Saturday,
September 7, 2002
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solemn baby
"Success is only important
to the extent that it puts one in a position to do more things one likes
to do." |
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endings It's all about endings right now. Which always implies beginnings, too, My mother suffered. Then she didn't. She didn't know anything. Then she was gone. I have a lot to say about it, but it will take time. So my dad was visiting the hospital every day, day in, day out for eight hours, twelve hours, more. He will be 86 on the 18th of this month. She was in the hospital 99 days. I really intended to retire next summer. But I used all my vacation taking days off to be with my mother. Retirement now seems right. So I'm retiring. A co-worker died of a heart attack this morning. Someone got the word to me in the afternoon. I was passing along some work to this guy. A great guy with a young family. Thirty-nine. Shocking. It happens. Things end. But it is still so untimely and so sad. But things begin out of endings. My retirement is another era for me. My niece's little boys begin life as Mom's ends. That's the way life is supposed to be. The elderly great grandmother passes on, the babies stirring at the funeral. But people lose their parents too young sometimes, too. Life is chaos. But it only has one ending and it always comes. We should live as if that's so. But we don't. My retirement is my signal that I understand that dollars don't buy your way out of the final scheme. I'm going to enjoy things and make things nice for others. Do things that take that most precious quantity, time.
Mom is gone. That's a weird thing. We sorted through some of her stuff. It felt like a violation. Her camera had film in it. We shot up the rest and I gave the camera to my niece. Dad said he'd never had a camera in his life when I said I couldn't see him taking pictures. "I've bought a few, but I never owned one," he said. Maybe he will take pictures some day. But I doubt it. So, yeah, we gave some of her stuff away. Put some in bags for goodwill. My sister inventoried the miniature displays. She said there were 71 of them. My sister and the kids identified some stuff they'd like to get home when they aren't flying. It's doesn't matter. It's just stuff. When Mom agreed to move, I told her I'd get everything just the way she wanted. Bought her a TV with VCR for the office, a TV for the bedroom, a CD player. She bought a computer and a desk. Got it together, showed her how to use it. Dad is still going to live there but some of this stuff he'll never care about. Just the way it goes. And speaking of stuff. One bad thing about retiring is that I have to clean out an office that is choc-a-bloc with useless stuff. Plus I have all these things in frames that I have no place for. Not walls enough. I haven't travelled light enough through this world. Someone said over the last couple of days that Mom's real hobby was shopping. And she certainly did like to buy things. She enjoyed them, too, however. She wore her clothes and jewelry, watched those TVs, made craft things and rearranged her knick knacks. They look lost without her. She didn't feel like enjoying them, I now realize, for six months or more before going into the hospital. So life goes on. And, one day, I'll be gone and somebody will open a box and find it full of bendable, posable figures.
Work seems distant after two weeks completely away from it. I'd turned over most everything anyway. I had one of those, let's be honest, useless staff jobs. Still, it seems amazing to be able to walk away after thirteen years with no more regret.
We do stuff as a family. At Threadgill's the kids scream. Nerves are shredded. I've enjoyed having some time with my great nephews, though. Mom would have enjoyed them, too. Dad has held them. Families evolve, each generation holding some of the past and giving it to the future.
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180
JUST
TYPING