Writing for Writing's Sake

It seems like I used to have so much to say, my brain would be bursting with so much that I had to get to my keyboard and get it all out there. I miss it. Right now, I've got nothing. I know a blog post about not having anything to say is kind of silly, but I miss writing, I miss you guys. I visit your blogs and smile and think, but even then, don't comment much because I feel like I just don't have anything worthy to add.


Is this it? Am I done? I wonder sometimes. I look at successful bloggers and always had hoped I would find my niche and be able to do this for a "living", but that is not really what I want. I enjoy working outside the house and if it weren't for be a waitress, I would certainly get much less exercise than I do now.  Plus, my few followers I feel are sort of my "blog family" and I don't anymore want to add a whole bunch of looky-loos. And the times I've contemplated just deleting the whole thing....



The kids, the house, the job, all things I could drone on about, but I don't want to. I know I've said I'd like to back off of my religion stuff, but sometimes, I'll think of something to say there, too. Everything just seems...still. I would even say I'm kind of bored with life right now. It's a season, I suppose. I wonder if know depression is lurking around here and due to recent events I can justify indulging it for a time.


I just needed to type for awhile this morning.

The Absence of Fear

One thing that came back to me again and again in these past few weeks was the absence of fear. I hadn't faced anything this life altering since my departure from the faith and I was astonished to realize that not only did I not miss not having God in the mix, I was very glad I didn't have that to deal with on top of everything else.


Was Norm saved? Is he in Heaven? Hell? What if I should have witnessed to him?


It became apparent to me that I had truly lived in a constant state of fear and anxiety. Never was I more depressed, self-loathing, and anxious than when I was trying to please God. And now, I'm not and I'm free.


Like I've said here before, I don't necessarily believe that there is nothing else after death, but I don't fear that something else anymore.  Faith that gives hope and comfort is fine for those for whom it does just that, for me, it did everything but.


I know it sounds harsh. 

Cookie Grandpa

The kids called him that.



My mom brought cookies on one of her visits during the years that I was practically a baby factory. She would come when the littles were little and help me out with whatever she could. Keeping the ones with teeth happy with cookies was one thing she did and did well. It became a tradition and she became known as Cookie Grandma.


He and I had had our own troubled history. Mom and he started dating not long after my parent's divorce and I couldn't stand him- not him, the situation. I was sixteen and knew everything. I caused my mother a lot of grief during those years and Norm was there to see all my teen bitchiness glory. I actually decided to go and live with my dad for the rest of my high school years and even refused to attend their wedding. It is something that I regret very much. When I finally moved out and got a taste of the real world, I came to their home one night and apologized.  He never said anything about it or judged me. He was always there.




I remember the first year I labeled Norm's Christmas present "Cookie Grandpa" instead of just Norm. He had become their grandpa, not a step-grandpa, but just as much a grandfather as flesh and blood.



One Halloween several years ago, Mom and Norm had us over for a fall gathering. Before we left, he presented each of the six of ours with plastic pumpkin trick-or-treat buckets filled with all kinds of goodies. It meant so much to me, since at the time, this kind of thing was completely out of our means. We could barely afford to give them a decent Christmas and he must have spent $100 on them at least, for Halloween. He was definitely a gift giver. The kids were thrilled, but I was more-so. He loved us.


He and my oldest son share a love of all things techy. He gave us our first laptop- a very old Dell that his work was finally throwing out.  It was big and hot and heavy, but nicer than anything we had. It's name was "Old Blue." Nick had so much fun learning about all kinds of things on that computer. My oldest daughter, Rachel, cannot sleep without the blanket he made for her for Christmas years ago. Tim and Dan loved the rides Norm would give them in his Jeep. Stephen, my youngest boy, is often wearing a suit and Norm would tell him he couldn't be fancy if his shirt wasn't tucked in. That would turn into a running joke for them (you had to be there) that was one of the last things Norm said the last time he was here. Last year for Christmas, Mom said he ran all over the place to find matching Care Bears for Leah and her BFF cousin, but they had to settle on different ones. The girls loved them anyway.


The last time we were all together when things were normal was July 4 this year. He and Mom and all of us went down to my sister's house. She lives at a private lake and it was becoming our new tradition to spend the fourth there. We would eat and swim, drink and laugh, and then watch the fireworks after dark. This year, Laura invited us to spend the night there so that we would not have to make the hour plus drive back so late. We did. Mom and Norm left right after the fireworks, he just wasn't acting himself that day. I mentioned it to Joe the next day and he noticed it too. Three days later, all this started.





He left this world on Monday afternoon. I truly hope he is finally at peace. He will be missed.

Fade

Watching someone slowly fade away is not something that I had in my summer plans. Everything changed that day in July when Norm first went to the emergency room. Everything happened so fast, yet so slowly.


It has been day-by-day-minute-by-minute since then and he is still here in a physical sense, but he's not. His decision to go home and stop nutrition never set well with me, but I can understand why he made that decision.  We were assured that it would be quick, a few days to a couple of weeks. It's been 22 days now. This is not what he wanted. My mother is trying her best to keep him comfortable with the meds provided by hospice. There are things about this I never knew, like the restlessness the dying go through. When he is not asleep, he's trying to get out of bed in the semi-conscious state that he is in. He stopped communicating about 10 days ago or so. What is going on in his mind? Is he in pain? It's just so hard to see. This is not the way anyone should go.


He accepted death with dignity and it won't come.

Why is no one Praying for a Miracle?

An honest, refreshing "emperor has no clothes" question asked by Mom while we were still in the hospital. It is a Catholic hospital and one day while I was there, one of the chaplains came around and asked if we wanted to pray with her.


Sure, we all did, but afterwards the question was asked (after said chaplain left).


Why are we praying for wisdom for the doctors, comfort for the family, comfort for Norm. Why aren't we praying, take this all back? Why wasn't that even an option in the litany listed from the holy person's lips?


I have no axe to grind with the religion anymore, I just thought it brutally honest to hear this question asked by someone who does believe (Mom).




Later at work that week, a very nice couple who come in with this or that church group on a pretty regular basis on Sundays came in. They are always very kind and tip well. We've gotten to know each other on a friendly-professional basis over the last several months. Although they've never asked my "deal" about this or that, they always pray before they eat and whoever is their server gets asked for any prayer needs. The first time this happened, I was quite put off, but just let it happen. Now that I know they aren't going to try to convert me (at least I don't think so), I don't mind. Honestly, when they asked me this time, I said yes, yes I do have a request. I let them pray for Norm while I bowed my head, not really believing any of this particular formula, but knowing that sometimes the unexpected will happen. I really thought at the time he still had some hope.


Hope?

My sister and doctors don't seem to have any at all. Mom is still in shock mode, but is keeping it very together, but has accepted the prognosis.  Why can't I hope? Not in God, but in hope.



After the decision to come home the praying customers were back the next week and I told them. I wonder if they ever thought a miracle could happen.



So now we just wait. It's a horrible kind of wait.