Going the Distance

I have often dreamed of a far off place
Where a hero’s welcome will be waiting for me
Where the crowds will cheer, when they see my face
And a voice keeps saying this is where I’m meant to be

I’ll be there someday, I can go the distance
I will find my way if I can be strong
I know every mile will be worth my while
When I go the distance, I’ll be right where I belong

Down an unknown road to embrace my fate
Though that road may wander, it will lead me to you
And a thousand years would be worth the wait
It might take a lifetime but somehow I’ll see it through

And I won’t look back, I can go the distance
And I’ll stay on track, no I won’t accept defeat
It’s an uphill slope, but I won’t lose hope,

till I go the distance and my journey is complete

But to look beyond the glory is the hardest part
For a hero’s strength is measured by his heart

Like a shooting star, I will go the distance
I will search the world, I will face its harms
I don’t care how far, I can go the distance
‘Till I find my hero’s welcome waiting in your arms

I will search the world, I will face its harms
‘Till I find my hero’s welcome waiting in your arms

When did Disney’s Hercules come out? 1997? (Yup, just Googled it). To me…Michael Bolton’s version of the song is the definitive song from the film (the way “Whole New World” is for Aladdin, or “Beauty and the Beast” from “Beauty and the Beast” or such. A “real” version of the song, not the version from within the film, but from the end credits or such.

I don’t remember detail from the film the way I do for 1989’s The Little Mermaid, 1991’s Beauty and the Beast, 1992’s Aladdin, or 1994’s The Lion King.

But the song…it has stuck with me over the years.


Graduation year.

High school graduation, that is.

I believe the day was June 6, 1999. Forgive me if I’m “off” on that, we’re nearly 24 years later, more than half a lifetime later, and I’m NOT gonna Google stuff to figure out the date.

I remember the old house, in Eastlake. My bedroom there. Having some sort of CD “walkman” and headphones.

And so. many. people. Or it seemed that way.

Me, sister, parents…grandparents, aunts, uncle.

Crammed in that house.

And without getting into all the self-analyzing and such…all I wanted was several MINUTES to just listen to the song myself.

We were getting ready to head to whatever that theater was where the graduation ceremony was to take place.

And me being me, being who and what I was at the time…MY way to get psyched up and situated/prepared for stuff…I just wanted to listen to the song. Close my eyes, blare the headphones, and let it take me over for a few moments.

It was the end of high school. It was reaching my far off place. As graduation things are wont to do, it would be a sort of hero’s welcome. I was embarking down an unknown road from there to embrace my ‘fate’/what was to come.

Sentimental FOOL.

But whatever.

Back to the house: I didn’t know it at the time but it was one of the last times those people would be together in that house.

And I sure did not appreciate the enormity of that; of having so much family in one space at the same time; from both sides of the family. Kneeland AND Ringland.

And of course, they were there for ME. Because I was graduating high school. Some big, important thing…blah. So many thoughts I’m not gonna get into on THAT front.

But here in 2023, 24 years later…what I wouldn’t give to see the folks that were there with me then, again now.

So ok, enough rambling on that front.


Whatever the song meant to me then, and for most of the past 22 1/2 years…and whatever it was INTENDED as (Hercules seeking his father?)…its meaning has shifted MIGHTILY for me these past nearly-17 months.

It’s both spiritual–the road we travel, that race, that journey, ultimately to stand before God and Jesus;

And it’s that missing Dad, knowing that for whatever reason(s), I have however much time left on this Earth.

As “Scars in Heaven” speaks: he’s fought his fight and his race is run.

But I have some distance left in mine.

And that song that once represented some open, unknown future to me…well, I guess now it represents a destination I’ll be searching for the rest of my days.

And all this rambling tonight, and I don’t even begin to have it in me to get into much detail right now…but another growing realization I’ve had bubbling to the surface of conscious thought is that there are a number of people–family–that I have never properly grieved.

And it’s increasingly obvious to me that that has something to do with my grieving process these last 17 months with Dad.

Because not having people in my every-day present life, maybe I was able to stifle stuff. To run from it, to hide from it. Not let myself FEEL it, not lean into it, not realize the awesome enormity of the losses.

And now, with Dad, maybe some of that grieving has poured out, and I’ve been able to focus/channel it toward him, even as I never did with others.

But as I’m often saying/thinking…a lotta that’s for some other post some other time. Whether or not I ever actually commit it to writing/posting.

