, hunh?

killing me…

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…softly

My boy needs his dad.

I am his dad.

“Dad, look, I didn’t dirty my shirt at all, yesterday. So like you don’t have to like even wash it clean. I can wear it again today.”

“Nice.”

He’s trying so hard. He knows its tough for me.

Yesterday, I spent the day stumbling from one place to the next, prey to strange dizzy spells. Whenever I blinked I feared falling over.

Gotta get that checked.

“Dad, it’s a new Looney tunes with Pepe le Pew. He’s my favorite.”

“Mine too.”

“Really?” He knows it already, but he’s pumping the moment for all its worth.

We are both in underwear on the futon in the early morning ramp up to work and school.

A privileged moment.

He sidles his scrawny little form into mine. It’s not enough, so he crawls on top of me and balls up and rubs his head against my chest. If he could crawl right into my body, I’m sure he would.

It’s scary and beautiful.

I wrap my arms around him.

Enjoy it, you silly man.

This is love.

Forget your guilt, because you bitched at him last night. Forget your imperfection. Forget your worry that he’s not going to be OK because you’re not OK.

You were a lonely child with no sense of your self worth. He is not you. He has one thing you never had…you as his Father and Mother.

I try to believe myself, but I have a talent for self-destruction.

He emits a little feral noise of pleasure. I hold him closer, kiss him softly on the shoulder. He twists to kiss back.

“I love you dad.”

These days, expressions of love make me want to burst into tears.

My heart is a Nerf ball that I’ve tried to squeeze down to its smallest diameter. But it keeps expanding at the slightest opportunity.

We’re all dying one day at a time.

My wonderful boy is making sure that life is killing me softly.

If only I wasn’t so raw.

“What is my lunch today, dad?”

“Steak sandwich and apple sauce in a tube and juice and rice cakes.”

“Oh yeah…”. He breaks into song.

“Steak sandwich, forget it, its the best, oh yeah….forget it.”  On a Cee-lo tune.

I feel proud of my culinary prowess.

And about to burst into tears.

 

 

zombies, tears…

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…get me outta here

“Dad, if I, you know, zap Nonna with the revitalizer spray like Johnny (in a weird cartoon he likes) will she come out all freaky like a zombie?”

Now how do I respond to that? Is he trying to broach the topic of death? Is he just interested in the intellectual pursuit of bizarre truths?

“No idea.” The only truthful answer.

“Dad?”

I’ve been up an hour and I’ve had two sips of coffee and two hundred questions.

“Did you call Linda to you know go see Harry Potter? Remember, she like said she wanted to go today.”

“Not yet.”

I was too busy spinning in the tail winds of Hurricane Irene last night, hoping to blast my head as far from my body as possible.

“Awww….”

That one pumps me right where there’s a residue of uncontrollable, unreasoned anger.

“Can you call her now?”

Aaaaahhhhhhhh.

My phone announces a new message. The writing is so damn small I can see only that it comes from the mobile phone company.

Despite the death of my Mother, the wheels of creditors churn on, looking for bones to grind.

I look for my glasses, become necessary to read fine print.

“Dad, did you hear me?”

I’m avoiding you Noah. The rage inside is looking for a victim.

“Noah, did you play with my glasses.”

“Yeah, but I gave them back to you.”

I find the empty glass case.

“I’ve told you over and over, they are not toys. Now where are they?”

My voice has raised.

Noah looks at me. I rage a little more.

“I gave them back to you, dad!” He looks indignant. It pumps me further.

“I’ve had it with repeating things over and over. Where are they, Noah?”

He tears up, actually has a sob and then walks away. Before leaving the room he punches the wall.

“I don’t know!”

Congratulations, daddy, you are educating your boy in the subtle male arts of misdirected anger.

Get me outta here someone before I repeat the same mistakes over and over and over as if I got hit by the zombie-making ray.