SC's Pseudo-Blog
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13 March 2012
The old aviator is flying his final mission; my father passed away this morning.
A good man is gone, and the world he left behind is the less for it.
Fly high and fly far, dad. Happy landings.
28 January 2012
Dogs and pilots.
That's what sold me on the place. After all the research, the phone calls, the soul-searching, the family discussion ... it came down to dogs and pilots.
I never knew I could go that long without rest. My previous record was 22 hours non-stop, set in a much happier time many years ago when I went back and forth across the country with a steering wheel in my paws. This run was over 60 hours, between 0800 last Saturday morning and 2230 last Monday night, during which I had a total of two hours non-contiguous sleep and during which I was never more than ten miles from my home. At the end of all that my father had been placed in an Alzheimer's care facility where he will be better looked after, better fed, and better taken care of than the combined efforts of his family have been able to provide for him. He has been there almost a week now, and is already showing signs of improvement.
It's been hell. My brain knows I've done the right thing, but it'll be a long damn while before my heart catches up with everything and becomes convinced. Even now I can't talk about it without having my voice wander off, quavering away. Still, I cling to the notion that he's in a place that is way better for him than where he came from. That seems a shallow, small consolation, but at the moment it's all I have.
I am in a depression the depths of which I have never known, I'm dealing with it poorly, and it has cost me dearly. I'll battle my way out of it, but I have never felt like my nerves were so raw and exposed, never before been so ready to destroy everything around me, never been so ready to break the nose of the first being that dares question my motives, never been so damned tired. All of that will pass, I'm sure, and none too soon. I need to reclaim my life while I still have something to hold on to. It has been as rough on my Fox and pups as on me, perhaps (and very likely) more so.
But it isn't about me. Or them. It's all about the dignified old pilot who has lost his way, they elderly gentleman who loves dogs even as he forgets the rest of his life. He is safe and well taken care of, the rest of us will find our own way.
The place where he lives now has four dogs, one of which is a trained therapy dog and another, a pup, who will start training for that soon. My dad has loved dogs all his life, and the staff tells me he has already made fast friends with the four-legged crew there. And there are some former pilots that share his new digs. Perhaps, after he has recovered his strength and is feeling a bit more social, he will swap stories with those other old aviators, and find common ground with them. I dearly hope so. Even as he forgets us, it will be good for him to have someone, some friends to share his life with.
The family drama continues: granny has sustained an injury to her shoulder and needs help in her own home to get through her days. Hopefully that will be temporary. Hopefully she will heal and be able to lead some semblance of a normal life, alone in her home as she desires to be. Like the rest of us, she is stunned by recent events, perhaps more than any of us know. The next few months will be telling. Everything is unstable, unpredictable.
They all turn to this old dog, to the coyote who dearly desires to have all the answers, who longs to be able to fix it all and drive the peace that should infuse his family. But it isn't happening. At least not yet.
I'll make it work. My dad is getting squared away, he should no longer want for help, a meal, some companionship, some compassion. And I'm getting my mom squared away as well, she's got the in-home care she needs to live comfortably. If she can spare me the guilt trip I should be able to gather the shards of my faith, take my Fox by the paw, face my demons, and put it all behind me. It'll be a rough trip, but my Fox is stronger than I am. She's battled worse and emerged victorious. Who could ask for more than the backstopping of Survivor-Fox?
Someday I may actually take up writing again. Someday I may actually get in touch with those whom I persist in calling friends, even though many of them haven't heard from me in many moons. They may not want to know the fur I have become. Or maybe they won't care what I am. But I care. I need to get myself cleaned up and back on track, get some stable footing under me, before I try and reconnect. Otherwise I'll just be some blubbering lunatic that most will shy away from, actively avoiding. And that's probably for the best. Who can console the inconsolable? Who wants to listen to an old dog howl?
Hell, I get tired of hearing myself.
Those Mayans knew what they were doing when they ended their calendar when they did. Trouble is, nobody today has any idea what those ancients were thinking. All the knowledgeable prognosticators of today want to jump on the "end times" bandwagon, telling us that the end is nigh and we ought to prepare.
For what?
Maybe the Mayans figured that the year we know as 2012 was so impossibly far into their future that they didn't need to bother building a calendar that went any farther. Maybe they figured that future generations would add to their calendar. Maybe it was an elaborate joke, passed down through generations to a mentally weaker people such that the spirits of those ancients would have a good belly laugh at our expense.
All I know is that there's too much left to do, too many asses that still need kicking, too many wrongs to right. It can't end this soon, not this way. But even if it does, I will make time for one final demand for an explanation, even as I am dealt away. I don't care where I wind up, but before my race is run I will know why these things have happened. I will know who or what orchestrated these events that have caused so much needless and unproductive pain and anguish. If it takes all the rage I have been suppressing for so long now, I will know.
For him.
Rest easy, dad. I love you.