Once and Always

Some thirty years ago, probably while watching X-Men or Batman or whatever, there was a commercial for some new live-action tv show. Bright-colored superheroes with giant dinosaur robots. I remember it catching my attention because of the dinosaur aspect. While I was several years removed from my “main” “Dinosaur Phase” as a kid…it was still a “hook” for me. (Also thinking right now, Jurassic Park was due to come out around then, I believe, so there was that as well!)

While it caught my ATTENTION…I remember it looking kinda dumb and not really interesting to me; and I did not bother tuning in for the show’s premiere, nor watching it at all, really.

Until a few weeks later at a friend’s house when he wanted to watch it, so I watched with him, and he told me a bit about what was going on–there were 5 members of this super-hero team, but the “bad guy” (some space-witch) had created her own, evil versoin of one of the heroes with yet another color (green, instead of the heroes’ black/blue/red/yellow/pink). Apparently it was a multi-part series-within-a-series, and this was the 5th part. The evil guy also got a giant robot to oppose the others’, but was eventually bested by the red hero…and since he was actually just under a spell of the evil space-witch, when that was broken, he joined the heroes as the sixth and final member of their team.

I myself, typing this, know EXACTLY the show I’m talking about. And I feel like it’s so very obvious, and that I’m having a hard time keeping it vague thus far, just to set the stage, so to speak.

The show was Mighty Morphin Power Rangers, that episode was the “Green With Evil” part 5, the story having introduced Tommy, the Green Ranger and his mighty Dragonzord.

(Jumping ahead to 2017–that year’s “reboot” film included a scene that had JUST A FEW NOTES of the “classic theme music” and much of the audience in the theater CHEERED at that. For the “Power Rangers” generation that grew up/was “of the right age” for the original “Zordon Era” or “Mighty Morphin’ Era” or whatever, that’s gotta be one of THE most “iconic” pieces of music out there–along the likes of the ’90s X-Men theme, the Duck Tales theme, etc., I would think. At least, it is for ME)

Anyway…I was hooked. I started watching every day for each new episode. And the time being what it was, I made a point of recording each episode onto VHS…getting very good at pausing the recording for commercials to cut those out, and have my own quasi-“season on home media” as a result.

I was still in junior high, which was a few minutes’ bike ride from the house, so I’d get to watch that day’s Power Rangers episode, recording to VHS, and then dash out the door, hop on my bike, and get to school on time. (I was pretty certain I recalled it being on in the mornings–7:30am I think–but then doubted myself until discussing with a friend who ALSO recalled it being on in the mornings!)

All this rambling to get to probably the main point I was aiming for: Dad used to tease me about the show, watching it–he could see cleeeeeearly just how hokey it was (or, a term I recall really “learning” and glomming onto in college, “campy.”) I also recall one time him and Mom talking about it and his pointing out that the Black Ranger was…well, black. And something about the Yellow Ranger being (Asian? Oriental? I forget the exact word he used now). Stuff I had never consciously noted, connected, or taken any symbolic meaning to-or-from, nor picked up on.

Back in those days–I was still 12 in the summer of 1993–obviously, I wasn’t off in a bedroom alone watching tv, so anything/everything I (got to) watch(ed) was semi-supervised in that it wasn’t PRIVATE. So whether it was Power Rangers in 1993-1994, or Pokémon in the later ’90s, or whatever…Dad and Mom being around was a given, and there’s a certain association I still have memory-wise with that.

I’m not sure if any of those old self-recorded VHS tapes still exist–it’s possible that they came over to the current house when Mom and Dad moved in 2015. But it’s more likely that they were ‘left behind’ to go to the curb, no longer being relevant or such in an age of DVD-and-Blu-Ray and DVR and such.

By the time I get this POSTED, it’s been almost a week since Mighty Morphin Power Rangers: Once and Always dropped on Netflix. It’s a 30th-anniversary-special, about 58 minutes including a couple sets of end-credits. I thoroughly enjoyed it for what it was, though with a bit of cautious wariness. I’m not gonna pick it apart or give it any sort of detailed review HERE, as countless others have already reviewed the thing to death and done “10 things” and “20 Easter eggs” and “100 things you missed…” (…in MMPR: O&A) and frankly, a full review would be better placed in my now-long-neglected comics blog.

Watching the special sparked a bunch of memories for me–as ought to be totally, overtly obvious by all of the above in this post.

In context of the MMPR universe, “Once and Always” is reference to “Once a Ranger, Always a Ranger.”

