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Healing

‘Tis a tricky thing, this healing business. Sometimes memories are not enough, and you long for things more tangible. A voice. A touch. A whisper in the ear. Or just being able to ask….”what should I do?” Even if, to my detriment, I’ve never taken his advice as much as I should have.

Time heals they say….which is a crock of shit. It does no such thing of course. It may act as a shoe over a just-broken foot…but the foot is still broken. When an irreplaceable part of you is taken away, by definition that hole can never be filled. All you can do is get used to the wind as it blows a little colder. Perhaps one day you can treat it as Hershey, PA residents treat the smell of chocolate….or Homer Simpson treats the always iminent threat of irradiation (with the help of Moe’s tavern. Just thinking of that. Mmm. I could use a belt right now.)

But no….self-medication is not the answer….although I am sorely tempted to hear somebody ask the question at times. No angel am I….but remaining dry seems the best course of action right now.

Through this ordeal I’ve been left speechless by both generosity and indifference. I’ve hit things it’s not a good idea to hit, and spent much of my time alone, trying to gather thoughts and feelings and laughter and tears…most of the time with Ipod ear-buds inserted. Irish music has been a great comfort. The Bothy Band. Matt Molloy. Tommy Peoples. I’ve worn my Ireland pin everyday, along with my green converse sneakers and my celtic cross on a 50 cent rope that my daughter pulled out of some gumball machine. I find a certain refuge in my heritage….as if being Irish itself gives me a leg up in the grieving process (bastard brits starving us out and all). Maybe it does. I’m proud of my green blood in any event, so I like to think I wear it well.

Christ….this happens to people every second of every day. What the hell makes this so different?

Because it happened to me, that’s why. And us. And him. Intellectually we know the rules apply to all, but that doesn’t stop us from sauntering to and fro pretending otherwise. We’re inherently selfish when it comes to our own. Don’t you realize that? If you don’t, you will. Dying sucks, and Alzheimer’s is worse ’cause it kills you twice.

I find it hard to focus on one thing anymore. The mind wanders….races….or acts like it just touched a hot stove. Maybe this is my way of raging against Alzheimer’s. Don’t look back, ’cause someone or something is likely gaining on you. So said the great Satchel Paige, who coincidently never let anybody know how old he was. That’s one way to avoid aging.

Jigs. Reels. Airs. They’ll be with me as I drift off to sleep again tonight, my way of warding off seeing things in the dark that aren’t there in the light. I don’t much like dreams, ’cause one way or another they always leave you disappointed.

In a bit…

–tf

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Categories: Uncategorized
  1. Erin
    April 23, 2010 at 2:38 pm

    Wow – you really have a way with words – I had to post this on fb – hope you don’t mind!!

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