Keith Anderson, Northern Lights, and ‘that’ episode of Young Sheldon

Again it’s been a long time.

Six and a half months, actually.

I’ve typed a number of “blog posts” in notepad, but I’ve gotten out what I needed to in writing for myself, and not gotten around to posting.

Since my last post, finished out that fourth cycle with Griefshare.

Went through the fifth.

And now, started a sixth.

But while I think I’ve thought it each time since that first cycle in 2022, this time I think there’s something different in store. Something I noticed in that fifth cycle, but more apparent (to me) for this one. We’ll see how that plays out…

I recently had a Keith Anderson song come up in my itunes-on-random that “hit” me in its way.

“I Still Miss You.”

I’ve talked to friends
I’ve talked to myself
I’ve talked to God
I prayed liked hell but I still miss you
I tried sober I tried drinking
I’ve been strong and I’ve been weak
And I still miss you
I’ve done everything move on like I’m supposed to
I’d give anything for one more minute with you
I still miss you
[…]
I never knew til you were gone
How many pages you were on
It never ends I keep turning
And line after line and you are there again

This past Friday night, a friend called me and told me to “Step outside and look up.”

Puzzled, I stepped outside, and he told me I was looking for the Northern Lights.

Visible here in Ohio.

I couldn’t see ’em…but partly wrote it off as being light pollution on the street, and trees in the way and all that.

I almost “gave up” at that, but he encouraged me to take a drive to see ’em.

I was going to tell Mom I was heading out for a bit, but realized that was dumb. Like the Eclipse, she’d appreciate it, too! So I got her, and Daisey, and we drove to Osborne park. I figured it’d be dark and we could get in, see over the lake, and be back out before any “trouble” from any “enforcement” of the dusk closing time to the park.

We by far were NOT the only ones with that idea.

It turned out to be an impromptu “community event” of sorts.

Nothing official or organized (at least from our part or aware of), but the parking lot was full, and the “cliff” overlooking the lake was full, with more people working their way up to there as others cycled out.

We couldn’t really see anything noticeable (later turned out it was a lot more visible via iphone photography). But for what was to be seen, we saw.

And Daisey was such a good girl, even with all the strangers about…and even a couple other dogs, too.

I don’t know that the park was handicap-accessible…or certainly not at night. I’m sure to the ballfields and such there’s sidewalks/paths that Dad’s power chair could’ve used. Come to think of it, though, if we’d had him along it would’ve been the “manual” chair, so I would’ve made it work.

Got back about midnight, Mom and Daisey went to bed. I stayed up…and wound up watching a couple more episodes of Young Sheldon.

I’d discovered that I was further behind than I realized, AND saw that we (were) a week away from the season (series) finale. So I wanted to be caught up, to “be part of” the experience of watching the finale this upcoming week.

I’d seen stuff before about the folks making the show knowing that a pivotal event was going to have to be “dealt with.” And there’s been talk of a spinoff-of-the-spinoff (Young Sheldon as a spinoff of Big Bang Theory) with George (Jr.) and Mandy.

I figured I knew where the final episode would be going/what was likely to at least be offscreen at some point.

I was NOT prepared for it to happen with the May 10th episode.

Part of the episode was Mary insisting everyone be ready for the staged family picture; and the reluctance of the kids (and even her husband, George Sr.).

George offered to drive Missy to school, but she opted for the bus…so he left that morning as any other morning, to head to the school himself for work (he’s the football coach). “Be here at 4!” Mary tells him as he heads out. He agrees, albeit reluctantly.

SPOILERS AHEAD FOR YOUNG SHELDONG SEASON SEVEN EPISODE TWELVE!!! Skip ahead to “END SPOILERS” lines below if you want to avoid details.

SPOILERS

The family’s shown getting ready for the photo, in matching outfits. They’re just waiting on George.

A knock at the door…it’s Tom and Wayne (Principal and assistant coach, respectively). With bad news.

George had a heart attack.

“He’s ok, right?!?” Missy asks.

He’s not. He’s gone.

We see Mary, Missy, and Connie break down…as Sheldon further inside sits down in shock.

The episode ends.

…

I didn’t expect it there. Then. With that episode.

Since it would have to be addressed, despite retcons and seven seasons turning George into quite the beloved character and father figure (compared to the ignorant, dumb a-hole TBBT made him out to be), I’d thought for sure the way they’d “address” the elephant in the room was to imply it at the very end…but let it happen off-screen…just after the finale, or however long after the finale…but after the show, and before whenever George and Mandy picks up.

But “it” happened offscreen, and that’s that.

END SPOILERS

It wasn’t until SATURDAY night then that I realized why the episode was “sitting” with me as it did. On the surface I took it as a foregone thing, one of those things you KNOW is coming, thanks to the story in question being a prequel and already having seen the show it’s a prequel TO.

And then it hit me just why it was sitting so heavily with me…

Duhhh.

