(no subject)
I can't sleep.
I got the call at 5 a.m. George died. This is the only thing I know to do, sit down and try to write it out, since it isn't going to get out any other way, really. I have already sobbed, after I hung up, since my sobbing mother didn't really allow me to mourn while we were on the phone. Nor do I think she will in the coming days, weeks, years. She began by saying, 'no more this, and no more that,' things that George did with me, or parts of who he was. 'No more sharks' teeth,' was one of them. She had to say that. She also had to say what a sad, sad life he led. I don't think he would say that, if he could talk now. I don't think he would want his death to be a remembrance of how sad his life was.
It wasn't a sad, sad life. Some sad things happened, indeed, but some other happy things happened too and I think those are the things he would want to remember most, to be remembered by. Of course it is sad that his mother died when he was young, and that his father followed shortly thereafter, and that he and his six brothers and sisters...please let me know them all now...Ellsworth, Guyon, Doris, Audrey, Anna, and Pruitt (who was later renamed Irving by his foster parents)...were split up and hardly ever saw each other again. And it is sad that he went from foster family to foster family, before he finally ended up with Daisy Brittingham. And it is sad that he lost one of his daughters to brain and spinal cancer when she was 19. Yes, all of those things are sad things.
But he didn't dwell on those things. He didn't talk about them much, because he was living here and now, and he was happy that he had a wife of almost 62 years. He was happy that he had a beautiful, surviving daughter, no matter how crazy she sometimes got, no matter how hard it was sometimes to see that she really did love him. He was happy that I came along nine years after Ann Lee died. You can see it in his eyes, in all those baby pictures...and even later, just a few weeks ago...he was the man in my life, and I brought a light into his eyes. I could see it, and I loved the way it felt to be loved so much by someone, a man who wasn't my father but might as well have been. Maybe that is why I will miss him so much, I don't know if I will ever know this kind of love again, being loved as much as I was loved by George.
I hear the stories and I wish I would have been there. I wish I could have seen him when he started out, working in the stockroom of the bakery. I wish I could have seen him ten years later, when he was president of the company and taking care of his wife and two gorgeous little girls. I wish I could have seen him when he won civic awards, or got his picture taken for the newspaper. I wish I could have seen him as he always used to be, alive and vibrant.
I never knew him without his cane, which he used after he broke his back that night at the bakery. I don't know if I wish that I could have seen him when he walked without it. To me George will always be my grandfather who walks with a cane, smokes a pipe, and smells delicious, of tobacco and Speedstick, aftershave.
I wish I would have been there. I know I am here, here because I knew this was happening, but I wish I would have been by his side. I wish I could have held his hand and told him that I'd see him in while. Because I know I will. I do believe that.
I hope that he knows that. I hope that he heard the nurse tell him I loved him, even though it was just a phone call. I hope he remembered the past months, that I was here with him, that we watched football together just like old times, and that he is why I was there. I hope he knows I was there. I hope I can stop feeling like I wasn't there, that despite the fact that I am here and not in Mexico, I wasn't there at his side, and so it doesn't count. I hope it does count. I hope it did count.
My mother got the call this afternoon; she had a chance where I did not. She did not go to him. She stayed at her house and cried.
I would have gone, if I'd been there. That is the difference. I am here in a fucking hotel room in Conway, Arkansas, and it doesn't seem right.
That is why I can't even mourn with my own family. I feel like for my mother, George's only living daughter, it is as much about the production of mourning as it is about the fact that our dear George has actually left this earth, and he is gone now. I want to remember him just as I remember him, I don't want my mother telling me why it's so sad. She wasn't even fucking around. She had a chance and she just let it slip by.
I hope that he is with Ann Lee now, that they are reunited and that she is happy to finally meet him again. That he is happy to see her too. That they are embracing now, and he is at peace.
I think it is no coincidence that I spent the past day talking more about God than I have in the past few years....that I met my friend Todd after ten years, and he has found God, and he shared with me what that means. It is no coincidence that I came here and Diego gave me a Valentine's gift, and it is my favorite movie, and it is called Heaven. It is no coincidence that he died on 2/14. There is the seven.
I will miss him. Fuck. How I will miss him. Life just changed; everything is different now.
I suppose I'll be getting on an airplane later today. I already threw up and my head is pounding and I hope that God, or George, or whomever, gives me the strength to do this, to do it right and to be there, especially for my grandmother Dot-Dot, who is dying of lung cancer and just lost her husband of 61 years, ten months and 14 days. I don't think she ever thought that she would outlast him. Bless her heart.
The sun is coming up on Conway, Arkansas. I need go outside now, see the dawn of this day.
