Quality vs Quantity

Again I am wrestling with this old battle of wills. This time, however, it is not up to me. It's up to my brother in law. Near renal failure sent him into dialysis a few years back, which was working great. But when you can't get a kidney transplant unless you also have a liver transplant at the same time, the chances of getting those replacement organs are slimmer. Much slimmer. So, now, he is in liver failure, which prevents the white blood cells from forming, thus preventing your blood from clotting. Loosely translated, he is bleeding at a constant rate, which will kill him, sooner or later. I have known and loved this man my sister married for 32 years, and the prospect that I won't see him ever again is breaking my already fragile heart. Hearing my dad on the phone yesterday, and hearing him back to the Pete I remember, happy healthy and in GREAT spirits, well, it just makes this business with CW even harder. Knowing that my father will outlive one of his sons-in-law, someone about 3 DECADES younger than him. There is no other way to describe it, it just plain SUCKS ASS. CW has always been my favorite of brothers-in-law, and before BJ came along, 2nd in the most dependable men in my life, second only to daddy. He and daddy currently share that 2nd in line status, being my two all time favorite old farts. Dub has always been someone I could talk to, relate to, laugh with, and most of all trust with my life, and the lives of my family. He helped my sister raise two upstanding citizens in this world, one of which fought in Iraq for our freedom, and very soon will be returning as a marine. Knowing how I felt at losing my mother at age 29, John and Jared are 29 and 25, respectively, I know how they must be feeling, though they have way less time to prepare their hearts and minds for this agony. I had 8 years of knowing she was dying, but very slowly. They have maybe 2 months. CW is one of the absolute best people on this earth, and his loss will be felt very deeply, and long.

UPDATE 9/3/07
So it is decided. Thankfully, by him. He has made the decision to stop dialysis. This means, they will not flush toxins out of his blood, they will not clean his blood and pump it back in, his liver will stop, then his kidneys will stop, and then CW will cease to live. Yesterday we were there at the hospital with him, Laura and their sons, agonizing over all the different details of options that could be-whether to take him home, whether to put him in a nursing home for what little time may be left, not knowing what would be covered, where the money would come from, how long he had left, etc. It was difficult to see him lying there, in and out of consciousness, saying some coherent things and some not so coherent. Watching Sydney's eyes, full of wonder and fright, her heart breaking for this man she has loved for her entire 8 years, who has loved her as much as her father does, loved her like he WAS her father. She is very resilient, she bounces back quickly. What will be hard for her is later, when she has to honor her uncle's life. When she, along with the rest of our family and his friends, must recall his life, in the presence of all, and mourn together as a group. Even Brandon was in a bit of a funk, and tried to break the mood with a tad bit of levity, which made him laugh. His image in the emergency room bed was not so scary as it could have been. I asked him if he wanted to see her, to which I got the "what are you, stupid?" expression-a good sign he was still somewhat lucid. He said that I should leave it up to her. I did warn her that he didn't look like his normal self, I explained to her what was likely happening, and tried to be as forthcoming as you can with a kid under 10. She, of course, wanted to see him, gave him hugs and kisses and for the most part said goodbye. I don't think that we will be able to say any further goodbyes. As quickly as he deteriorated since he was here a mere 2 weeks ago, I don't think he will be with us for a full week longer. I think when I go next weekend to Laura's, it will be in preparation for his funeral. I am going in a capacity to get done all the things that she has not had time to think about, laundry and cleaning and so forth. I will *try* not to get in her way, or Jared's, as they both still live there full time. John and Connie, well, they are there for the purpose of saying their goodbyes, and helping with important decisions, but it seems their decision making is for the most part finished. All there is to do now is wait. Which is a terrible notion. We are waiting for him to die. Wow, it feels way shittier when you see it in print. I'm glad that he will be able to remain in the hospital where he has his 24/7 care, and doesn't have to remind anyone for his pain meds. I only wish I could do more for my sister.