But there’s a lot deeper to be found in (the/such a) title.

Sentimentality, symbolism. Dad may be gone from this Earth, from the physical presence of just a few weeks over 41 years of my life. But his being who he was, and what he’s meant to me, his significance…that did not stop that night in December 2021. He–his presence, essence, lessons, values, example, and so on and so forth–that’s all part of his “once and always” to ME.

That day I was dropped off

Tonight’s grief group video included talk of stuff being like a college, or dorm life and the complexities and such; other than the “dorm” part, doesn’t really matter to this post.

But I was reminded of that day, back in late August 1999, when Dad and Mom dropped me off for college. They’d been into the dorm with me and all; I can’t remember but I THINK Dad insisted on our getting lunch or something somewhere. But then, I was dropped off.

He (and Mom) parted ways with me…I was off onto this new journey, and it was a new thing, a new start, a new chapter, new experience…I had to find my way on my own. Without them.

And I know in some ways, here we are again, these last nearly 15 months.

I’ve shared in the past that quote from DRAGONLANCE: “We raise our children to leave us.”

And so that day it began…they’d raised me. To leave them.

It’s been about 8 days since my last post, and I feel like that one was a doozy. For ME. It’s sat with me.

We come toward the end of this cycle of the grief group. Tonight was Week 11. Of 13.

We had someone new to the group tonight…she was able to catch me on my way in and ‘follow’ me; and while I’m NOT a “people person” or “leader” or any of that kinda stuff; tried to take the example of others, and point out the group facilitator, as well as welcome her to the table I was sitting at and such; ‘officially’ introduce myself, etc.

Part of me is NOT even sure why I’m sharing that, really. Week 11–of 13–of my second cycle through. Week 24 overall. 28 if you count the four “off weeks” between cycles. It’s possible that other than the facilitator, I’m the only other one that’s been there every week of these 24. Even the last several weeks when I’ve been close to saying **** it and not going.

But it was also brought up tonight that one is NOT limited to one cycle–one is welcome at any or all.

For ME…this has been “structure” in my life. It’s been “that thing” that I do Monday nights. I may “dread” Mondays as Sunday wanes beyond noonish…but toward the end of the day; after work; there’s something to DO; someplace to GO; others to BE WITH; along the road of this journey none of us ASKED to be ON.

Leaving the people aside: the videos provide more insight each time; catching new stuff, or something resonates differently, or whatever. There was mention of…what was the quote? Something about being ready for the information or insight or whatever. Thinking on something that’s said, and “missing” the next few things said; so you pick up a different thing that you could almost swear you hadn’t seen/heard, even when you know that you watched the last time, too.

But then there IS the people. Different people == different dynamics. A different group; different group dynamics. Different thoughts, interactions, insights, stories, etc. While there are 3 others “from last time,” on the whole the group is a different mix. And while those first couple weeks ESPECIALLY I felt like some imposter, or outsider, or intruder, or whatever…THIS group has come to feel “normal” as well, the way the last one did.

I do think I’ll be signing up for the next cycle. Again, for the structure. For something consistent (even in the periodic inconsistency of the group as a whole). Because even this time through, I’m finding new bits, and feeling like I’m…well, FEELING stuff a bit more than the first time. And as mentioned above, it’s like last Sunday’s post…maybe I’m finally making some progress.

Tonight’s topic also was on not having it be one’s IDENTITY.

I AM GRIEVING and processing and adjusting and building whatever a “new normal” will ultimately be.

I AM NOT “The Griever.”

As I’ve mentioned before (at least on Facebook) in marking the weeks; the Wednesday evenings into Thursday; each week for these past 63 (and this Wednesday will be 64) weeks…it may seem repetitive; maybe folks are seeing it (from the OUTSIDE, and not being ME) as broken record or stuck…but it’s me processing. I hardly wanna use the word “celebrate” but if one would say a person should “celebrate” the “little victories” or whatever, then maybe it’s that. It’s marking another week gone by that I am still here. That I have made it to/through.

I still have coworkers who I’m pretty certain have no idea that I’m grieving; that I’ve lost my Dad. Just this past weekend, a friend who I *have* interacted with on Facebook asked about Dad; innocently not even knowing he’s gone. Whatever algorithms, broken records, repetition, etc…this isn’t my IDENTITY.

It’s a significant, life-altering event; my life really IS in a cleaved state. There’s the before…and there’s the SINCE.

