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.
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.
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And if you haven’t seen it yourself, I don’t wanna spoil details for you.
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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.
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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.
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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.
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.
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.
As I sit here typing…it’s been six months since my initial falling-apart in the kitchen. Just a little before 8pm.
I’d been to the comic shop earlier in the day; begun finally sorting comics to clean the front room as Dad had been wanting; etc. I think I was in the middle of working through the Falcon and the Winter Soldier series, having just days earlier sprung for D+ as it was cheaper than purchasing a movie I wanted to watch.
And while I sat there watching–pondering what Dad would think of the show–I remember realizing a number of things. For one, there it was, end of 2021, and we’d not finished Iron Man 2…where I’d INTENDED to “subject” Dad AND Mom to the Marvel Cinematic Universe. They’d both seen several of the movies over the years…but after his health scare in August 2018, I’d intended to take him through the MCU. To get to share that whole epic with him. He’d have watched them if I pushed–he’d have wanted to make me happy, would’ve been thankful for the time together. But knowing he wasn’t terribly engaged or “enthusiastic” about them, I had NOT pushed, and weeks turned into months turned into years. So when we got him home from the hospital–whether it was a few days or (as we feared at the time) a few weeks/months again–I was gonna talk to him about it and re-gauge his interest IN the thing. (Of course, by that point, 2 1/2 years POST-Endgame).
I remember thinking about some conversations we’d had; stuff he’d shared with me. Snippets from HIS past, from before he’d even met Mom. I needed to talk to him and get more stories like that. (and remembering the look on his face and seeing HIM remember as he told me about stuff).
I remember thinking back to 2011 and being with Katie and Tim, talking to Katie’s grandfather, them recording some of his stories and such to share later.
And that I oughtta do that with Dad. Talk to him ABOUT recording some of the stuff. Get him to re-tell that story from college about putting a sign up cancelling class, and waiting around to talk to the professor. Some of thosse stories from his time on the ship. Him and Eric…him and Bruce. Him and Chuck. Compare notes on stuff from the Sandbagger Golf League days–stuff I’d picked up on as a kid, but maybe was either oblivious to or only had one side of things.
But I never got that chance, after the realization and intent. So many stories about his life, and his experiences. Stuff I never knew…and now, never will. Stories that I vaguely recall in the loosest sense that I won’t get to “firm up” or clarify details on.
I remember some years back when Eric came out to visit…and we were all out at some restaurant…I think it was that Mexican place over on 306 with the buffet, back in 2015 or 2016. Watching them talk and catch up and reminisce…and something that came up that had them both laughing, and Dad had tears in his eyes from laughing so hard and long at whatever that memory was that didn’t stand out to ME at the time.
I had my “breakdown” in the kitchen. Terrified of what could come; worried almost sick. Despite stuff we’d faced before, and however it now SOUNDS…I remembered that moment in an old Superman comic when Jonathan Kent was hospitalized after a heart attack…and Martha confiding in Lois (I believe) that she’d never been so scared she was gonna lose him (Jonathan).
My breakdown was as it hit me that we could actually lose him. That this was somehow different from the other times since 2017. Different from 2017. Partly hitting me because of Mom having her own bad feeling about things.
I tried to tell myself I was freaking out needlessly. That confiding in friends about my worries was gonna seem so foolish in retrospect. (Not the confiding but the worries; that I was totally overreacting).
So I got back to Falcon & Winter Soldier. Forced myself “through the motions.”
I texted Dad at 8:56pm Wednesday, December 29th. “Keep feeling better. Praying for you, thinking of you. Love you.” And sent two photos of Daisey, a photo of Sarah, and a photo of Chloe. Trying to keep optimistic and encouraging and photos to cheer him/brighten stuff. I’m not sure if I’d realized he hadn’t seen the text/photo from the night before. I was going to at LEAST text and share photos every day until I could get in to see him (the hospital’s one-visitor-once-per-day crap meant only Mom was able to see him that afternoon).
Less than two hours later I heard Mom hustling from the cave; my habitual question “everything ok?” getting a NON-standard answer/response. “They’re doing CPR on him,” as she hustled on by to get clothes for going out. I was moments from “crashing” for the night myself, but that changed immediately as I quickly changed into non-bedclothes and told Mom I was driving and was heading out to start the car.
That tense drive. 15 minutes? 20 minutes? Less than a half-hour. Familiar territory…I’ve driven much of that route countless times before in the previous half-decade; knew the area well from the previous three decades.