My Daddy Loves Me <3

My dad, Pete. John Peter, or as I call him (even still as a 36 yr old mom): Daddy. "Daddy" he will always be. My dad is 79 years old, to become 80 in January. It seems 'grandpa' old, and he is a grandpa and a great-grandpa, but consider that I am the youngest of his 6 children, him being 42 when I was born. I am thinking of my dad for many reasons. First and foremost, he called me today, somewhat out of the blue. His ears must have been burining or something, as he's been on my mind lately. Since he's been in and out of the hospital in the last 2-4 months, I had gotten into the habit of calling him about every other Friday to chat, catch up, see how he was feeling, and just hear his voice. His will be the voice I will never ever forget. His call today was especially sweet, as when I answered he immediately burst into song, serenading me with "I just called to say I love you." I almost wish I hadn't been there to answer, as I would have gotten to record him on my voicemail to replay whenever I just needed a little Daddy for comfort. But I was there, he sang a good 5 or so lines of the song, and I couldn't help but beam. We had a brief but happy chat, catching up about my sisters, his health and Sydney's first week of school. Obviously, he is feeling way more like the Pete we all know and love, the one we will remember every time his name comes up. The goofy, silly, "punny" guy my sisters and I have grown up rolling our eyes about. And though we ALWAYS rolled our eyes, in our hearts, we were glad to have this goofball to call our dad.

I must admit, I gave the guy some hell in my teen years, as any good teenage daughter does, keeping both him and mom on their toes (less so, however than one or two of my other sisters). Upon Mom's death a short 7 years ago this month, I started to reevaluate this man who was THE man in my life for so long. Upon this rethinking, I came to realize that he deserved way more credit than I had given him, as whenever I needed something from him, he was there. Whenever I needed comfort, a tv buddy, a billiards practice opponent, even an Uno buddy, he was there. Mom was not as present, not in the same way. He was gone for most of the week, having changed jobs and being made to travel during the week, but coming home on the weekends. Mom was there, but for the random things: laundry, meals, homework police, shopping for whatever, the everyday things that we tend to forget about when the more important "quality time" issues arise. Mom was there, but not emotionally. Realizing at an early age that your parents are a great deal older than parents of other kids your age, realizing that your parents might not be with you for all the major events in your life, feeling in your heart that one or both of them may not see it through to your graduation, wedding, first or fourth child, that makes you hyper-aware of moments. Watching Mom dragging on a cig at the breakfast table working a crossword in her robe... Dad (or even Mom sometimes) falling asleep in their easy chairs after trying to make it through Carson... Daddy's Saturday morning ritual of coffee and the paper in bed... Sunday mornings being dragged to church every week-no matter WHAT you felt like... Mom playing solitaire while watching her daily soaps or Jeopardy (and Heaven help the child who interrupts before the commercials!). Those are just a few. So many times thinking of Mom and her smoking as 'normal' when I somehow always knew it was hurting her. I will always remember the smell of her fingers, Oil of Olay face cream and Parliament 100s Lights. Dad's has been harder to pinpoint.