But here I am, somehow still here, still going, and presumably, somehow, some way, growing, and perhaps I’ll one day see a “WHY” to it, or some…I don’t know. “Purpose?”

Romans 8:28 reads “And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to His purpose.”

Job 14:5 reads “A person’s days are determined; you have decreed the number of his months and have set limits he cannot exceed.”

and Psalm 139:16 says “Your eyes saw my unformed body; all the days ordained for me were written in your book before one of them came to be.”

Plenty more to ponder. But I’m rambling, have not had dinner, have a dog to feed (even if I don’t feed myself) and the hour grows later even as I have work creeping up in barely 11 more hours.

The one with the camping trip

So, got Mom hooked on This is Us. And I’ve caught several episodes now with her. I’m not QUITE “up to” re-watched the entirety of the series myself…but catching episodes when she’s watching and I’m around/etc…good for that.

Tonight’s episode was “the one with the camping trip”–Jack takes the boys on a camping trip…and while they’re out, Rebecca gets a call from a nursing home…Jack’s father is dying.

Leaving messages, eventually someone from the campgrounds is able to get Rebecca and Jack connected for her to let him know. She asks him if he wants to come back. And he decides that no, he’s gonna stay there with the boys (his sons).

And I’m almost certain it’s gotta be ME, and MY “reading too much into it” and such, but the way the scenes were filmed; the way the actors pulled it off; whatever…it hit.

And reminded me about some of my thoughts on “empathy” and myself.

As I thought of Dad. MY Dad.

And fictional character or not…to see this other man–Jack–however/whatever he wrestled with, be told that his dad is dying, and he chose NOT to go see him.

What hurt’s gotta be there.

To have that heads-up.

To be given a heads-up that time is short, and one could get there, to say goodbye.

And not take it.

I may’ve gotten to “be there” when I lost Dad. I may’ve been holding his hand. I can hope that somehow, some way, he knew I was there; that Mom and I were both there.

But I didn’t get to say goodbye.

I didn’t see it coming.

I thought there was gonna be more time. I thought it was just another hospitalization. “Serious,” but not THE one. Not the LAST one.

I watched the paramedics take him out of this house, and I didn’t stop him, didn’t stop them, to actually get to SAY even “I love you” before they wheeled him out.

And that was the last time I ever got to see him, REALLY see him, while he was him, while I could see him “there” in himself.

But then that next day, because of “restrictions” and such, any patient, PERIOD, could only have ONE visitor ONE time per day.

So I never got to see him again.

Never got to actually say goodbye.

And I have to live with that for the rest of my days.

Another week

A few years back, a friend introduced me to a book, A Man Called Ove by Fredrik Backman. I remember really liking it…though I don’t recall at the moment if I actually READ it, or listened to an audiobook of it. I’d started watching a movie version of it at one point and didn’t get into it the same way.

Well, now there’s a new movie–A Man Called Otto. And it hit me harder than I ever expected. Or harder than I would have expected, until recently, as so many things are hitting harder.

I don’t think I’ve ever had a movie just really hit the way this one did. Suffice it to say that I readily recommend seeing it.

The other day, another friend posted a video link to a song How Do I Say Goodbye? by Dean Lewis. It’s got a couple lines that REALLY struck me…all the more when put with a photo of Dad and me from early in my Freshman year at BG.

“How do I say goodbye to someone who’s been with me for my whole damn life? You gave me my name and the color of your eyes. I see your face when I look at mine…”

At the grief group I’ve been attending…an interesting question came up last Monday. On the matter of WHEN to go through and get rid of someone’s “things.” WHY do we have to?!?

And it’s like “society” just tells us–wants us–to do that. Like it’s just simply something you DO, because that’s what everyone ELSE does. And maybe for some, it’s not a matter of choice–someone passes suddenly, and their apartment has to be cleared out by the end of the month or something. But other times…there’s not necessarily any real REASON to, except to do it for the sake of doing it.

No, the person’s not coming back; but why should one be or feel OBLIGATED to clear out their stuff if your situation doesn’t NECESSITATE it? Someone else shared that when they were cleaning out their parents’ old house–with siblings–it turned out that their Mom had kept everything of their Dad’s.

And I’m not talking about obvious stuff like literal TRASH, foodstuff, unsanitary stuff. But if your loved one had a bookcase–do you HAVE TO clear it/get rid of it? Or if you’ve already been living there and don’t NEED the “closet space,” do you NEED to clear it out? If you’re not gonna lose the house, don’t need to take on a roommate or tenant, where’s the HARM in leaving a room mostly as it was?