Rule or no rule, I was going in WITH Mom; NEITHER of us was being left to wait in the vehicle or a lobby or such. And, despite the rule and my readiness to FIGHT if needbe, no one stopped us.
Those final couple hours.
Those final moments.
That room. That monitor. The sudden change in tone/sound. Realizing SOMEthing was happening or had happened. Medical folks rushing in; Mom and me being pulled out of the room. Clinging to each other as medical folks crowded the space, “Code Blue” from the overhead speakers paging personnel to where they were needed. Dad’s room.
Seeing what I saw.
The pronouncement.
The realization.
And here it is, six months later. HALF A YEAR. Later.
I’ve not slept in a bed since getting up that morning of December 28th. Initially having “camped out” so I’d be handy and as aware as possible should anything “come up suddenly.” For the last six months because THE LAST TIME I was in that bed, I woke up to a world and life with Dad here in this house, with the expectation that things had to be getting better after the rough few days over Christmas and such.
I’ve managed to “force myself” to the comic shop every Wednesday. “Habit” or SOMEthing; it gets me outta the house, gives me SOMEthing “to do” each week that is not staying indoors here at the house. “Routine,” “motions” to go through, etc. For all that comics had BEEN through the years…Dad sure as heck would not have wanted to be “the cause” of me “dropping them” “cold turkey” or such; to just suddenly END something that had been a part of my life for 33 years…something that had given US something to tak about and bond over and shared experiences and interactions and such for so long.
I looked into “support groups,” but everything I found was video-only, or would require taking hours off work and driving at length just for anything “in person.” A group at a church 90 seconds’ drive away wanted people to wait til at least 3 months after their “loss.” Which for me meant at least the end of March. So I filed that all away and dropped it for the time.
Come end of March, other stuff going on. Mom in NY. I was getting ready for my first-since-2015 week-plus off work and roadtrip. Work. Day by day, getting by. Forgot about the support group stuff. A few weeks ago, it’s again bad timing. Gotta wait til August. Or do video. Or other stuff when I look that puts me off.
I’ve started “doing stuff” again, a bit.
Got a weekend with Mike and Drew in…February, I think it was.
Got to visit Zanesville with Mom in early April.
I went down to Alabama to see Sara in late April.
I got to go spend an afternoon with Katie and Tim and their boys at the one park beginning of June, and got to spend some time with Alana twice.
Couple weeks ago, got to spend an afternoon with friends playing tabletop games and just hanging out. Rather than just being at the house focusing on “Fathers’ Day.”
I’ve brought boxes and boxes of X-Men comics up to the cave. Tore apart part of the basement getting a shelving unit up here. Began re-sorting and “consolidating” X-stuff I’ve acquired over the past 2 years. And finally started “inventorying,” with an app I’ve actually PAID FOR for 2 years and now finally actively USING properly.
I’ve gotten some stuff cleaned up and dealt with that’s needed it; and some for naught as the mess has reasserted…but working with the X-stuff seems to be the most forward “progress” I’ve REALLY made in AGES in dealing with the comics, and so I chip away at THAT project while preparing to get the rest of the accumulation brought up and (eventually) sorted.
But not a day goes by that I don’t think of and miss Dad. That I don’t have that hurt and astonishment hit me that “he’s really GONE.” THat I canNOT simply walk across the house to see him. To talk to him.
I recall again the snippet of words of Sigfried Sassoon from his poem “Aftermath”:
Have you forgotten yet?… For the world’s events have rumbled on since those gagged days, Like traffic checked a while at the crossing of city ways […]
And I have NOT forgotten. I’m still here, I’m still learning to deal with this new world…and for most everyone else, life has (rightfully for them) just gone on after that pause.
And the words of Tanis Half-Elven as written by a CT Pierson:
For though My life moves on, my infant son lies dreaming In his cradle, my thoughts still find you, old friend. And though you would scowl to hear me tell of it, And stomp and scoff, I cannot hide this plain truth: I still need you […]
While I have no son, no progeny, MY life continues to move. But my thoughts still find Dad. He would never have wanted to be ANY cause of me feeling so much hurt and pain and such; would want me to keep on goin’ and all that…I still needed him. Need him.
And I have to live with that.
Even as those words from Castin Crowns’ song re-hits:
But I know you’re in a place Where all your wounds have been erased And knowing yours are healed is healing mine […]
I don’t know what sorta timeframe I’m looking at. Typing all this is the first time in weeks that I think I’ve (managed to?) shed tears. It’s not easy. It’s not over. It’s not right. It’s not what I had wanted or planned or intended or looked toward, etc.