Taking to Youtube Search, I found several videos recapping/discussing the episode…but seemed like it was all surfacey hollywood-type sites…nothing “personal” from anyone. And saw a “thumbnail” of an image from some preview of the upcoming finale that just…gut-punched me.

So much more I could say, get into. Thoughts and discussions recently with friends. Self-realization. Finding myself closer than ever to accepting something I’ve railed against (for myself) for years.

But this is getting long, I’m getting tired, and it’s Sunday night with a full work-week ahead, and things’re getting busy.

Hopefully I’ll get back to writing more regularly, even if only for myself.

Time, as always, shall tell, though.

Also in the past 6 1/2 months, adopted Lucy. Sarah no longer yowls and hisses at the mere presence of Lucy…though she does make it known she does not appreciate being tackled and grappled with.

More later on Lucy…

2nd birthday you’ve been gone

October 30th.

You’d be 73 today.

Mom and I went to Bob Evans this morning, breakfast out–like you used to love. I wavered between an omelette and the country fried steak. Ultimately went with the latter…as you’d surely have encouraged me to, knowing how I like ’em when I have ’em.

It’s not–it wasn’t–the same, though. Not without you.

You’re still here in both of us.

In me.

I am who I am only because of you.

Last year we were in Zanesville, visiting with Aunts Janice, Becky, and Sue, the day before your birthday…but FOR your birthday.

And ON your birthday last year, I went to that first “draft” event for Flesh and Blood…driving across town to an unfamiliar shop to interact with people I’d never met before, for a game I’d never REALLY played before, etc.

Pulled that 1:96 packs card, AND that 1:960 packs card, and had a good experience with the game itself, the shop, and the guys there. And whatever else I left with, I left with that story OF those cards, that you would’ve been so fascinated with. If onlybecause it was something I went and did, out of MY comfort zone.

I know you’d’ve been glad to see me do that, even on your birthday, maybe BECAUSE of that.

As you always loved seeing me get out there and do things with others, try things, and so on.

And then it was just two years ago–hard to believe–that Saturday, October 30, 2021, the three of us went to Texas Roadhouse. And though we’d been there before, we’d been out before, and though it was your birthday, while for me much of it seemed like “just another time,” I always remember how you were just so keyed up after. I thought it was a bit exaggerated or over the top, how you kept going on about how great that afternoon was.

I tear up as I recall your insisting that it was the BEST birthday ever.

71…SURELY you’d had better. All those years, all the people throughout those years, all the experiences. And after the past few…

But you insisted.

And I recall pondering the years as well. Grandpa was only 69. And then there we were, you were 71. You were 71, and I was 40, and we still had each other, and we’d broken the mold. Another mold. Had we only had til you were 69 and I 39, we’d have kept in that 30-year-cycle.

None of us knew that just two months later…well, we know now.

So it’s been 22 months, too. Bittersweet, that.

Your birthday October 30th. And we lost you on a 30th.

And then tonight, the grief group.

It’s been over a year. And things hit differently now. Even the grief group feels different this time, more different than the previous sessions.

I don’t know what to even think on that, in the moment.

And these last few days, revisiting Star Trek: The Next Generation. I’m not MUCH younger now than Stewart was when that began filming. He was–is–10 years older than you. Born in 1940.

But then, look at all these things that I’m now as old as YOU were, I have conscious memory of MYSELF at the time as I now am as old as you were then, and it’s prompted a whole other set of thoughts and feelings.

I think the “Return of Superman” 30th Anniversary Special comes out this week–tomorrow, technically–and I remember Superman #82, and Adventures of Superman #505, and Action Comics #692–that cover of Clark with the shirt ripped open–that you bought for me while we were out after delivering phone books. Some random “new” comic shop that doesn’t exist anymore, that probably didn’t even exist a year later, but was not Capp’s or Comics & Collectibles.

And of course, there’s the other day. That scene in The Lion King, that hit me as a kid even decades before I’d ever be able to so KNOW its feeling. That powerful, personal, deep scene. And now…

But evening wears on. Time wears on.

My thoughts continue to scatter.

“He lives in you.”

“You see…he lives…in you.”

I hope that despite my grief and my struggling in a world without you a simple phone call away, or in the other room, that whatever anyone sees of you…in me…

I hope they see the good.

I hope they see at least a small fraction of you, and realize the enormity of who you were, and what you meant and mean and are.

To me.

A Generation of memory?

I finished 5 seasons of CSI Miami on Saturday. Unfortunately, that was all that was available for the series on Hulu…something I did not realize/do the math on when I first started watching a few weeks back. Made the connection a few episodes in, but figured “only half the series” being on Hulu was a bridge I’d cross when I had to.

Had to Saturday night.

I’d been planning on signing back up for Paramount Plus for Mom for awhile (but then she found other stuff so I put it off indefinitely). But this was the time.

I was barely thinking of Star Trek, but saw Picard listed, and was reminded that I really DID want to watch the 3rd season of that show (word of mouth being that while the first 2 seasons may not have been wonderful, the 3rd one was GOOD).

