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Friday, November 30, 2012

I miss my parents.

 My folks are not deceased, let me start out by saying that. Just in case any of the cryptic shit I start writing about ( because sometimes I get shy and don't really want to expose all of our family sideshow type behaviors) starts to make you feel sorry for my loss.

 My parents are fucking crazy. Not like kooky/wacky type crazy. Like, somewhere along the way, my life really got out of hand, kind of way. It's not for me to judge. It's not my life. But, around the holidays it starts to bother me. It didn't used to so much. I am fairly sure it's the addition of children that did it. I am accustom to the empty promises of a flaky mom or the absent minded ramblings of an incoherent father. Part of my heart thinks it's unfair that these traits came along so young for my folks. My Gram didn't totally lose her shit ever. She was one of those salty yet classy broads that you picture talking to a sailor in a with a wry smile in some incredible Coca Cola ad from the 1920's. She was a gem. I wish my mom had learned more from her. I know that sounds mean and honestly I can say that though my mom let me down ( pretty much completely) as a role model, she did better things for my siblings. So that redeems things sorta. I guess. Anyhow, she is literally nowhere to be found. She probably reads this. Hmmm. Just thought of that this moment.

 Moving on. My dad ( who was in previous portions of this blog a ton) is now happily residing in an elder town of other wackadoos ( I am only slightly joking there ). He has always been a quirky story teller. War stories, tales of his youth as a hoodlum in Hollywood, fantastic yarns of his dreams and goals. That is the Daddy I miss most. The guy I wish was still really there for my kids. I can imagine in my minds eye, Aidan sitting enthralled as my pops tells him how he helped draw and plan designs for the original Shelby race car. Or how he built a wall in Indian Springs California with his bare hands using ancient mud methods for Val Kilmers dad. And my personal favorite, how he once lived downstairs from a young Hall & Oates. All true tales. I miss this version of my dad so badly it kills me to write it. I am actually crying. Why? ( this is the part I gave a disclaimer for because it sounds like he died) Because that guy is gone now. He has started bumping along the curb, so to speak. When he lived with us I saw changes in him that were the first signs of Alzheimers. Sometimes when someone is medicated like he was ( it's such an incredible story for another post. it's that long) the signs can go unnoticed when they begin. We tapered some serious dosages of some serious narcotics and started seeing what I like to describe as pits and peaks. A medicine zombie is even and level with reaction and communication. But, when you remove that, you notice real deficits and real strengths that were masked by meds. Part of my heart wants the zombie back. But I know what I instigated was right, and true and the more humane thing to do. Getting him off pain medicines and other things that weren't necessary but more of something he had grown accustom to taking. This was all a very scary time in my life that I don't really talk about. Details of course are being skimmed over for the sake of not digging up emotions I have put to rest and boxed up and locked in a closet. That's how I roll. It keeps me A-ok. Probably wont be changing any time soon.

  I am happy Dad is safe. And happy. And well fed and watched and not alone and .............::sigh:: I wish he wasn't losing it. It's hard to talk to him. He has changed form a self confident workaholic soldier that I remember growing up to a withered cancer survivor that still smokes and is paranoid because his mind cannot hang on to things said two days ago. I give him credit for being able to hide it somewhat. I am sure that's easier because we aren't around to watch his every move like before. I am an asshole because I can't help the lump in my throat when I hear the doubt in his voice on the phone. Makes me wonder when he will forget my name. Or heaven help me, call me my mother's name. Really depressing stuff right? I know. Sorry.

 On Thanksgiving it was the very first year we had our meal in our home. With no additional family. Just those of us that live here. It was strange. And peaceful. I don't really know how I feel about it. I can say it was nice because the stress of guests ( or Dad and his antics when he lived with us) wasn't present. The pace of the day was easy and no one yelled. But it felt weird.

 I don't know what is worse, having family around wanting to nag and lob opinions about or brag or judge or love or smile and laugh..............or not having them around at all. I am really seriously not sure.

Just hug your Mom and Dad soon. If you are able. Life is fucking crazy.

On a lighter note.....

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