Everyone grieves differently. Everyone processes differently. There’s no time-table or one-size-fits-all for stuff. Etc.

But then, there are other factors; case-by-case and all that. Are you ever gonna wear their wardrobe of clothes? Are they still in good condition, where you could donate them for someone else to benefit from them? You may not be REQUIRED to clear stuff out, but maybe it could be a way, one last way for that person’s efforts to help someone else.

I went to church this morning. First time attending this one. I’ve driven past it countless times over the past 7+ years. Back in 2016 I spent a fair amount of time in their parking lot–there was a “Poke-Stop” in Pokemon Go. They even mounted a birdhouse-sized pokeball to “mark the spot.” And then last year, turned out that they host a GriefShare group. The one I’ve been attending. I’d considered checking out their Sunday service for awhile, but I have a laundry list of “issues” with churches in general, that I’m not getting into right here/now.

But having had plenty of time to contemplate it, having been in the building a number of times for GriefShare; for the Surviving the Holidays thing; and just having gotten a gradual sense of the place, it made it much easier for ME; not like I was walking into some strange new building and being overwhelmed and clueless on the layout and where to go and such.

Still a bit of a “gauntlet” on the way in of greeters…but I’d timed it so there wasn’t much time, so I did not feel bad in “keeping on going” and not trying to stop for conversation or such.

And then despite finding myself a seat in the back row and figuring to be there and then quietly slip out after; the GriefShare facilitator spotted me, welcomed me, invited me to sit with her and her husband, introduced me to a couple other people, pointed out a couple others, and generally…made me feel like I mattered? That I was not some interloper or intruder.

There also was no awkward “take a moment and greet those (strangers you’ve never seen before and will never see again) sitting around you this morning (and make smalltalk)” (I’m an introvert and generally do not appreciate such situations being foisted upon me).

ALSO no awkward “passing the plate” thing. They seem to have “dropboxes” around for offerings, if you so choose–but as far as I heard, not even an announcement or request TO use them.

Not sure what all the coming week holds. But I suppose as always, a day at a time. Though it’s still Sunday, I think part of me’s already “ready for the (next) weekend.”

C’est la vie and all that.

I know he didn’t leave me on purpose…

Over the past few weeks, Mom and I have been watching the Rocky series.

It’s been MY first time through the films; despite being aware OF them over the years. They’re absolutely a part of (my) popular culture experience, going back at least to the 1990 TMNT film. There’s a scene in THAT with Michelangelo doing an impersonation of Rocky; so at least back that far, I’ve been “aware of” “Adrian” and such…though it was not until watching the first film that I realized Adrian was a love interest and not a manager or buddy.

And of course, along the way, over the years, I loosely knew about Drago and THAT fight–given Dolph Lundgren being in the film (who I know from the likes of Punisher and Expendables and Masters of the Universe).

I was surprised at Burgess Meredith’s presence as Mickey–the manager/trainer. I know Meredith as The Penguin in (the) “1966 Batman series” (aka “the Adam West Batman series” or “The William Dozier Batman series” etc). I also was vaguely aware of him being in Grumpy Old Men. But after Rocky and Rocky II, I kinda saw things coming, a bit. And sure enough, in Rocky III, we saw the character’s passing.

And to say that scene rocked me would certainly be accurate. Against Mickey’s guidance, Rocky takes on a new challenger for his championship…and it doesn’t go well. Without novelizing the scene–you know it, you don’t, or you can look it up yourself–after the match (which he lost), Rocky finds that Mickey’s in bad shape, and has refused transportation to a hospital. Seemingly barely aware of his surroundings, Mickey takes comfort in knowing the match is over, and “assuming” they did things right.

And I saw it coming, and even now as I type about it, I’m doing so through tears.

“No, no, listen. We ain’t done everything right. Listen, we got more to do. Mick, whatever you wanna do, we’ll do it, okay? “

“I love you, kid. I love you.”


“It hurts me.”




And seeing Stallone (as Rocky) react to his mentor, father figure, manager’s passing, as he realizes he’s gone…yeah.

I’m not sure if any scene in a film has hit me like that since that scene in The Lion King last year (“you said you’d always be here for me! But you’re not…and it’s because of me…”)

So, pressing onward. Rocky IV. V. Rocky Balboa.