I blitzed through Picard season 3 in basically 3 days…partly because I put off the final episode to watch in an evening when I could be sure I would not have to split the viewing between breakfast/lunch/after-work.

Very much enjoyed the season, especially once I saw that something that raised a red flag almost immediately dealt with satisfactorily.

But it also stirred up a lotta feelings.

And memories.

Seeing the characters so aged was new. I can’t say I didn’t EXPECT it…but it was NEW. I don’t know how “old” I had thought the characters were when I was exposed to the property as a kid…I just knew THEY were “adults” and at 13/14 at the time, I was NOT.

I realized yesterday that I’m about as old now as Jonathan Frakes was when Star Trek Generations was out…what I consider my official “start” with Star Trek.

So maybe I’ve a “few” years YET to reach Patrick Stewart’s age then, but Riker?

I’m there.

And once again, I am not, and do not feel like, I have life remotely as “together” as I should FOR such an age.

Doesn’t even feel like I’m captain of my own life, let alone some vessel with hundreds of others under my responsibility.

But ok…c’est la vie on that aspect.

Seeing stuff with multiple direct generations of characters present; the wrestling with legacy and what one leaves behind; with the nature of family–blood and loyalty and all that–stirred plenty.

It was Dad who took me to my first Star Trek movie in the theater.

Star Trek: Generations. December 1994…possibly as late as January 1995.

But I recall going INTO the film knowing the full name/designation “Captain James. T. Kirk of the USS Enterprise.” The things one picks up–even as a kid–just from pop culture surroundings.

We were late to the movie, though…missing the main prologue. So the first time seeing it, I did not get the backstory of Kirk & co. seeing the Enterprise B off on its maiden voyage and what happened there.

I remember also reading the book–the novelization of the film–from the library at least once, maybe twice. Second time may have been after reading the William Shatner series begun with Ashes of Eden, to catch myself back up on Kirk’s death.

While it turned out that I had actually been exposed to “Star Trek” via “Star Trek IV: The Voyage Home” that Mom had been watching on tv once, it was definitely Generations in the theater with Dad that I became a fan of Star Trek.

And at the time, when episodes were hard to come by “at will,” I relied heavily on novels…and a biiiiig part of my Star Trek (The Next Generation) experience came by way of novels and novelizations of episodes and even a comic adaptation or two. Surely a handful of episodes on video–presumably the pilot, and The Best of Both Worlds (1 & 2), and I recall the series finale. But otherwise, it was the books.

But it was enough for me to come to care about the characters and setting, to know enough about them for them to have meaning to me. And though Dad wasn’t specifically a Star Trek fan or such, he’s still the one that took me to that theater and really sparked me into it all.

As I write, it’s been two months since losing Chloe. This morning was, that is.

And I think that’s been playing a fair bit into my mind and feelings lately and today in particular.

She’s still this “clinical” loss for me–something I see and know and have and note and “feel” in a factual sense…but haven’t yet allowed myself to truly FEEL. Like after Dad, I wasn’t ready and just RAN.

I’ve had very few periods of “just” silence in these last two months. I virtually always have music going, or some tv show, or youtube videos, or a movie, or an audiobook. Or I’m with someone, or working. Filling the time. NOT sitting back and letting the reality sink in.

The other day I caught myself drifting and apparently paused the show I was watching, and wound up sleeping a couple hours…it was just about the only time I can think of that I simply slept without having something playing to drift off TO.

Sarahcat doesn’t snuggle…she likes attention, comes to me frequently to see what I’m up to, to rub her head against my hand, to nibble on my knuckles, etc…beg for treats…and she purrs. She “purrs up a storm,” and even sneaks up on me when I’m petting the puppy and it’s like I hear a puppy purring.

Daisey kinda snuggles, but not the way Chloe did. And she does NOT actually purr. And she’s always insisting on licking me and shifting around to get a belly rub or to see what else is going on. She’s bigger, and heavier…especially with the weight Chloe lost.

Chloe’s snuggling is just one of the things I miss about her. But it was–as I’ve realized all the more the past almost-9-weeks–such a huge thing for me.

And then here we are tonight. October 18th. 12 days til what would have been Dad’s 73rd birthday. 12 days from 22 months. It’s Wednesday-into-Thursday…putting us at 94 weeks since losing Dad.

Lost Chloe August 18th…putting us at 2 months. (Last Friday was 8 weeks, and in a couple days it’ll be 9 weeks, that way).

This convergence of 94 weeks and 2 months brings Dad and Chloe back together in this; and that definitely makes up its own feeling, and all that.

Lotta thinking, nostalgia, randomness

I’m definitely in a weird place, so to speak.

I have no idea what my future holds. Honestly, I often don’t feel that I really HAVE much of one; and I’m also realizing that chances are, I have fewer years in front of me than ahead. Grandpa was 69, Dad was 71…if THAT trend continues, I have about 30 years left in me, tops.

