Monday, July 6, 2009


I was cleaning house and letting the house clean me today. I haven't just stayed home for days on end for years. It feels really good actually. I didn't get too weirded out. I mean sometimes, in the past. The far distant past, like in the late 80s I would feel really strange. Maybe it was the medications.

But anyways, I stayed home ;)

And as I cleaned the house and let the house "clean" me -- it has this funny way of doing that. Things in my consciousness that needed trickling down can just plain ole come OUT I realized in that instant. (Well, I was sort of cleaning, actually I was merely noticing the splatters on the bathroom mirror which needed wiping) my Dad didn't realize he was really dying.

Oh, now I remember, I was lining the waste basket with a plastic bag from Fred Meyer shopping.

He didn't know. He thought he would be like George Burns, sort of very old and wrinkly but not dead. He kept drinking. Day after day. And he truly, I guess, thought he would be fine. But he wasn't. He drank slowly. It wasn't even liver it was like his entire system just decombobulated overall and disintegrated.

When my sisters finally got him into a detox house he laid down to take a nap and never woke up.

I just wasn't ready for that.

Since his death I got a divorce and moved to New York. I've been going going going and today when I stayed home for several days in a row, I guess everything caught up to me more.

It just would really be nice if he was here to go out to Mexican food with. We always met at El Jardin in Fallbrook. I'm sure I'd be trying out my raw foods recipes on him. Dang.

And I wonder if, well, in those moments cleaning my house and being cleaned out inside, tears streaming out like just now as I type, I thought about calling a few years before he died and asking for money to send local black people to a black liberation workshop. I was fundraising. I just now thought to myself why the heck didn't I just think about my dad more and not all these causes.

I judged him, I was busy with my own kids, I wanted him to be a knight in shining armour.

I was truly proud of him though because he totally saw the value in the black liberation and community development workshops and he sent $50.

He donated to help end racism and that means a lot to me.

But, I truly miss him. No one else is like him. No one.

I used to hold his coffee cup in the morning. He liked it black. While he sped me along in his Camaro to get me to Jr High School on time.

He'd chuckle in his way as well and tell stories about how he was proud of me or about something in the congregation.Yes for years before he began drinking heavily he had been a minister.

I just want him back. That's all.

Oh geez. I just realized I'm fundraising again for the BLCD right now. Maybe that's part of how all these feelings got kicked up. I can't call Dad and ask him to help with it. Would one of you help me with this? I've got about two more days until the deadline. It's raffle tickets about $20 for five and a bunch of really neat prizes if you win donated by the best Portland Oregon artists and such. Back when dad donated, he didn't even have a raffle ticket, he just gave. ;)

And Dad I just know you've got your legs hanging over one of those clouds up there smiling down at me. I frikkin miss you.
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