Time...

Time... Infinite, or so it seems. At least that’s what many people might believe. It’s how some people live their lives.

Tomorrow... Tomorrow, I’ll make that call. Tomorrow, I’ll take that drive. Tomorrow, I’ll right that wrong.

Tomorrow...

There’s always time, right? There will be another day, another opportunity. Another chance.

But, what if? What if there isn’t more time? What if there isn’t another chance, another opportunity? What if all you have is the here and now—only this day, this moment, this opportunity?

I’ve spent the majority of my life in 12-step recovery. The most recent anniversary I celebrated was ten consecutive years in the rooms of help and hope. Ten years of blessings, and opportunities. During that time there’s been innumerable lessons, self-inflicted heartache, the struggles that come along with life on life’s terms, peeling the layers of my soul—of my disease, and learning what makes me who I am, how I act, and why I think the way I do.

All of that work—and there’s still more to be done—enabled me to discover who I am at the core. From the top of my head, right down to the bottom of my feet.

My entire heart and soul.

I have a deep understanding and acceptance of the fact that I’m not perfect. I never will be. And frankly, I don’t want to be. Only madness lies on the path to perfection, and I’ve had more than my share of madness in my lifetime.

The last 5 years has carried it’s own brand of madness though. It marks the beginning of change in my life, of a madness that would impact my future—to a degree I hadn’t realized possible.

And through all of that, I’m exactly where I am supposed to be.

Everything happens for a reason. Let me state that again: Every single thing that has happened in my life has been for a reason.

I lost my father.

Two years ago, he was dead and alone in his small one room apartment for two days, but no one would discover that until tomorrow. 8/11/2012. For me, honoring and remembering him, lasts for three days. Three days of a deluge of memories. Three days of a desperate need to have him back. And three days of knowing he’s at peace and right where he should be.

Yet, I would give anything to have just one more Sunday evening phone call with him. To hear him tell me he loved me, or bitch about his life, or call me Puppy. To be sure he knows how much I loved him.

I would give anything to have a little more time. To have tomorrow...

But it’s too late for that now.

We don’t always have tomorrow. We don’t always have another chance, or another opportunity to make it right. Time is sometimes not on our side.

I’m not a fan of missed opportunities or regret.

I would much rather live, and take chances, and know that I got to have something crazy, and good, and complicated, and wonderful, intense, and hard... and then even if it fails, I would rather have the pain of losing, than the regret of giving up.

I would rather grab what life puts in my path, and if I deem it worthy, hold on to it with both hands and see where it takes me. I would much rather have today, even if I know that tomorrow, or ten thousand tomorrows later, it would be gone.

It’s worth it. The mistakes, the good and bad choices, the heartache we receive or cause, and the once in a lifetime passion we might find in one specific person. And the risk that comes along with it. All of it.

I would rather choose to live, than miss one intense moment of it.

Because I think it’s fucking worth it.

One Year... Dear Daddy.

Dear, Daddy

It’s been a year—one complete year, since I lost you. And there hasn’t been a moment since that horrible day that I’ve not thought of you.

I was with my two closest friends. You’ve heard me talk about them many times. You would’ve liked them had you ever met them. I was with them and it was a beautiful day. We were at the lake and I got the call from T that the police had come to the door and they needed to talk to me, but I wasn’t home. They wouldn’t tell him, it had to be me. He called me because he couldn’t fathom what on earth our local police department had to tell me that he wouldn’t be allowed to know.

I couldn’t either.

He hung up with me, saying he’d call me back as the officer came back to verify his identity so they could in fact give him the message.

While I waited one of my friends said, “Call your Father.”

I refused. There was no reason to call you. You lived in New York. I live in Arizona.

...there was no reason to call you because the message couldn’t possibly be about you.

You see, you were invincible, Daddy. I know you thought so, too. You survived years of self-inflicted abuse to your body and so much more, and my mind refused to even consider for one second that it could be about you.

But when T called me back, he could barely get the words out. In fact, I started to lose patience with him as my own panic rose because he was stumbling over his words and I finally blurted, “Just tell me!”

Then he said it.