There’s a lot in my past that I’d go back and change if I could. That being SAID…I’ve read enough books and comics, watched enough movies and tv, and so on to know that even IF time-travel were possible, it wouldn’t be able to change ME, myself, who I am right now this moment. It’d spin off some alternate universe/timeline, or I’d just cease to exist, etc. OR that time has already been changed, and who/what/how/etc I am NOW is the end result, leaving me no knowledge of the actual alternatives.

Granted, that’s also outside any theology and such, which I’m not getting into here/now.

But it’s something to fantasize about, no?

Changing things, remodeling one’s life based on what one knows and has “now.”

If I were to be able to, I’d want to be able to pick and choose elements from various points in life. If it were linear, by changing something in say, 2009, I’d lose everything and everyone SINCE. Go back and tinker with 2006 or 2004 or 201, and the changes would have larger ripples. But pick and choose? Be able to change some things, but still have other things turn out how they are in the present? THAT would be its own dream.

I’ve just today learned (or re-learned, if I’ve forgotten learning of it before) of a book “The First Fifteen Lives of Harry August” by Claire North that I’m very interested in reading now. Apparently a comic writer whose work I’ve read has been compared to it, and THAT work had sparked some thoughts, so I’m interested in this novel now to see what it has and does story-wise. Essentially the idea of a person dying, and waking up as a child again, with events playing out as they had…but the person remembers that “past life” and can influence events this time around. Again…a fantasy story, fiction…but something to think about.

I’ve been listening through the audiobook of “Dragons of Winter Night” lately–a revisiting of a favorite book from my high school years. Actually–didn’t I just mention that in a recent post, on being Master of stuff?

So it’s still impacting me, revisiting these old familiar characters, and the memories being stirred up. The feelings. Stuff unique to an individual in the reading of a favored story (much the way we can grieve the same person/loss but each person’s grief is different).

Add to revisiting these characters/story that I’ve finally hung a couple of art prints I bought years ago with several of them featured that now hang above my workspace, and a couple of them featuring prominently in “Dragons of Fate” and I’ve had plenty of nostalgia seeping into thoughts and feelings.

Then I randomly recalled a snippet from a song–and tracked it down. Lee Greenwood’s rendition of “Battle Hymn of the Republic,” specifically the line “He has sounded forth the trumpet that shall never call retreat…” and a trumpet flare behind it. The imagery always put me in mind of Sturm Brightblade and the High Clerist’s Tower in Dragons of Winter Night. But adding that song’s audio stirred something up in the way that music does where voice-only does not.

It was easy enough tracking the specific track down…I looked for the album cover. When I came across it back then (1995 or so), it was a CD that Dad had; so along with Dragonlance nostalgia and such, there’s also been a sense of Dad about.

Further memories stirred up…a trip to New York City freshman year of high school. A busride, a friend, taking some photos, being a long way from home with schoolmates. A hotel pool area and parking myself somewhere to read, cranking my weak headphones up to drown out everything else.

Coming out of Monday’s Griefshare session, I’d been reminded of and was thinking about that one time a few years back when Dad’s friend Eric was visiting; being at a restaurant and just kinda observing/listening to them talk and reshare old stories and whatnot. For the life of me, I can’t remember what the specific story was…but I remember seeing them both break down in laughter; and for me, with Dad especially, it just stuck with me. I’d seen/heard him laugh before, but there was just something to that particular moment; the simple, sheer enjoyment apparent with them, the memory, that the experience they’d talked of still had that sort of effect so many years later.

I’ve myself never been a terribly expressive person, in-person. Orrrrrr…I don’t feel I’ve been. But sometimes people have said they could tell something looking at me, so…I dunno. Suffice it to say, I won’t be put on any gameshows: win, and I could be ecstatic inside but I’m reserved enough around strangers that I’d just sort of “be.” So there’s something to be said about seeing others express feelings more outwardly.

Annnnnnd there we go…my thoughts are jumbling. Time to wrap it up for tonight.

Dragons of Winter Night Audible audiobook; Dragons of Fate (2023), Sturm Brightblade vs. blue dragon Skie; Lee Greenwood album.

We are not masters of grief

We are not masters of grief.

We may wish to be. We may try to be. We may do everything we can, go every which way, in an attempt TO master it.

But we aren’t.

That’s my rephrasing/phrasing of what I heard (just one thing of many) at the grief group tonight.

But it also sparked another thought/memory/SOMEthing for me: Raistlin Majere.

Raistlin is a fictional character, from the DRAGONLANCE books. Between this year’s new Dragons of Fate, and revisiting Dragons of Winter Night at present (I’m a bit over halfway through this time) it’s been brining back some interesting memories and such from my younger days, back in high school, when I first got into Dragonlance.

And one of the things about Raistlin was that he became known as the “Master of Past and Present.”

Yet we don’t get to be Master of Grief.

It’s also September 18th, as I type tonight.