Then this past weekend, we come to Creed. Getting up to what initially put me onto the film series (Creed III coming this spring).

And without analyzing the film or getting into stuff I really liked about it, and how it worked in ways that many other films don’t for me…

There was a line that hit me, amidst the other themese of a son missing (or not even knowing) his father, of that shadow, that desire to live up to who he was etc…

“I know he didn’t leave me on purpose.”

I know he wasn’t ready to go. I know he didn’t WANT to, in those wee hours December 29th into December 30th, 2021. I know he didn’t mean to leave me. It wasn’t on purpose, it wasn’t in any of our plans.

But as with any….it doesn’t change the fact that on this Earth, he has, and I’m still here, and I contdinue to have to live without one of the absolute most important peopple of my entire lifes being here with me.

The first year was its own thing. Everything, every single milestone or anniversary or holiday or birthday or WHAT. EV. ER. was new, a new first, another first, the next first. Firsts everywhere, everywhen.

And then heading into the latter part of the year–with Dad’s birthday (and my over-sentimentalizing that first Flesh and Blood (card game) “draft” (which I AM eventually, someday going to detail in an actual blog post)); that Zanesville visit to see my aunts and cousins and such, FOR Dad’s birthday; into Thanksgiving and Christmas and such…

For me, so much was about that then-looming first anniversary. Seeing it coming. Anticipating its coming. Anticipating its hit, its effect etc. And then that night and though I observed it, it was relatively “anticlimactic” or such…

But now…we’re into the second year.

And it’s different. Braced for all those firsts, numbed through so many firsts, and in some ways, it’s like now as the second year builds, it’s a whole other thing.

From a facebook post

I crashed “early” last night.

And yet…

After I woke to (and did) use the restroom, I noticed the time.


I was awake and conscious and remembering…as time moved to and through the “One Year Mark.”

Back around 2005/2006, DC Comics did a “one year later” “time jump” in many of their comics. Given “comic time” and how years’ worth of comics might only cover a few WEEKS in-story, it was a hard reference point to truly picture.

At least for me.

Back in 1995, I “discovered” Dragonlance. And one thing that REALLY stood out to me at the time (and has remained with me in the decades SINCE) in that first novel was these characters reuniting after 5 years apart.

I wasn’t yet 15 years old myself and so 5 years was a but over 1/3 of my entire lifetime, and almost more than my particularly conscious memory and self awareness.

I had virtually no frame of reference of “5 years” as a “gap” of time between stuff or people.

As I’ve gotten older, I (semi-? fairly-?) often find myself thinking back to that notion, as I see conscious, aware 5-year timespans of note in my life.

Noticing the 5 years mark since I’d been laid off from my job in Akron. (now almost 6 1/2, and that gets into a whole other train of thoughts).5 years since a coworker there passed. 5 years since starting at Midwest.

Even before that, 5 years (then 10, soon 15) since The Dive/Cru.

5 years after the Kent apartment, 5 years after Streetsboro, 5 years after Cuyahoga Falls.

But again, here, today…1 year.

One Year…later…

And sometimes seems so fresh still.

I’ve no idea what the coming years, another year, or three or five or ten (?!) may hold.

I guess we’ll see.

One year or month or week or day or hour or moment at a time?

And Here We Are

I still can regularly hear the music and words and see the blue/misty swirling as the Highlander credits go through my memory.

♫ “And here we are…we’re the princes of the universe. Here we belong: fighting for survival. We’ve come to be the rulers of you all…” ♪

It’s those first four words that hit me today. Tonight.

“And here we are.”

It’s been A YEAR.

Tonight–December 29th into the wee hours…just before 2am of the 30th. My “mini-breakdown” as stuff hit me just how serious it could actually be, just after 7, in the kitchen. 3-ish hours before Mom got “that” call and such.

Even this year later, I still see that room. I still see him in that bed. I still see those couple hours, those moments. I still see what I saw as nurses/doctors/whoever swarmed that room right after I’d become aware that SOMETHING CHANGED…that there was a different sound or a lack of sound, as I held Dad’s hand and knelt by that bed praying we weren’t going to lose him.

Maybe it’s not the same SHOCK anymore…maybe it’s not some actual, raw HORROR that I feel anymore…as much as it is just that ongoing sense of loss; of missing him.

Of all the stuff I’ve (tried to) throw myself into these last months; all the experiences and activities that I haven’t gotte to share with him, tell him about, etc.