While I do miss my mother, especially at times of parental second guessing and frayed nerves, I came to realized that she got more of the credit than she actually deserved over the years, and Daddy EARNED way more. In particular, chatting about family stuff or life in general. When I lost my first "love," to drugs (which neither of them actually knew what happened), she waved me off "You shouldn't have been dating that boy to begin with," and Daddy just let me grieve and said "it gets better." While neither did what I would have liked by putting their arms around me, he acknowledged that my feelings of pain were valid and OK to experience. She didn't ask me about my life, my friends, any boys I like, even my school happenings. She drove me from home to points A, B or C, or just said for whatever reason that I couldn't go, but nary a conversation other than who was to go where and when. Daddy every so often would join me upstairs for a game of pool, sit at the breakfast table just to talk about random stuff, or ask me about friends or school or whatever he thought of at the time. He even complimented me on clothing choices, colors, my physical appearance when I was working out and he could acutally tell a difference. Daddy just seemed to interact more, react more, be there mentally or emotionally. And I never realized until less than 10 years ago. I feel somewhat ashamed of that, and to see that Mom got more credit than she earned. But I am proud to say that I have come to see that I have way more of Daddy in me than Mom. My sense of humor, my body shape (sadly in that case), my lust for all things TV, even the ball on the end of my nose is Daddy's. I am happy that I have taken time to get to know him more. When Mom died, it was a shocking and scary wake up that I barely even knew her, and she died before my 29th birthday. I never really knew her other than her name, her preference in food, drink and cigarettes, her family, and her penchant for trivia gameshows and soaps (day or night). I don't know the names of her childhood friends, whether she was afraid of the dark as a kid, which of her siblings she had to share a room with, her pets names, and I won't. She wasn't a writer, or a record keeper. She was a crossword worker. She was a beer drinking, cigarette smoking locked diary of a book. Daddy has kept records of his past, shared pictures and stories, yearbooks and old friends with me. I know that his parents divorced when he was a kid. I know that he partied in college and puked in his dorm room. I know that he went to school with a kid who's parents owned the Shiner brewery and they drove to the brewery for free beer. I know that he's taken a trip or two across the border to go drinking. I know he was a cheerleader in highschool and college, and that he is still best friends with his best friend back then, who I have known and loved all my life as my own family. In a way I feel slighted by the lack of information about my mom, but I also feel very lucky to have known this very loving, weird-ass dude that gave me life.

Because of the lack of info about Mom and the fact that Daddy has been able to talk to me, I vow that I will stay close to my daughter, sharing things she asks about and things she may not really want to know. I will answer her questions of me as openly and honestly as I possibly can (regardless of embarrassment factor-most recent difficult topic was breastfeeding-her face upon realizing that I breastfed her was PRICELESS), and making sure that she has information at her disposal. I still have yet to have "The Talk" after 36 years, and somehow, a baby was made! But I don't fault my parents for that. They were raised in a way different time than I was, and sharing was more difficult. I get that. I love my mom, and miss her. I wish I'd known enough to ask more questions, to get her away from the tv, playing cards or whatever, just to talk, to be closer. To really KNOW her. But I'm so glad that I still have my dad. Watching how he was with her in her last few years, how he took care of her so selflessly, even when she did nothing but berate and belittle him. Seeing how sad and lonely he was, even after a somewhat lackluster marriage to her, after her death. I guess after 44 years, there was love there, if only under the surface. Then seeing how disgustingly sugary happy he was when he started seeing Doris. Seeing how much he loves her, and how goofy he gets when they're together. And thinking 4 years ago when he proposed to her, how odd it was that I didn't feel upset or that he was disparaging the memory of my mother. That is still a little strange to me, but I know that their marriage was not generally a happy one. They had their moments, but by the time I came around, they'd been married 15 years already, and the bloom was off that rose. I never really knew Mom and Dad as a "happy, loving couple." I have fought very hard not to let my marriage become that awkward and blah (for lack of a better word), and I hope it works.

But back to Daddy.... I've been a little sad these past few months, thinking that I may lose my other parent way before my 40th birthday, and knowing that I'll feel this loss way more than the other. He's in the back of my head, constantly. The first man in my life, my first hero, my first love. I pray that I may have more time with him, and that it will be more than just a fleeting conversation at a family party or at one of my sisters houses. He is writing his memoirs right now, and knowing him, he'll reserve a copy for each of his daughters, and each of their children. I have offered to help him, if only by taking dictation and helping him put into printed form what he has already, or what he may not be able to write or type. I might even be asked to help recall some of our shared memories from MY youth, the summertime weekends of neighbors gathered on the driveway in lawnchairs, smoking, drinking, us kids running around sweaty and dirty and happy until 11pm or later; parties with all their friends and their kids my age-people I have grown to call brother (somehow I was always the only girl there). Happy memories of church group outings, Sunday nights at the Highland Lanes while the parents bowled, we ran around playing video games, or bowling a game or two ourselves, just happy to be doing things together. I hope that I can give my daughter those kids of memories, too.

