I saw this note and smiled at the story idea.
We found each other for a while and then one of those made for movies moments forced us apart again and we went our separate ways.
Stared at it for a moment and then went back to the note from the cardiologist’s office saying I owe them another $700 and shook my head.
How much is a heart worth, especially when said heart is yours said the voice inside my head. I snorted and thought about adding another line to that story I started writing in 2013 or whenever that was.
“She was shocked to find out that his heart hadn’t held up the way he said he expected it to and when she realized this time he was gone forever she stared off at the wall and cried. She had believed he would always be there and then he wasn’t.”
I thought about adding some piece about how the shock of the bill killed him and how for the insurance company offered an apology and a 10% discount on a physical to his children.
There would have been some snarky remark about how that 10% discount was on a procedure that was free but I got distracted by other things.
If you asked me how many stories float around my skull I couldn’t answer it because it is significant, not all are written down and not all show up in the same places.
Reach Into The Flames
When something hurts me I have a standard practice of reaching into the flames to figure out what it is and why it hurts.
Doesn’t matter if it is physical or mental, I am going to stick my hand in there and jiggle things. Shoot an arrow into my shoulder and I might try to push it all the way through because I don’t like leaving it in there where it can continue to poison me.
This shouldn’t be a surprise to those who know me well, I am the guy who banged my head against the ground and got angry that it hurt and then did it again.
But 50 or so years later I am a little more sophisticated in my approach in that I am trying to identify the source of the pain so I can fix it.
And if I can’t fix it, well maybe I can modify it and make it more tolerable. So I don’t run from it, if anything I run towards it.
If my father, grandfathers or uncles were around I’d ask them about their approach because I am curious. I know some of what I do now is similar to them in that we just gut it out. Fight through it and eventually it gets easier or that is the idea.
Though I am willing to bet my father and his little brother both got worn out to an extent by trying to fight through it and I understand that too, some things can beat you down.
Sometimes you love a person. Sometimes you love the ghost of a person you once knew.
Anyhoo, with the anniversary of that crazy flight from DFW to LA, the days in hospice and the date of his actual death upon me I am diving into the flames again.
I don’t remember everything that happened though I remember quite a bit. As time has passed some of the missing pieces have fallen into place but I am irritated by the few blank spaces.
Chances are none of them are of any real significance but I want them front and center so that I can inspect them.
Last month we passed the 17th anniversary of my paternal grandfather’s death. I have vivid memories of his little brother, my Uncle George holding onto me while he sobbed.
I remember him telling me he was the last of his siblings and a few other things. I have tried to remember if he told me about the baby my aunt, his younger sister, gave away but I haven’t been able to pull that up.
I have spoken to the son of that baby, a cousin I never knew I had about the mystery and shared stories about family he never knew about.
There are no such mysteries surrounding my father but he might have known something about that first cousin he never met.
Wouldn’t surprise me if he did and I know for certain my grandfather would have but some stories never pass through the lips of the men in this family.
It is not always because they are designated as a secret but because it is not considered important or noteworthy.
I shared the story of the bill from the cardiologist with my son and the plan for dealing with it because it was a teaching moment.
The Time Is Coming
Digging through more notes I find more fragments of stories and puzzle pieces. I grab them, turn them around and mull over what to do with them if anything.
The hardest and most honest thing to admit is the sense that it is not done and that it is time is coming even if there is no physical evidence to support it.
It feels like a soft breeze that washes over me with hints and whispers of real thunder and rainfall. The kind where you look up and know if you don’t take cover you are going to be soaked.
You can see the clouds move in the distance, but it is hard to gauge how fast they’ll arrive or if other atmospheric phenomena will affect them and maybe the storm will dissipate before it can build.
Got so much more to say and write but the dog requires my attention and at 14 I am paying close attention to him because that clock is ticking.
So he and I will go hang out and talk and I’ll leave you with a reminder that if you want to see what else has been written you can go to the homepage and scroll to see the other links.
And then I’ll throw in a couple of Simon and Garfunkel links that I had intended to work in.
and
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