All the what-if’s and feelings of what-should-have-beens and what-could-have-beens and all that.

As tough as things were–for him, certainly, as well as for Mom and me in the caretaking–I always, ALWAYS couched ANY ventage or admission of frustration in the honest, heartfelt truth that howEVER stuff was, I would NEVER “trade” Dad for stuff to be easier.

I don’t even fully know what I’d hoped to write tonight…but this isn’t it.

Feels so…contrived? I don’t know.

It’s a year.

Selfishly… IIIIIIIIII have “made it” just over 52 weeks, this year, despite it.

The masque is often up, though I let it slide for certain people at certain times. I’ve done a cycle with Griefshare (and planning on at least one more, if only for keeping some of that “structure” to my life AND being able to interact with others in-person who DO and CAN know what it is that I know…though NONE of us would ever have WANTED to know.

I “should” have so much more to put to words right this moment; far more eloquency to share.

But I sit here, and it’s down to just these several hours until crossing the one-year mark. And while that’s not gonna change anything, really…there’s just something psychological to it.

Nothing will be “less than a year ago” anymore. It’ll be “a year ago” or “just over a year ago” and having been within the final 47 hours of 2021, it’ll soon be an entire year in between the year Dad was here…and the current year. A gulf that–as real as it’s about to be–still seems unreal to me, to whoever I was for just over 41 years. Until the virtually-unimaginable happened.

My words are sorely lacking here.

And I just want to turn my mind off and veg out and not think.

Maybe I’ll manage 1 of those 3.

Another month. And a year approaches.

…and ANOTHER month’s passed right on by. The other day was the 2nd Monday AFTER the Griefshare group/cycle ended.

I’ve had another birthday. First one without Dad. Where in 2021 I took a day off work and went to Columbus, hit IKEA and a couple Half-Price Books, and Big Fun Columbus…this year I did my best to go head-in-the-sand and stay “off the radar.” THOUGH I did wind up going to Geek’s Gambit for Flesh and Blood, and with others trying a new “One Piece” card game (based on the “One Piece” manga series) I joined in; and also wound up staying after with several others “just hanging out” at the shop. Something I don’t think I’ve really done–in that way–anywhere in YEARS.

Went to a comic show and found it to be mostly a waste, though I found a chunk of Alpha Flight issues.

Got to meet up with Ben at another gameshop for Flesh and Blood back on the 11th; AND I actually legitimately WON a couple games. Won a drawing for a “generic” “Dynesty” set playmat, as well as a set of “Shi**y Xmas Present” promotional cards.

LAST weekend met up with friends at Ben’s and we got some Heroquest and Sentinels of the Multiverse in.

I’ve also had that “clicking” moment for RA Salvatore’s DRIZZT DO’URDEN books–where I’ve been aware of them for 25+ years but never had any particular intrest (MY “D&D World”/setting of choice has always been DRAGONLANCE). But something finally “clicked” for me and got me interested…and said interest has been exacerbated by coming across a teaser/trailer thing on YouTube featuring a poem/lullaby written by RA Salvatore…and narrated by Benedict Cumberbatch.

But as I sit here typing–the workday, workweek, workYEAR fading into history–it occurs to me how much of that “One Year Since…” I’m in for over the next few days.

Some shelves in the basement have now been up for a year. Heck, aside from adding a couple things to a couple of them, they remain virtually untouched in this time. And a couple of the shelves and their contents I don’t think I HAVE touched in a year; since working with them shortly after getting off work on the final workday of 2021.


The days immediately after. The 28th. And then the 29th-into-30th. That night that firmly placed a “before” and “after” break into my life in a way nothing else had ever done.

And the closer it all gets…I feel like the more frequently I’m seeing stuff–articles, anecdotes, whatever–suggesting that this first year, this first Christmas “after” may not even BE the hardest one.

I guess time is gonna tell.

Three months later…

I’ve left this blog idle for just about 3 months. Couple of the months, this laptop’s been downstairs near my workstation, so once I’m off work, I’m upstairs, and then I don’t have this handy. If only “thoughts” could be “recorded” and converted to typed words and posted. (But then, would also be great to have a pensieve–that device from the Harry Potter books–where one can remove and “store” memories while getting them out of one’s own head for awhile)

We had that new health scare with Chloe at the beginning of August; within a couple DAYS of an exact YEAR from the 2021 instance. We then had another one last week over the Veterans’ Day weekend. I’m personally not even sure what to think THERE…but it SOUNDS like what had been feared to be a bladder tumor MIGHT be hyperthyroidism. Either way, Chloe’s got a new “regular med” as part of her routine for a bit.