He said the words I never considered I’d ever hear. He said the thing that my mind refused to consider.

He said you were dead.

And then I couldn’t breathe.

How? How could this be happening? How could you be gone? You weren’t supposed to die before Mommy. She’s the sick one, not you. You were supposed to retire and get out of that damn truck then move to Arizona and play with your grandchildren, watch them grow up. You were supposed to be here so I could take care of you.

How? How could this be?

I still can’t wrap my head around it. That day, I could barely talk. I wouldn’t call anyone. I simply could not bear to say the words out loud.

My father is dead. My father is dead.

My father is dead!
I choke on them still. My fingers stutter and skip keys as I type them. You were alone in your room for two days before they found you. I hate that you were alone. You shouldn’t have been alone. You should’ve been here with me.

The following day I began making calls. Only a few. One of the friends that was with me when I got that call from T sat with me and watched me quietly through all of it. She told me that she’d never seen me look as I did that day.

A shadow of me. A broken me. It’s the only way I can define it based on how she described it and based on how I felt.

That night my body shook with sobs as I wept over the loss of you. I’ve never cried so hard in my life and I’ve never felt that level of emotional pain. It was endless.

Losing you rocked me to my core and I hadn’t been prepared for it in any way, shape, or form. I simply... wasn’t.

A year later, it’s still not any easier. I’m still not prepared. Some days it’s actually worse. Some days, I’m assaulted with the knowledge of you being gone and the reality of it knocks me on my ass, hard, and I can’t breathe. I cry a lot. Still.

I went to NY a few days after the call. I took my son, your twenty-one year old grandson, with me. He walked through all of it with me. We cleaned out your small apartment. We handled your affairs, and we had your funeral.

Many people came. Many people loved you; they mourned you. And people stood up and spoke for you. I stood up and spoke for you. And I gave you the best that I could. It wasn’t what you wanted as a service, but it was the best I could do.

Then I came home.

A shadow of me. A broken me.

So much has happened since you’ve been gone. Good things, bad things, and everything in between.
There are moments when I need to talk to you. In those moments I need to hear you tell me it’s all going to be okay or tell me you’re proud of me. And there are moments I need to hear you call me Puppy and then I need to laugh and joke with you.

Everyone says you already know all of the things I want to tell you, but it’s not the same. It’s just... not. No one knows me like you do. No one understands me like you do. I’m cut from your mold. I’m your kid, as you always used to say.

You are supposed to be here and it’s just not right that you aren’t.

I sold my first book and it launched this week, Daddy and my God, I just want to call you so badly and tell you all about it. I want you to call on Sunday, right at dinnertime, just like you always did for years. I want to hear you say, “What’s up?” So I can say, “Just sitting down to have dinner.” And then you can reply, “Oh! I’m sorry.”

The same, every week. I laugh about it because you always sounded so surprised that it was dinnertime.

But Sunday comes each week and my phone doesn’t ring. I guess it would be kinda’ crazy if it did, but still, I guess I want to believe that it could happen because I need it to.

I know you’re watching. I’m sure you know everything that’s happened and is still happening. I know you’re in my heart. And I know that you know I love you.

But I want to tell you anyway.

So, this is the best I can do. A letter that you can’t read, but others will. A letter I need to write so I can honor you.

I miss you so damn much it amazes me. I never thought I would miss you this much. I never thought I’d still be crying a year later. You were a grumpy pain in my ass, but I liked you. A lot.

I loved listening to you complain about work, or whatever issue was going on with you, though I didn’t know at the time I loved it. And I loved telling you about my writing as well as sharing my troubles with you, this I did know at the time.

I know that you died knowing I love you. And I know you loved me, too.

I love you, Daddy and I miss you so much it’s agonizing. But I know you’re at peace. And out of everything, that’s the best I could hope for.

Love,

Your Puppy

 –Dorothy

Jacob...A year without him. 12/22/2010

December 22, 2009…
That was the day I got the call from my husband telling me that our cousin Jacob had died. It was the worst day of 2009 for me and ushered me in to a difficult and sometimes painful 2010.