It’s been one month since Chloe. August 18th was that most horrible day since losing Dad, losing her.

And while I’ve had a few tears well up a couple times…this past month has been full of me TRYING to be that Master of Grief, in AVOIDING it. In trying to NOT FEEL this loss. To not let it in. I have not–really–cried since that morning. I haven’t allowed myself. Whether it’s burying myself in binge-watching stuff on Youtube, or the last couple weeks of CSI Miami, or working, or having an audiobook on either for primary listening or background noise…

Here it is.

A month.

Still not ready to let this loss in.

I know she’s gone. I’m aware of that. I’ve made a bunch of changes to my physical surroundings, even where/how I sleep, adjusting for knowing she’s gone.

As I begin to settle in with the comfort that we got Sarahcat to and through the vet…that she does NOT have some massive kidney issue (I’d been terrified of the vet doing the physical checkup and there being some immediate realization of something being VERY BAD, the way it happened with Ziggy nearly 6 years ago). Blood work also came in without any surprises or points of significant concern from the vet…just to bring Sarah back in in a couple months to follow up and verify numbers…as I begin to settle in with this, I see where I may “have more room” soon TO “allow myself” to moreso FEEL Chloe’s loss, if I’m NOT looking at also losing Sarah, too.

This week–Wednesday night into Thursday–is going to be 90 weeks since losing Dad. NEXT WEEK Friday into Saturday (29th into 30th) will be 21 MONTHS.

Time passes.

Life goes on.

Master the grief?

I live with it. And that’s that.

Stars and twilight

“For though I tried to explain to Tas, that day
When you closed your eyes — though I told him about
Stars and twilight, and how autumn leaves must fall,
I could not make myself understand.”
–CT Pierson “For Flint, by Tanis Half-Elven”

It’s been two weeks now. I’ve started numerous times to try to write up a post that would do justice to stuff, but words just fail me.

It’s been two weeks since that awful morning that we took Chloe in, and…

Had to say goodbye.

After a horrible week-plus of things much more detailed than I’m going to go into right now, it came down to “that” time. The time I’d feared numerous times before but thankfully hadn’t come…until, August 18, it DID.

I could write of so many memories over the years that I have. Like one of those “montage” scenes in a movie. I can “see” the memories. Her kicking me outta the chair, her climbing onto the footstool, her startling me under the work desk, her flopping over to play with the fishing pole rope, her wrestling with Sarahcat, her wrestling with Ziggy, her hissing at Ziggy, her hissing at me, that time on the bed when she got the name “angry-cuddler.” All those times her nudging me awake to lift the sheet and let her under to snuggle against me, all those times waking up to her laying on my arm or curled in at my shoulder and neck.

Chloe came into my life in August 2011. And left in August 2023. After several August “incidents” in the past few years. After so many “health scares” and such.

And while this post doesn’t BEGIN to do justice to my thoughts, my feelings, to the enormity of what this loss means (especially when it sinks in, which I’ve thus far been able to stave off)…

I force myself to write this and post this to break that “ice,” so to speak.

Because I’m probably holding myself back, and the longer I go NOT posting ANYthing, the more it’s gonna build and eat at me and all that.

There will be repetition. There’ll be repeated thoughts and phrasing and such, the ideas…because despite my best efforts, the thoughts have been many, and I have to get something OUT.

I’d just started the comics blog when we lost Christy; but the blog was simply a shell to house reviews to post to facebook. When I lost Kayla, it was such a shock and I posted to facebook and vented to friends and…”only” had the comics blog and wasn’t sharing personal stuff yet. When I lost Ziggy I was several years further into blogging and more open to sharing, had a story on the brain, AND still had BOTH parents and didn’t yet have the anxiety and fear for the pets that I’ve had since.

Consciously, I know what’s happened and all that; but I haven’t let it sink in yet.

To the world she may have just been a cat. But she was a huge chunk of MY world, for 12 years–more than a quarter of my life–and there’s so much more, so much deeper I could go into, that I’m just not up for even searching for the words right now.

My Chloe is gone, and I couldn’t save her any more than I could Dad, and I’m still here and nothing I can do can ever change that.

Stars and twilight. And autumn leaves must fall.

The Meg, memories, and disappointed in The Trench

Memory–especially after the past 19 months–can be a bit less than accurate at times. But as I remember right this moment, one Friday afternoon, my parents came back from a doctor’s appointment Dad had. His face was reddish and I could tell HE was very emotional, like something had “happened.”

What I got from what he said was that X-rays had showed something with his lungs, as well as likely kidney failure, or something to that effect. (notice my lack of exact memories on that now…) Cuz it turned out to be fluid in his lungs–which was able to be drained; and something about the doctor wanted to “keep an eye on” something with the kidneys to AVOID likely kidney failure.

But for that weekend…I can hardly IMAGINE it for Dad himself going through it, it being stuff with HIS health, HIS body. But just as I would not have been able to speak for him THEN and certainly can’t NOW… what I AM able to do is speak for MYSELF.

