Tag Archive | time

Cartoons and Waiting on Time!

 

   

 

 

     I found a scrap of paper with a short phrase. They were usually scraps due to instant inspiration written by my burly Dad the sensitive poet. He was positive, but he also called himself an extreme realist. However,  he sang, whistled,  and joked more than anyone else. When the doctor said the word leukemia we all heard it, but we didn’t hear it.  ”No, we are just here because there was a car wreck, that is all…what are you saying?”  A longhorn steer could have rammed my insides, and it would have felt the same.  Laughing instead of crying was his philosophy. So that is what he did along with those wonderful deep philosophical discussions we had about God and life during chemotherapy, and around the kitchen table.  And some not so deep like the love for  cheeseburgers, strawberry shakes, and cartoons. As a kid, I would laugh at his impromptu poetry….quite dramatic and funny. We watched cartoons sometimes, Courage the Cowardly Dog.  My friend; my Dad.  Silliness equaled happiness then.

    Grief is a strange entity. It seems like it is gone, and all of a sudden, wham,  a trigger point clicks the pain into every pore, and then it sits silently waiting for next time.  I am talking about this because someone reached out to me in their grief. Does anyone ever say the right things? Do words really help? Following are the things I wish I had said, but didn’t. I don’t think most of us expect sorrow to tear everything up, to twist the heart into knots, and to walk away laughing at the contorted pieces. It feels like the pain is never going anywhere, because  it just hurts so bad for so long. I found that sorrow has a wonderful  enemy though…time.  Time will stretch sorrow out until it is a thin vapor no longer powerful enough to be a prison wall.   I think this incredible process happens because that is the way we are designed.  We can only hold sadness at its saturation point for so long. It begins to dissipate, and sometimes so very excruciatingly slowly that it will seem like nothing will ever change. But it already is as you go about life everyday. Does the pain ever go completely away? Sometimes it does.  But, it will not go away completely for my friend who lost her  teenage son, promise of tomorrow,  in an accident.  But the pain today is not the same as the pain at the beginning of the tragedy.  More good memories get mixed up with less tears. Each person has to find their own way through such a private and difficult process. I have my badges of honor where heart scars are concerned, and I found that my heart finally wanted to hug life again, and I hope the same for you.

     My Dad would say to me don’t give up,  because you never know what is around the corner.  And then with a mischievous look he would say maybe trouble would find me, and maybe not.  After writing his phrase on that scrap of paper, a few months later there she was, my Mom, dressed in red standing by the church door. The photo was iconic with the wind blowing her hair as she smiled.  Another hope, another dream, less tears for him, because she made his life wonderful.  He was laying in a  hospital room the last day that he saw her.  He would never see her again after that day, and we just didn’t know.  He watched her walk across the room and said, “She is so beautiful.”   Then they had a little chat about how she was jealous of him. They both laughed. He once wrote a poem for her, “After the bloom of the rose is gone, my love for you will still be strong.”  He saw yesterday, and the present all together in that lovely face.

    Some of us learn early that  life goes back and forth in-between  sad,  hopeful, pain that seems to have no purpose,  and realizing pure happiness can fall out of nowhere making a song out of  the fact that you survived it all.  I realized that I could survive… just  by waiting on time.  It was difficult for me to feel that one day pain would not rule my life.  But life has a way of pushing a ripped heart around the corner where trouble isn’t always waiting.  Hope just might be there with  a dream to accomplish, and all the while your  heart can still love the one that is gone, but with less tears. So this Saturday morning I was watching cartoons with my kid, because silliness equals  happiness.  Who knew SpongeBob SquarePants was so powerful?  He made us laugh.  

   And what was it that my Dad wrote on that scrap right before he met my Mom?

  “To think of the past is to weep bitter tears. To think of tomorrow is to fill the heart with joy.”  (J.W.O.)      

  “Never, Never, Never give up.”  Winston Churchill  

 

   Now how did I get Winston Churchill, and Sponge Bob SquarePants in the same post ….well,  I have no idea!   :)        ….Terri O.A.

Cradle the Baby – 4:23 a.m.