Jacob was my cousin by marriage; I was very close to him. We spent a lot of time together the two years after his brother, Josh had died. They both struggled with heroin addiction. They both died from that same drug.

When I got that horrible call from my husband the world spun around me. I dropped to my knees and all I could say was “NO!” Then the tears came.

After that, I went on auto-pilot. Both my husband and I did. We went about the things you do when someone close to you dies, making the necessary calls, determining arrangements, etc. I went and bought a few Christmas gifts in the middle of all of it that day. Do the next thing in front of you to do, I kept telling myself. I just could not wrap my head around Jacob being gone. He was so full of life. A bright shining light, and he was gone and I couldn’t accept it.
I still can’t.

I have a friend from Alanon who has a sort of connection to the dead, if you will. They visit her, and it’s not consistent, and no, she can’t contact your dead aunt for you. It just happens randomly for her. Now, some of you may think this is odd, or maybe you don’t even believe in this sort of thing, but I do. I’ve had a few experiences, myself, with the dead paying me a visit.
Is it leftover energy or a ghost? Who knows? I won’t try and label it.

About 2 months ago I saw this friend at a meeting and we had a strange conversation. She was crying a lot. We used to talk more than we do now, and she was saying how much she missed me, but she was really emotional. Naturally, I comforted her. The next day, she called me and said, “I know you might think I’m nuts, but someone that’s passed on is trying to contact you through me.” I told her I didn’t think she was nuts and asked her who.

She started telling me that this spirit had been around her for a few days, and all she kept hearing was the word “red.” When she saw me at the meeting, my hair had been freshly colored bright red. She told me that yes, although it was true she had missed me, she just felt like she couldn’t get close enough to me that day. It was as if she wanted to climb inside my skin and find comfort. That morning it clicked for her why she had felt like that.

She said, “I don’t know who it is, but he is big and he has a beard. He’s jolly and he’s happy and he loves you, and he needs you to know that he’s okay. He wants me to tell you that he knows you’re having a hard time and he’s with you.”

All I could say was, “It’s Jacob.” She went on to tell me more. She told me some specific things about his death that I had already suspected. She also told me some other things about him that she wouldn’t have known, couldn’t have known. I cried as she shared what she was hearing from him with me. I cried quietly and I listened. “He doesn’t want you to be angry with him,” she said. “He’s happy now, he’s okay.”

She told me he leaves me signs: pennies or feathers. “Look for feathers,” she said.

I’ll be damned! There had been feathers around. Several times I would walk outside to my back patio and there would be a feather sitting on my chair. We were at the annual Christmas party for my husband’s work, standing outside talking, and there was a huge feather on the ground between the owner’s feet. The owner is also my husband’s cousin, and Jacob’s, as well.
It was surreal seeing that feather just sitting there. I knew that Jacob was there with us, too.

I have a picture of Jacob up on my wall in my office. I stare at it a lot. I know he is with me. In the picture he is smiling. I know he’s free from his suffering, from his disease of drug addiction, but I am selfish. I want him here. I miss him more than I can even begin to express. The pictures I am showing you show the funny side, that “jolly” man that he relayed to my friend. There are also a few where you see the pain that was there, too. I cherish these pictures.

Today marks a year that he’s been gone. I know that I will never be the same after losing Jacob. He touched my life in so many ways. In fact, he touched everyone’s life that he came in contact with. He was a friend to everyone, and if he only had a dollar left in his pocket and you needed it, he would give it to you. My house was full of people the day we had his memorial. We had to move it outside and my whole backyard was full, as well as my patio. It was amazing.

Jacob was loved by so many people. We mourned him together, and we still mourn him.

Much has happened in this last year. Some days, life is just too overwhelming and I want to run and hide. Other days, life is just life and it’s bearable, but it goes on.

I’ll never forget Jacob. I don’t think anyone will.

I’ll end this post just as I ended the one I wrote last year when we lost him. If you want to read, you can find it here.

“These three remain always, Jacob. Faith, hope and love...and yes, the greatest of these is love.”

“You were loved, Jacob! You still are.”

Rest in peace, my light.

I love you and miss you.
M.