On March 20th of last year, I wrote this –
So – this weekend, Pops has been adjusting to the trach and slowly coming off the sedation. The respiratory therapists have been lowering the assistance he gets with the ventilator. . . . He’s still pretty out of it, but you would be too if you had been on drugs for the last three weeks – He got a new bed today so he will be able to sit up more. The rehab placement that he will use to be able to relearn how to use his left side or compensate without it, may still be a couple of weeks out — but we are getting there . . . He is still kicking around some sort of infection, but all-in-all, things are better than they were a week ago. I’m hoping to get to sit with him and watch UConn beat Duke on the way to the FinalFour- and maybe even hear him swear about the weirdness that is the officiating once Duke is on the floor.
Lynn, Corey, and I want to continue to thank everyone for their love and prayers – for your visits in the waiting room, for your meals at the house, for your cards and notes and messages. This is the hardest thing we’ve ever gone through, and we are so grateful to have all your support.
much love and hope,
But I wrote that with trepidation…
I had waited for my dad to come out of it the days after his trach surgery – to be more aware – to see me – and when on Saturday he didn’t – when he didn’t respond when I brought the seed catalogs into his room to read – to talk about spring- to talk about rebirth – to make gestures of life – when he didnt’ open his eyes by the time I left that saturday – I was worried. Read the rest of this entry
Not sure which is worse, the poetry or the bball play last night — but I’m going to revel in the horrendous of both- and repost my Facebook feed poem in progress from last night.
Tucked the kids, dressed in their UConn tees into bed –
with visions of Shabzz and the big dance in their heads. Read the rest of this entry
April 2, 2011
Washington Irving said —
“There is sacredness in tears. They are not the mark of weakness, but of power. They speak more eloquently than ten thousand tongues. They are messengers of overwhelming grief…and unspeakable love.”
There is a lot of pressure to stand up here and to speak about my father in a way that is fitting and right.
And then to get through this while standing upright, and without tears.
— But then there has already been time for tears, plenty, this week . . .this month.
I don’t know how to stand up here and even begin to put all of papa into a short page of writing.
The number one thing they tell writers is that they must write what they know, and what I know is that this week my Papa passed away Read the rest of this entry
The hardest part Papa – is that you and I haven’t always had the greatest relationship. In retrospect this is most likely due to the fact that we are more alike than I’ve ever been willing to admit. Pig headed, loud, and self involved– easy to anger, easily frustrated, easily distracted. But then, we have good things in common too. We know you need to work hard, and play hard. We like our music turned up in the car, we like to dance in kitchens, we both like a shot of tequilla now and again. We read the paper from cover to cover. We like snacks. We have passion, and conviction, we stand strong, if not rigid in our beliefs. We know that there is nothing in front of family – and that friends that have been kicking around since we were ten, or twenty something, are just like family too. And, and, we love our sports teams. Read the rest of this entry