a day of celebration...a day when the locals have an excuse to lounge in their "yards" (and I do use the term loosely...does a conflagration of cynderblocks, burrel wood statuettes and a Chevy Nova bumper qualify as a yard or garden??) wearing naught but their Walmart shorts, Curslite (that's Coors Light) in hand, as junior sets the county ablaze with contraband fireworks...the neighbors are playin' horseshoes and subjecting the entire neighborhood to their "classic rock"....A day when free candy is to be had by the grocery bag-full at the local "parade" (again I use the term loosely...not a float to be seen, but MANY log trucks, tow trucks & rodeo queens from far and wide) and a day when the best view of the local fireworks is from the highway..sitting on the hood of the car and watching the heavens 'splode...
OK that last part is actually kind of cool.
While I find it hard to get too jazzed up about this, Independence Day...(I've been reading some revisionist history which has illuminated for me the fact that the revolution as well as most of our country's exhalted history has perhaps been skewed in the telling...really it's all been about rich whitey all along - SURPRISE!)
I DO get a kick out of the fireworks, and surprisingly enough our little corner of nowhere has one of the better displays I've ever seen.
We'll be bbq-ing at the in-laws this afternoon...not necessarily because it's the 4th but because relations (a cousin and the great grandpa) will be in town. I'm making split pea/low-fat guacamole and the house smells great right now...Oatmeal cookies in the oven too. Thank goodness it's not too terribly hot today 'cause I had a sudden onset of domesticity and I was gonna turn the oven on regardless...
The past few weeks have been an emotional rollercoaster. My Oma is not, as some of you may have gathered, doing well. And I'm far away. And helpless. I don't know what's actually going on with her and while all I want to do is fly there (on a metaphorical white steed) and play Florence Nightengale....there's nothing I can really do. I feel some kind of need to "see her one more time"...but as my mother lovingly pointed out, maybe it would be better to keep happy/healthy memories? It's been weeks of tests and unanswerable questions. Weeks of "wait and see" and we still don't really KNOW anything and it's making me crazy and OH SO tired (yes, I am generally a tired girl but this is REALLY draining).
My son wants to know what's going on. I don't know what to tell him. I don't want to be alarmist but he knows I'm crying several times a day so he wants to know what's up. He's so mature in so many ways...but he's also SO empathetic/sympathetic and I don't want to put him through too much....Much in the same way my mom is still trying to shelter me.
I've never been exposed to much death. I've been very blessed and very sheltered. I was protected from my Opa's passing when I was 12 and I have only happy memories of him really. There was a girl in highschool, a casual friend, who committed suicide and I went to her services...that really hit a lot of us kids hard...and it definitely influenced my attitudes about mental illness and suicide (that's another post maybe). Our friend Scott took his life several years ago now...and I didn't get to say goodbye. Nobody did. My friend Gina's husband died unexpectedly last year and while it made me very sad for her...I was more than a little bit appalled by the vultures and drama-whores that surrounded her..I couldn't be a part of that, and as a result I don't think I was "there" for my friend. Something I will always regret a little.
Part of me wants to say goodbye to Oma. I've been calling her more often and trying to stay cheerful when I'm on the phone with her. I've run the gamut of emotions off the phone though. I started practicing telling myself that she's "dying". It could be days, it could be months... so much depends on whether she'll take treatment or if the treatment works. I don't think my mom was really willing or aware of how bad it was until she went to see her.
She may have to go to a care center or a hospice or whatever they are called.
I hate that idea. When I did CNA training I swore to myself that noone I loved would ever be in one of those 'horrible places'...but in reality, what can we do? I used to think the families of those poor old people were so heartless, letting strangers care for their family...but again...what else can we do? I can't take care of her. Neither can my mom.
I wish that my romantic ideas of death and passing could come true...but I just don't know it that will be the case.
I think she's ready to go. I think she'll see Opa and that makes her (and me) happy.
I'm very glad and lucky that she and I don't have any issues. I don't have to "make peace" with her about anything before she goes...I just wish I could help. But I can't so I'm making cookies.