And lemme tell ya, I was ROCKED.

He’d had a hospitalization in early 2011 (I remember him showing me a newspaper article about The Flash, Flashpoint, and I THINK The New 52) for what included the words “congestive heart failure.” (Whether it WAS actually CHF or medical folks testing for it or whatever, I also don’t recall at the moment). At THAT point, 2011, barely 30, I was hit with that idea of Dad’s mortality…maybe for the first time, certainly the first most SIGNIFICANT time.

But I quickly buried it, especially once he was outta the hospital and everything (at least to me) SEEMED fine again. I didn’t want to even LET myself really contemplate anything happening to him; his not being here; losing him.

It hadn’t hit me his using a cane since 2001 or so…I just took that as a clinical “fact-of-the-matter” sorta thing, in stride, his getting older, weight, etc. It just WAS. (“scary thought” as I think it: in 2001 he was ‘only’ 9 years older than I am now). And it wasn’t til he fell back in 2017 that …those 4 years kicked off.

So back to 2018 and the apparent lungs/kidney failure issue.

I was ROCKED.

There wasn’t much I could really say/do/be to Dad (not that I was aware of, not that I was conscious of, or recognized). It was sort of a case of we were all under this same roof, but dealing with (or not dealing with) it in our own ways, processing, waiting for confirmation of things, etc.

And amidst that, and my anxiety and such (I was also at the end of my Ohio Unemployment benefits, with no concrete leads ON employment), I finally had to get outta the house. I went to a movie, figuring a dark theater, a huge screen, some mindless movie and an active reason NOT to be on my phone, etc…

I saw The Meg.

Figured it’d just be some big, dumb giant-shark-action-flick; especially having Jason Statham in it.

And it was, but it was fun, the effects were best I’d seen for such a movie; it was by far the best “giant shark movie” I’d seen, a decade after I’d cycled through a bunch of giant-shark movies in the days of Netflix as DVD-by-mail before their streaming hit hard.

THOUGH in the movie, a character DOES lose HER Dad, and THAT part was rough for me the first time through. But after some sadness, the loss is more or less ignored/forgotten to focus on the giant-shark stuff and ends with the hero (figuratively) riding off into the sunset with a positive future ahead with “the girl” and her daughter.

I was hired a couple months later; and the following year, I did a day-trip to Columbus for the long Labor Day weekend 2019, and signed up for Audible for something to listen to on said trip. Not long after, I recalled having discovered that The Meg was apparently based on a book. That led to me going through all 6 novels in the latter part of 2019 into 2020.

And a thing I do, I “have to” have some sorta background noise at night, and I’ve found that what works really well for me is Audible audiobooks. Though it has to be something I’ve actually read and/or listened to, so I don’t stay awake hooked on actually taking in the story for the first time. I’ve got a BUNCH of audiobooks “in rotation” in that way; and a significant chunk of “regulars” are the first 5 Meg books and occasionally another book the author established to be in the same “Meg Universe.” The 6th/most recent book involves a significant subplot with a character in declining health and the portrayal and details hit wayyyyy too close to the heart for me, so I avoid that one as I don’t need that to compound what my mind already does in my sleep.

So…I first saw and enjoyed The Meg (the movie) in August 2018, 5 years ago.

For the past almost 4 years, I’ve been listening to the book series repeatedly.

I did (and do) my best to avoid internet trailers for stuff, don’t keep up on “upcoming movie news” as a thing (I get exposed to plenty, but don’t seek it out, and not for any specific films). So it came as a bit of a pleasant surprise a couple months back to realize that we were a few weeks away from The Meg 2: The Trench hitting theaters.

Half-a-decade since the first film and 4 after experiencing the books…this thing had a lot to “live up to.”

A LOT of “expectations” on my part. Not sure “hype” is the word, exactly, but “expectations” definitely fits.

I had decided I was going to pointedly see the film pretty much “ASAP” for me.

Also that it was going to be a solo thing, as my theatrical experience was for the first one.

Not exactly “in honor of” nor “celebration of” or anything, but just something for me, that seemed to fit, that I got it into my head to do, etc.

So last night, I did just that.

And I’m gonna put some spoiler space here, so that I can talk frankly.

Cuz you may not have seen the film.

And if you haven’t seen it yourself, I don’t wanna spoil details for you.

And if you keep reading now beyond this line, I’ll probably wind up spoiling some exact details of the film The Meg 2: The Trench.

So from here on, I consider myself free to talk about the film and assume that if you’re reading, you either have as well or don’t care if details are spoiled.

The opening scene of the movie is set–I believe it said–in the Cretaceous (they probably’d have legal issues using “Jurassic”). It’s a scene that’s been in the trailers, of a series of creatures eating each other (smaller by a bigger, then a bigger, up the food chain) culminating in a T-Rex being attacked by a Megalodon a la the Mosasaur chomping on the Indominus at the end of Jurassic World.

