I Lost Yesterday

I lost yesterday.
I slept through it, for the most part.

I did wake up and eat, at some point.
Went to the bathroom and stuff like that.

But -- I woke up when the alarm went off.
I thought it was the 10 am alarm, so I got up and took my morning mrdicine, and picked up the phone to turn the alarm off. I had a lot of notifications, but Sundays can be like that sometimes.

I puttered around doing the waking up stuff, and turned on the TV, and it was there that I first noticed the time.

It wasn't 10 am. It was 7 pm.

What?
How did that happen?
I remembered the night before, going to bed about eight and waking up around 10, or maybe it was 2. I don't really pay attention to the time, unless I'm looking for something on the TV. I didn't do that this time. I did push the button for the TV, but it didnt matter what was on the tv. It made quiet noise so I wasn't hearing the sounds my ears make when on their own.

I drifted back off to sleep.

And didn't wake up until 7 pm?
So weird.

And its the second time this week I time-warped.

I managed it better this time.
I guess experience counts?

Loved the Rain, And You

I've always loved the rain, and sharing it with you.

The opening lines of a complete regretful eulogy of a song, complete with instrumentation and a wistful familiarity.I had the whole song, as I sat on the porch watching it storm and missing Tammy.

Yes, I know. I keep going back to that.
It was important.
It was something to look forward to.

And something that never happened.

I doubt I will ever realize it's raining again without that thought.
If you knew Tammy, you'd know.

Anyway, the song.
It was so familiar, and so wrong, but right at the same time.
Loving the rain, and enjoying it, and sharing it. The storms, lightning flashing, thunder booming or rolling.
The rain slanting down.
The clean smell of it, even those first soured minutes onto hot pavement in the heat of a summer afternoon.
Walking along under the trees.
Laughing at children running into and out of shelter, laughing, not knowing if they liked it or not.
But laughing at Mommy and Mammaw playing, dancing, jumping in the rain with them.

In and Out, In and Out, a tapestry (tap dance?) of rain and laughter and love. Every stitch, every step a part of a larger, joyous pattern.

And the Music stops and the pictures of what was, what is, and what will now never be stops also, frozen in a moment -- ah, but such a lot of moments! -- forever.
And the rain forever falling, and the laughter, and we, too, are falling and floating with it, because it is what it is, and we both loved it then, and love it still.


It was in a dream, so I lost a lot of the words when I woke up, but they've come back to me, a line or two at a time.
As yet, I can't put them in order.
Maybe someday...

The familiarity bothered me.
And I found the song.

https://youtu.be/ixa7-EG0YhE

See what I mean about it being both wrong and right?
And even if I do remember my words to the music, I'll not be able to use them, except privately, which seems almost a shame.  The music belongs to someone else, and most of the words. And I'm not someone to go begging for exemption from copyright infringement. That's a big deal.

Ah well.
It's one thing I know I did right, loving the rain, and sharing it with you.
Now you can ride the clouds, up and down,  in an eternal bonding with your beloved rain.
Enjoy, my pluvial Pisces.

Two Weeks In

Two weeks ago, My 32 year year old daughter died.
She had an unidentified rapidly spreading cancer.

She wasn't even sick.
She had back pain and leg swelling.
She worked on her feet eight or ten or twelve hours a night, five or six nights a week, overnights at McDonald's for approximately 10 years.
Of course her back hurt.
Of course her leg(s) swelled.

These are the same symptoms that forced me out of work, despite an extended medical leave for rest and treatment.


Her daughter was 80 days from her 12th birthday.
Already taller than her mother (and grandmother), already more curvy, a good artist, largely self-taught and still self-teaching.
She made her mother so happy.
She made her mother laugh.
She made her smile.


Her son turned 7 the day she was admitted into the hospital.
They had his party on Saturday, his birthday would be Sunday.
By midnight, by Sunday, by his actual birthday, she was in the hospital.
He would not see her in person again.
He, too made her laugh and smile and play, and just beam with happiness.

She was so pleased with her kids even when they frustrated her. That was part of the fun, part of the job, part of the love.
The largest part of her reason for existing, for working her legs off.

He would not see her again.
Hailey would not see her again.
I would not see her again.

She died in a local, neighborhood hospital, with no final hugs from her kids, no good-bye from her mother, no farewells of any sort from the rest of the extended family, who tried to organize a parking lot banners-and-waves for her.

She did not die alone. On the last day, they finally allowed her husband to be with her, and he was there for her.

He was there for her, holding her as she left us, helping her to ease into the long good-bye that she couldn't bring herself to acknowledge.
He, better than anyone, could get her to face hard facts, to admit to hard truths.

He. too. is way too young to be facing this, and left with these bereft children while his own being is split into parts, as if an amputation. If Hailey was 80 days from her 12th, he was 78 or 76 (sorry, cant remember the day right now) days from his 31st.
Too young.

They have been part of one another for over a quarter century. They had been a couple for more than half their lives.

He is handling it in the ages old way: One task, one chore, one minute, one hour, one day at a time.

Me, I guess I'm handling it the same way, but I wonder.
It just seems too damn big to be true.
Too crazy.
Too wild.
Too fictional.

I'd like to think this is one of my crazy story-telling dreams, but I know it is not.
I'd like to think this is an alternate reality, and somewhere she's sending me a text or pictures of the kids, but I know it isn't and I know she's not.
She just isn't.

Even if there were to be an alternate reality, that isn't where I am.
Although it remains where she isnt.

I wake up between 3:30 and 4 every morning, if I sleep at all.
That is when she would be getting off work and we would talk, text, chat, and often meet. Usually across the street at Kroger's store, just before they opened.

I want to show her things from my house, I want to share jokes about tv shows and brief flurries of arguments about songs, and ...

Well, if you've lost someone, you know.
If you haven't, you can't know.

Tammy, oh Tammy.
I miss you so.