I got the call at 5 a.m. George died. This is the only thing I know to do, sit down and try to write it out, since it isn't going to get out any other way, really. I have already sobbed, after I hung up, since my sobbing mother didn't really allow me to mourn while we were on the phone. Nor do I think she will in the coming days, weeks, years. She began by saying, 'no more this, and no more that,' things that George did with me, or parts of who he was. 'No more sharks' teeth,' was one of them. She had to say that. She also had to say what a sad, sad life he led. I don't think he would say that, if he could talk now. I don't think he would want his death to be a remembrance of how sad his life was.
It wasn't a sad, sad life. Some sad things happened, indeed, but some other happy things happened too and I think those are the things he would want to remember most, to be remembered by. Of course it is sad that his mother died when he was young, and that his father followed shortly thereafter, and that he and his six brothers and sisters...please let me know them all now...Ellsworth, Guyon, Doris, Audrey, Anna, and Pruitt (who was later renamed Irving by his foster parents)...were split up and hardly ever saw each other again. And it is sad that he went from foster family to foster family, before he finally ended up with Daisy Brittingham. And it is sad that he lost one of his daughters to brain and spinal cancer when she was 19. Yes, all of those things are sad things.
But he didn't dwell on those things. He didn't talk about them much, because he was living here and now, and he was happy that he had a wife of almost 62 years. He was happy that he had a beautiful, surviving daughter, no matter how crazy she sometimes got, no matter how hard it was sometimes to see that she really did love him. He was happy that I came along nine years after Ann Lee died. You can see it in his eyes, in all those baby pictures...and even later, just a few weeks ago...he was the man in my life, and I brought a light into his eyes. I could see it, and I loved the way it felt to be loved so much by someone, a man who wasn't my father but might as well have been. Maybe that is why I will miss him so much, I don't know if I will ever know this kind of love again, being loved as much as I was loved by George.
I hear the stories and I wish I would have been there. I wish I could have seen him when he started out, working in the stockroom of the bakery. I wish I could have seen him ten years later, when he was president of the company and taking care of his wife and two gorgeous little girls. I wish I could have seen him when he won civic awards, or got his picture taken for the newspaper. I wish I could have seen him as he always used to be, alive and vibrant.
I never knew him without his cane, which he used after he broke his back that night at the bakery. I don't know if I wish that I could have seen him when he walked without it. To me George will always be my grandfather who walks with a cane, smokes a pipe, and smells delicious, of tobacco and Speedstick, aftershave.
I wish I would have been there. I know I am here, here because I knew this was happening, but I wish I would have been by his side. I wish I could have held his hand and told him that I'd see him in while. Because I know I will. I do believe that.
I hope that he knows that. I hope that he heard the nurse tell him I loved him, even though it was just a phone call. I hope he remembered the past months, that I was here with him, that we watched football together just like old times, and that he is why I was there. I hope he knows I was there. I hope I can stop feeling like I wasn't there, that despite the fact that I am here and not in Mexico, I wasn't there at his side, and so it doesn't count. I hope it does count. I hope it did count.
My mother got the call this afternoon; she had a chance where I did not. She did not go to him. She stayed at her house and cried.
I would have gone, if I'd been there. That is the difference. I am here in a fucking hotel room in Conway, Arkansas, and it doesn't seem right.
That is why I can't even mourn with my own family. I feel like for my mother, George's only living daughter, it is as much about the production of mourning as it is about the fact that our dear George has actually left this earth, and he is gone now. I want to remember him just as I remember him, I don't want my mother telling me why it's so sad. She wasn't even fucking around. She had a chance and she just let it slip by.
I hope that he is with Ann Lee now, that they are reunited and that she is happy to finally meet him again. That he is happy to see her too. That they are embracing now, and he is at peace.
I think it is no coincidence that I spent the past day talking more about God than I have in the past few years....that I met my friend Todd after ten years, and he has found God, and he shared with me what that means. It is no coincidence that I came here and Diego gave me a Valentine's gift, and it is my favorite movie, and it is called Heaven. It is no coincidence that he died on 2/14. There is the seven.
I will miss him. Fuck. How I will miss him. Life just changed; everything is different now.
I suppose I'll be getting on an airplane later today. I already threw up and my head is pounding and I hope that God, or George, or whomever, gives me the strength to do this, to do it right and to be there, especially for my grandmother Dot-Dot, who is dying of lung cancer and just lost her husband of 61 years, ten months and 14 days. I don't think she ever thought that she would outlast him. Bless her heart.
The sun is coming up on Conway, Arkansas. I need go outside now, see the dawn of this day.