Then we get to the present day where someone’s testing some exo-suit that gives enhanced strength and such. And a scene with Jonas as some James Bondian action hero. And someone developing some “power suit” that vastly enhances a person’s strength. etc.

Move along with character (re)introductions and find that years have passed since the events of The Meg. I never felt it was clear exactly HOW MANY–possibly up to 10. (There’s reference to a 10-year-anniversary, but that COULD have been 10 years since events taking place years before The Meg).

And we find out that Suyin, the main female protagonist from the first film, has died sometime previous to this 2nd film. Her daughter Meiying remains under Jonas’ guardianship, and that character with the “power suit” is her uncle–a previously-unknown-of sibling to Suyin/son to Zhang. Based on a snippet of a trailer and a “running joke,” I was looking forward to the continued dynamics of Jonas, Suyin, and Meiying; so Suyin not being there was an immediate disappointment.

Jonas as corporate-espionage-busting action hero…doesn’t fit, after going through the books…though could be a premise for a film itself.

The power suit stuff could be a premise for a film.

Bunch of subplots crammed in…could all be premises of their own films.

I felt like we were “told” more than “shown” on plot points, or only given enough to “figure out” but not explore on characters/relationships.

But hey, big dumb shark movie, right? Why would I expect complex characterizations, relationship-building, and development in such a film? Well, that’d be the BOOKS.

And I suppose in expectations I had for being shown more on characters’ interactions/relationships is that really, they’re “in name only.”

“The Meg” is based on a book…at least in name. The main protagonist there is Jonas Taylor, so we have a Jonas Taylor. There’s no Terry Tanaka (Suyin seemed a stand-in for her, adding to my expectations). Suyin already having Meiying could have been a stand-in for Danni. Across both films I get very little if anything from Mac and Jonas’ friendship/history; Mac seems another in-name-only. DJ all the more in-name-only, to say nothing of the DJ character’s development/arc in the first book.

This new Trench film touches on some sorta undersea mining operation, which technically comes from the books, but we really get nothing about what the stuff IS, what it’s for, or how it played into characters’ histories. Nothing much was made of the main corporate “baddie”…including even a name. Not even a “Celeste-in-name-only.” No significant subplot with Suyin and a baddie, with a parallel adventure for Jonas, spotlighting male and female leads.

And then fairly suddenly after slow build we’re thrust into a final act with three Megs attacking “Fun Island”, and unlike the first film where the Megs (2 of ’em) were individually huge threats, Jonas easily dispatches 2 of ’em, and the 3rd recognizes Meiying’s uncle and responds to an underwater “clicker” and just…swims off.

Oh, and there’s a “kracken” because….well, ok, why not? No one questions it, they just kinda…fight its tentacles, but there’s no build on that, it just shows up, grabs people, gets tentacles chopped off, etc and then gets chomped on by a Meg.

And….yeah.

It was over the top, felt much more “mindless” and “dumb” than the first film, and as seems typical in sequels, tried to cram in wayyyyyy too much for its runtime. “Jack of all, master of none” or some such.

This Jonas Taylor, and the film, also comes off to me in part the way the later Die Hard films did. Where the first three seemed believable-if-a-stretch, the first newer one has the protagonist “kill a helicopter with a car” and other much more over-the-top action going beyond “just” an “everyman” character thrust into extraordinary circumstances. Or compare the first several Fast and Furious films with the last couple, and you should get where I’m going.

I’ve seen some reviews where people used the word “boring” to describe this film; last night I think I agreed with that assessment, but today I’m not completely sure. I think I’ve latched onto simply “disappointing.”

I got Dad and Mom to watch The Meg once with me; must’ve been late 2020. I don’t recall either of them being particularly enamored with it; I’m pretty sure Dad fell asleep during it and not sure he ever went back to “catch up,” but his lack of immediate “interest” in such also had kept me from “pushing.”

Having seen this new one, I do think it’s one I would NOT have sought to buy or rent to have him watch; from our “movie year” especially, it does not have the action or appeal that would’ve made for even a Redbox rental that he’d have enjoyed. (though I can only speculate, as he’s not here and I can’t speak FOR him, etc).

But this post is already over 2000 words, so I’m gonna just wrap up.

As usual, no great closing, so just an abrupt…end.

May never make it famous…

So, something James White said that I heard tonight really resonated with me. He talked about his name. Given by his father.

And I had the stirrings of memory of a song that finally clicked once I was back here. Dierks Bentley’s song “My Last Name.”