Dad's roses

   

 

     I lay there in the dark, 4:23 a.m., and I was thinking about how thankful I am for a precious gift. I can remember!! Watching that movie in my mind, I see all the neighborhood kids waiting to see if that black kite my Dad made, that was almost as big as a Volkswagen, could fly over that scraggly windy field. It did. The sound of the wind gurgling the edges of the thick plastic I can hear if I want to.  I see color folding itself over in browns, greens, pinks faded, vibrant, on a canvas. I see the brush strokes. The aroma of  Dad’s roses, and the cologne permeating the viewing room of my fourth grade classmate who died playing cowboys and Indians. He joked with me before the bell rang, and then a few hours later he was gone. Suddenly  moving forward, I am with  a couple hundred un-wise college kids singing, the Hallelujah Chorus, ”the government shall be upon  His shoulder,” while the expectation of Christmas lightened our silly hearts…wonderful hearts.  I can cradle yesterday like a baby, kiss its forehead, it may wake up and smile or cry whatever the memory may bring. But I have a choice!

 

     Tomorrow is elusive; it is really never here.  We plan on it, but we can’t count on it. I have today at this moment to live some joy, tiny as a molecule or not, and I can find it. I have a choice!

 

     But the person that I love, and take care of does not have the choice of remembering everything about yesterday, or the ability to even began a search for joy today. The questions of why, how, when, or where can’t always be properly answered, and someday, maybe, such a thing as a question will be blank. Someday, faith and the way it moves the soul will be blank. Hope ….blank. Love….blank. Love is given. For now, that gift and others are accepted although not remembered for long.  Laughing in the moment is all there is, because it will not be remembered in ten minutes. Why wrap  a present for Christmas? Why make a joke? Why give at all if it isn’t remembered?  Because for that tiny moment there is a gram of happiness. Love is a binder though, and it crochets together the blank spaces and the threads that are leftover. 

 

     So, I am thankful to have a memory. With that I can learn from my mistakes, plan, dream, hope, gain, lose with grace, fall, know to get up, paint, write, and play music. I can cradle yesterday, put it back in its crib, and leave singing it to sleep. I can live in today. I remember, and I choose a focus of good.     ….Terri O.A. 

     

        

Cover of "Handel - Messiah / Clift · Robb...

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The final bars of the "Hallelujah" c...

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You can go home again!

       Everyone always likes to say that you can’t go home again.  If you walk down an old dusty country road for a while it gives you time to remember. Such contemplation.  I believe you can go home again even if it is in your heart. You can visualize, open the front door, and turn the light on inside the home of long ago.  I can see a white house across from an elementary school, and a kitchen table with a can of bean dip, corn chips, and Dad.  We were the only two staring at that brown culinary bean dip wonder in a can as  a fresh bag of  opened Frito chips lay on the table. We ate by a strict schedule so any delineation was an event.   Before any treat could be finished, he would always say that we had to save the rest for tomorrow.  He grew up during the Depression so he was always saving something.   Many a left-over Sunday cake was stored  on top of the refrigerator.  Somehow, against the rules of the house, before long it was invisible except for the crumbs. He denied responsibility with a smile.  

     Then there was Easter Sunday with the morning light falling through the odd geometric bold stained glass, and everyone dressed crisp and new as we sang, “One Day.”  The happy sounds rang out from the full small church, and we sounded so much bigger than we really were.  America was between wars, peace seemed a sure promise, and my Dad’s easter suit had the price tag hanging out from under his sleeve as he stood holding  his song book. Dad had a beautiful voice, and he was concentrating on the song, but he finally felt the tap on his shoulder from Bea.  He sheepishly pulled off the tag and grinned. My Dad  made life feel like the end of the movie had already happened, and everything was always going to be ok. The world made sense. 

    He worked long hours in his business, and many a chip bag was stuffed here and there out of Mom’s sight.  He was always on a diet.  After chemo one day, I told him about the Frito-Lay burritos  at a local fast food place.  Since they didn’t list it on the menu outside it had escaped his food radar. The stress of chemo melted away as he enjoyed the chili-cheese corn chip happiness wrapped in paper. 

   It was the time spent that made me feel important. It was taking the time for life in small increments that made a big impact. I don’t know how many times I heard the story of the monster’s severed toe growing in the garden. By the time he got to the end of the story we were all screaming. Storytelling was in his genetic code; I just know it! Now this was just the craziest story ever. How many times could kids want to hear it? But we did because it was fun!   

     Back to my white house, there were such sweet memories like slowly falling asleep listening to Dad somewhere in the house singing in his rich melodic voice ringing out the words, “Precious memories how the linger how they ever flood my soul…”  Clear, strong, with the ability to hit any note, he sang funny songs and sad ones. He would laugh when we teared up calling us sissies.  I am a sissy right now, but I didn’t mind going home again one bit!  

Terri O.A.