She’d also gotten shaved, and she’s back to being a furry cat…slightly longer hair than Sarah’s “shorthair” but not her full length “longhair”…though she’s remained EXTRA-snuggly, which I’ve cherished.

Tomorrow will be Week Eleven (of 13) for a GriefShare group I’ve been attending. Particularly thanks to encouragement from Sara, Cass, and Lizz; found this group and started going. Not quite sure how to describe it for myself, or its impact…but among other things, for these last several months, it’s been an added fixture in my week, something concrete and planned, more than “just” “going to the comic shop” each week, to get out/away from the house for a bit. And it’s meant meeting other people in similar situations/places of life where none of us would want to be “qualified” to be there, but we all know why we’re all there, and so there’s something to THAT (speaking for myself, anyway).

It had also recently occurred to me that this has been THE first “social group” thing of any real note that I’ve been a part of since The Dive back in my Kent State days.

I suppose I should note that it was ALSO “This is Us” that helped push me toward it, having a better idea of “support groups” and the like from the show.

I know at one point I’d “planned” on doing some blogging based on prompts from the “workbook,” and I may yet…but I guess I’ve taken to using GriefShare as an outlet in lieu of this blog, for a time. I’m too much of a rambler/writer/venter/whatever to permanently stop writing, hence diving back in here/now.

Back in early October, having returned to watching too much YouTube, I caught a video from “The Professor” (Tolarian Community College) where he hyped up “Flesh and Blood,” a card game from Legend Story Studios…especially amidst the 30th anniversary crap from Wizards of the Coast for Magic. It caught my attention, especially as I’d heard of the game last year or the year before, where I went for “Gate Ruler” instead. (I found that unopened GR stuff and wish I’d gone the F&B route then!)

Looked into the game and found that it definitely appealed to me–from the art, the cards, the gameplay, the publisher’s philosophy, being something designed for IN PERSON (“in flesh and blood”) play (rather than some digital-only/app-only “card game”), etc.

I dove in, and found that it was definitely something to be enjoyed/appreciated…as well as being something new for me to “throw myself into.” As a TCG, not exactly a totally new ‘hobby’ (Magic the Gathering, Spellfire, Marvel Overpower, Pokemon, Yu-Gi-Oh, dabbling in modern MTG in 2018/2019, etc) but still something NEW for ME in and of itself.

I was able to get to a “draft” event on October 30th, several days after going to an introductory/”welcome” event; to get my first real taste of actually PLAYING the game…as well as my first-ever TCG “draft” experience.

But what REALLY made that one memorable for me was that it was October 30th…which would have been Dad’s 72nd birthday. At this draft event, I wound up getting 2 of THE rarest cards in the then-current set…one that would be found approximately 1 in 96 packs; and another found approximately 1 in 960 packs. Lotta thoughts and such condensed…I know Dad would have been tickled at the story; at me going to this thing and pulling both these cards…especially combined with his having maintained that HE tried to get ME into Magic when it was first solicited back in 1993.

He ALSO would have VERY MUCH encouraged me TO go out to this event, been glad to see me involving myself in something like this, getting outta the house, trying something new, etc.

And–granted–the GriefShare group would never even be on my radar if he was still here, but all the more ME getting into a new game and choosing to venture out to get involved in such a thing with complete strangers…he would have really dug that.

And even the event being on his birthday, he’d have wanted to work around it, rather than be any part of any excuse for me NOT checking it out.

The day before that F&B (“FaB”/FAB/fab) draft, Mom and I got down to Zanesville to see family, and share a meal in honor of his birthday. For me, in some ways, that became the…I’m not even sure the word I’m looking for. We didn’t get to do a funeral thanks to C19 and such. So a sort of “celebration of life” at his birthday kinda filled some of that.

Dad’s birthday–October 30th–was also 10 months since we lost him, December 30th. Which did not go unnoticed by me in the months prior, at the time, nor now.

As always, I’m kinda trailing off here. Far more thoughts than can be put to words. But as I came downstairs to attend to something else requiring this laptop, I figured I’d just open the “create a post” page and start typing and see what I’d wind up with.

“break the ice” and such on this blog again, and see if I get back to more regular posting, at least for a bit.