What a fabulous day. An extra day in February is something I just have to love; I'm bound by the bond of my birthday, and I'm a sucker for rarities, despite my fondness for the familiar. And actually, it hasn't been a fabulous day, not for me, not compared with other days... But I want to ascend to some higher level and understand that every day is fabulous. If not that, I'd like to at least feel confident in my ability to remember the good portions of each day. And to not waste time, even if I don't believe so much in that possibility. How can I waste my life if I'm living? And I'm living with awareness, I'm living actively, I'm fighting fiercely and courageously (even those positive epithets are part of the fight), so somehow I must be growing. Even if opening the apartment door and stepping into the hall was harder today - (I still did it.) Even if, apparently, everyone disappears into some other special world for this rarest of days. Or dates, rather. I guess if I'm going to dive into this depth entirely, every day is equally rare. It's the dates one can rank, not the days. So. Today is one for rambling postulations and a lack of real content. I took a walk even though the wind was gusting, even though yesterday I tore far past my social threshhold. (I had my keys with me, but lost control of the situation even so, and ended up 'home', face-down and spread eagle on my bed, asleep for two hours, recouperating. I remember when every outing led to that.) I made plans with my dad to celebrate my birthday. (And even though this is weird with my dad and the food issues of Brigadoon, it needs to involve cake. After all my fussing, I did not actually have cake on my birthday - because Mom and I were each rather confused about what I wanted and what I could actually do and where the two overlapped. But I have to have my cake and eat it, too. Even a little late. Between a belated piece and the bit I had at my grandma's party, I think I can call that rite salvaged.) I'm probably going out there (to Brigadoon) on Thursday; he's rather pleased that I want to come see him, rather than just go out. I know it will be awkward (glad that it's just before therapy on Friday; oh how I depend on that doc), but Nana's surprise party gave some reminder to me about how one part of this relationship is still just, "You're my daddy, and I love you so much." I remember thinking that when my grandma was dying in September. I thought of my dad and also of Stewert, and I wondered why I would waste my life energy holding a grudge against anyone, when in the end, I'd bow to their humanity, and in cases of love (like my dad) not have enough time with them anyway... So, I'm off to the town that inspired "Pleasantville" for an undetermined period of time. No more than say 24 hours, as I have that appointment, but I have yet to decide if I'll stay Thursday night.
My other main motivation for moving this to my dad's (after negotiating to have it at my brother's) is to see my grandma and my great-aunt again. My grandma is in an incredibly great place (physically- she had to be to survive the surprise of her party; my Godd, when she saw Sarah, I think she went into medical shock ... and mentally, she felt duly loved, and I'm glad of that), and so the wanting to see her is just a granddaughter wanting to see her grandmother. With my great-aunt, it's a little different; it's that but not entirely. I've always had a bond and felt a sort of safety with my aunt, (I'm dropping the great, though she's worthy of it, I never refer to her that way) even though I've never seen her very often. In some ways, that's a parallel with my maternal grandma and our relationship. Growing up, I felt steadier when she was around; she read books, she told stories, she reminded me of stories I had to tell. She'd had a career instead of children in a time when one really had to choose. She had a great love for her husband, and an incredibly intimate relationship (after being widowed) with a man she chose not to marry; she was able to love him dearly and hold her ground against his alcoholism, and the other issues that could have pushed her past a breaking point. She liked to hear me recite Shel Silverstein verse. And I'm only saying all this in the past tense because it made such a difference growing up; now, I'm a bit calmer around the rest of the clan. I had some good time with several of my great-aunts (on the other side - the great-aunt I'm referring to is my paternal *grandpa's* sister) at the party, and felt good even with people who have played a part in extremely painful scenes over past years, but I have a special attachment to Effie. And although I have to overstep a more insisting I'm morbid to state this, I think she's...with us less and less. I don't want to say she's dying because that isn't how it feels, but when I'm around her, recently, I feel memories of my grandma's last days. Even her last months. There's a similarity between them, a resignation to life that can no longer be lived with the fire they consider self-defining. There are sentiments expressed in the squeeze of a hand, an ability to say, "Just let me hold on a few more seconds, so that I know you know I see who you really are, and I love her" without ever saying anything that reminds me. Her eyes behind her thick glasses see very little, and her ears struggle in conversation, even when I'm sitting next to her. Still, I believe (and I need to believe, but I think I'd believe it without that bias) that she's gaining senses as she seems to lose them. That's why I don't say she's dying. She just seems less and less like a human life; more and more, she's free as spirits are. And I'll treasure every day we have left, I won't mind being wrong if she hangs on for years, but I think she's readying herself to let go. I want to be with her now, while she's here in the way I've known her to be all my life. I want to give some outlet to the feelings which struggle to ask all the important questions when time is running short (and you raised my grandpa, and you knew he loved you, and what was your favorite thing about him, and what was the most important thing you made sure he learned? and what about me, do you know I love you? do you know that word's too much lace and valentine - I love you like skin, familiar furniture, an apartment's carpeting) ... questions I find ultimately don't get asked. By me. Focused on the time that's going, I have a hundred thousand words; however, when the time comes, none of them matter more than the touch of the hand, the kiss of the face, the thank you expressed in every possible way - from words to grief to life. The thank you that makes clear how related all those things really are.
And now it isn't February 29th; now it is March. March, when I aim to track Jenna down, and make her let me know she knows my love. March, when maybe I'll find a way to send Dave his customary letter. March, when I will rush to Sara (M., Sara-formerly-staff-at-Rogers-Sara) with all the bumbling excitement of an overly exhilerated circus buffoon, shouting, "If only I hadn't been a dork, if I'd kept up with my e-mail" ... because what do you know, I have loved ones as good at forgetting to change addresses on outgoing mail as I am, and my old account has all sorts of surprise birthday love and other fancy treats. And a message from Sara, written one week before I broke down and wrote (I'd like to take a moment here to thank Frank Zappa for giving his children unique and positively luscious names) Sarah-the-manager to ask first about Sara-who-was-staff, whom I hadn't heard from, and then about Dave. I keep thinking how as I was crying with missing them, it was there, undiscovered. I'm not too bothered by that, though. It only matters that it came, and I discovered it eventually. The desperate longing needed to be felt. For a constant presence, it stays quiet a good deal of the time. It deserves to be felt when it rises up like this.
Now, it is March, when Sara (Brave) and I will learn what it means to live in the same state, to be only forty minutes away. Now, the lion turns into the lamb, who must settle for following me to therapy. I'll have to ask the doctor whether or not lamb presence breaks a rule.
I had high hopes for this year, and despite the difficulty, I'm not yet disappointed. All things considered, at the very least, I'd give it Tori-props (high praise) with, "still. A pretty good year..."
Still, now, yet unfolding.
~me