People, if you have the chance, call Mom or Dad, talk to them, ask them questions. Ask them for advice, ask them about when they were your age, or younger. Get to know them while you can. You may not have the eternity that you dreamed of as a child.

I have rather little to say....

This is a new site for me. I think. I may have been on blogger before, but if so, it's been a looooong time and I've since forgotten the login.

It's been weird this week, not having Sydney around. Though she does on occasion stay with her grandparents, this is for the entire week, well, 4 days, and it's the last week before school starts on Monday. I am looking forward to that-her being in school once again. It's a time that I get to see her grow as a person (no, not just to have her out of my hair-I work anyway), and it's rather exciting for me. We have been rather lazy this summer (much like last year!) and have not forced any continuation on her of the previous academic season. She starts 3rd grade. A grade I remember fondly, except for my best friend moving out of state and not seeing him again until we were 18. Though, it makes me wonder 1) would we have stayed friends thru it all if he had stayed in Austin, and 2) would he have become the TOOL he turned out to be. After the summer he came into town for his brother's wedding when we were 18, we spent time together the following summer when I spent 3 months with my sister in Alexandria, Virginia. A beautiful place, made some random friends, but all in all, a waste of my time. I got to see Chris (the best friend from grade school) on several occasions and learned just what money and a snobby neighborhood and schools can do to a person. Anyone who really knows me, knows my Wise-Assery, and when I poked just a tiny bit of fun at him for having a Neiman's card (I referred to it as a Needless Mark Up card), he got all defensive. OK, fine, whatever, he took me to a VERY expensive dinner that night... I can get over that. Week or so later, we went out again, I met his high school GF Teri, who was a VERY SWEET person, and he basically confessed to me that the only reason he was seeing her while home from college was for "boinking" purposes, and regularly cheated on her while at JMU. O M G... 1) I didn't want or need to know that, and 2) WHAT A TOOL!

K, back to Sydney. I certainly hope that she never has a best or boy friend that will do that to her. And if she does, I hope she kicks him in the balls-HARD. Either physically or symbolically, but physically might make her feel better. If she doesn't, she has parents who would do it in a heartbeat. That's love baby! We spent the summer pretty much totally away from her friends, both that go to school with her and otherwise. We spent a fair amount of time with family, going to Houston to see my dad and sisters, and with her grandparents here and such. She loves her cousins, on both sides of the family, and is easily able to play and get along with most all of them. There may be a tiff here or there, but nothing involving bloodshed or violence. Most of her conflicts either dissolve into tears or whining. Neither of which are fun, but hey, if it prevents bloodshed, it works for me.

I have such hopes for her. Not plans, that's up to her to make, just hopes. Hopes that she will embrace the academia and move thru school SMARTLY, stay in school beyond HS, and do better for herself than me or her father. We are a very closeknit loving trio, but my BIGGEST regret is not finishing school. I didn't have the patience for it at 19, and now at 36 I'm pissed at myself. I don't want her to have that feeling. I want her to do exactly what she wants to work-wise, be able to move to ANY job she wants without the pigeonholing that we go through because we didn't get that stupid parchment. I want her to start her prep NOW, getting off her butt and doing things without the complaining, fully, wholeheartedly, and BETTER than the best of her abilities. I know she has it in her, she is so smart, quick and relatively self-sufficient, if only she had the confidence to see it in herself. I think she fails to realize that bragging can be ok when it doesn't hurt other people. Maybe I can teach her that. It's GOOD to toot your own horn once in a while, especially if you really deserve to toot that horn. I don't mean "I got a 100 on the test and you didn't! You're stupid, na-na-na-na-boo-boo!" No... what I mean is "Mom, Dad, I got the highest grade in the class!!!" "Mom, because I got an A on my math test, I was able to compete for (choir/drama/sports/etc.)!! I really wanted it!" That's what I'm talking about. We'll see how that works out...

I guess I had more than 'rather little.' Later...