So, for context, here are the lyrics I just Googled:

I learned how to write it
When I first started school
Some bully didn’t like it,
He said it didn’t sound too cool
So I had to hit him
And all I said when the blood came
It’s my last name

Grandpa took it off to Europe
To fight the Germans in the war
It came back on some dog tags
Nobody wears no more
It’s written on a headstone
In the field where he was slain
It’s my last name

Passed down from generations
Too far back to trace
I can see all my relations
When I look into my face
May never make it famous
But I’ll never bring it shame
It’s my last name

Daddy always told me far back as I recall
Son, you’re part of somethin’,
You represent us all
So keep it how you got it, as solid as it came
It’s my last name

Passed down from generations
Too far back to trace
I can see all my relations
When I look into my face
May never make it famous
But I’ll never bring it shame
It’s my last name

So darlin’ if you’re wonderin’
Why I’ve got you here tonight
I want to be your husband, I want you to be my wife
I ain’t got much to give you
But what I’ve got means everything
It’s my last name

Oh, it’s my last name
I learned how to write it
When I first started school

“May never make it famous, but I’ll never bring it shame…it’s my last name. […] you’re part of something, you represent us all. So keep it how you got it, as solid as it came…it’s my last name. Passed down from generations too far back to trace…I can see all my relations when I look into my face…”

I thought I remembered this song from my senior year of college…but looking in iTunes, it lists the album’s release date as August 2003. Close, but a few months after graduation. Still fitting in the time; I was still very “into” country music, coming off of everything that life was up to that point, adjusting to life after college, trying to figure out who I was away from all that.

I do remember it sticking out to me 2003/2004…the bulk of it. The narrator’s proposal not so much; but like Joe Nichols’ “The Impossible,” it doesn’t change that the bulk of the song stirs something.

Whatever else I got from Dad, whatever else he did in this world, he gave me my name. His name. Not just his last name, but the full name–first, middle, and last.

And whatever else I may contribute to this world, whatever else I may someday leave behind…at least for now…I carry forth our name.

I see him whenever I have to look at my own face. So much of who and what I am comes from him. I wouldn’t even be here if he wasn’t first.

And I may never make it famous.

But I hope that as I represent him, that I at least leave it no worse than I got it.

And that others get to see him through me.

The scraping of a knife on wood

There are times I can sit back and wonder HOW it is that I can feel so…”normal.”

But then there’s still some “guilt” there, in THOSE times. Not the crippling guilt or whatever, but the guilt I feel, because I’m ME, and it’s part of who/how/whatever I am. For whatever sense that makes.

There’s the times I stand in the kitchen, looking out the window–while something’s heating in the microwave, or I’m starting something in a pan/skillet for a meal, or whatever–and I see the wooden flowerboxes of green weeds along the patio wall, or the remnants of roses in the plastic arch, or the green weedery of what was once a raised bed tomato patch. And it’s like…how can I feel so “normal” when he’s not here anymore?

And why does my mind seem to–more than not–go to that time he was in the chandelier room when I went upstairs from work. Him just relaxing, the dog hanging around, and me getting off work. “Hey, Dad…” getting his attention. Seeing his face light up with a moment of almost-surprise greeting me “Hey, Walt!” cuz he didn’t realize the time or that I’d be up quite yet.

Seeing a photo, and NOT having that feeling of a sudden crater in the gut.

And in general, AT TIMES, being able to have that sense–ALMOST–of what’s been said at Griefshare about the “historical” memory of a person. Where it’s no longer just grief or loss or whatever, but the memories and yes, this person was there, and lived, and was a part of one’s life for so very much of it, but it’s not that early stuff of loss.

But then…NOW…as I’m typing this, having gotten the “usual” feeling of breath catching, of that feeling through the torso, the sniffles and the eyes welling up and the tears spilling over…I realize that NOPE…I’m NOT there yet.

And I don’t know what I’m doing with that. Is the hurt still the loss, or is it the ABSENCE?

Is this “just” one of those “waves” they talk about–that grief comes in waves, and while they’re not the huge crushing ones coming back to back to back, but smaller ones that are always going to be there?

And further in typing this…is it the growing realization that we’re just a week away from Fathers’ Day? And part of me is already “feeling” that and trying to prepare?

Plenty of other thoughts and such contributing, but not stuff for this blog…just “of the day” and such.

Mom got to the end of “This is Us” on her run through the show…I’d asked her to let me know when she got to the last couple episodes, and timing worked out to watch them WITH her.

I’m sure THAT also contributes to some of “the feels” I’ve got tonight.

A character says “The way I see it, if something makes you sad when it ends, it must have been pretty wonderful when it was happening.”

True.

And in a flashback to a childhood moment, another character explains perfect targeting for “pin the tail on the donkey” while blindfolded… “As long as I know where you are, I know where I’m going.”

And there were other moments.

And as much as the finale hit me the first time through, it still hit hard this time through.

Stephen King’s Jake Epping has a line in “11/22/63”: “I’ve never been what you’d call a crying man.”

While I’ve always “felt” stuff deeply…I would’ve claimed that line for myself in a lot of the past.

But these past almost-18-months?

Can’t even try to claim that.

So…rambling’s done for now.

And it’s that line from that poem, of Tanis to Flint…recounting where he is and where he’s been and all that…that even as he sits, alone, he still hears that scraping of a knife on wood.

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.

ESPECIALLY in 1999.

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.

2023.

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.