But here I am.
Six months…26 weeks.
Somehow having “gotten through” hour by hour, day by day by week by month.
“My earliest conscious recollection of Guy [Gardner] is one of the Eclipso Annuals back in 1992 (Adventures of Superman Annual #4, I believe–as I learned after the fact, the ‘transition’ for the character back from his prestige-format limited series where he GOT the gold ring to begin with). And his #1 issue–the first of this very series–was one of several issues I got at a Waldenbooks while out with a friend and his mom, using money my dad gave me (though I got 6 or so comics and had some change left, I recall his being a bit surprised he didn’t get MORE change…but that’s a story for another time).”
Well, over 4 ½ years later, I suppose that ‘another time” is now.
That Waldenbooks I’d referenced in talking about Guy Gardner #11 is the same one that yielded my first four comics that Mom bought me. For me, for MY comics collection…it is THE source, the starting point for my entire collection. Just a fancy spinner-rack in a bookstore in a mall.
Anyway, whenever this was—Summer 1992—I was going to the mall (and Waldenbooks) with a friend and his mom. Dad gave me $10 to have some “spending money” and I was able to get several comics that day. If I’m recalling correctly now, it was that Guy issue (#1) as well as several Superman issues—parts of “The Blaze/Satanus War.” According to my earlier-posted memory of getting 6 or so comics, that would’ve been 6 $1.25 issues…or $7.50. (a paltry sum nowadays in 2022, that would not even get you 2 issues of anything not-Spawn). Of course, as a kid, having $10 at my disposal and being able to get numerous comics…it was a Pretty Big Deal.
And the more I think on it, the more I’m pretty sure Dad would have simply told me that he “expected some change back,” which essentially (to me at the time) meant I was not allowed to spend the ENTIRE $10. As Dad did not specify an amount otherwise, if I really DID get those 6 comics, then yeah…$7.50 + tax, and Dad “got some change back.”
I’m not sure how much is actual memory now—whether jarred loose by actually thinking in-depth about this particular situation for the first time in a number of years, or my mind constructing something from semi-partial-half-remembered stuff, I can’t attest to 100%. But I think I vaguely recall “picking up on” Dad’s annoyance at the time…but other than having expressed surprise at not getting more change back, he didn’t really say/do anything on it. BUT it definitely stood as a good long-term lesson for me in communication on such things: to keep “transparent” on stuff involving his money like that, as well as general awareness of how something might be interpreted by others.
But looking back on that now, it’s also a reminder of his general generosity, and the way he was always glad to do stuff for me, even if “just” giving me a bit of cash to be able to get something while out with a friend.
The situation/”incident” also OBVIOUSLY left its mark on me in THAT I remember so much about the particular, individual purchase and that those issues stand out to me a bit to this day for a number of factors.
Just one day, his son’s going to the mall with a friend, so hey, here, let’s make sure the kid’s got a couple dollars to get something token while out. I’m pretty confident that had I brought this up to Dad 3 ½ months ago, he wouldn’t even have any recollection of it himself. (then again, maybe he would, or would remember some other time that I’m not and remember/know that this TYPE of thing had once unfolded?). Point being, I highly doubt this was anything at ALL remarkable or stand-out or singly-memorable to HIM. Yet, here I am nearly 30 years later writing a number of words about the time and feeling like I’m recalling even more detail the more I think back on it, if only in “feelings” of nostalgia and wishing he was here TO ask about his memory of this.
I think it also helped jog my memory that I’m beginning to read some Eclipso: The Darkness Within comics from 1992, and another early-for-me comic has an ad for that Blaze/Satanus War story.
Even as I write all this, though, I’m reminded yet again of how vastly DIFFERENT stuff is for me now; having lost Dad “only” almost 12 weeks ago. That even contemplating any scene with someone losing a close relative from a comic has a whole different impact on me and meaning now than it ever did as some “concept,” now that I know first-hand what it is to lose my Dad.
But because of stuff WITH him, FROM him, INVOLVING him…I do get to have all sorts of tangible objects as (in cases like this) pleasant, fond reminders of him and the impact he’s had and will continue to hold in my life…
I’ve yet to ever work any job where I had to travel FOR work. The closest was when I worked for IDMI and would regularly drive between the main office and the warehouse, but given that was a less than 10 minute drive (maybe 5-7?) that hardly counts.
No, by “travel FOR work” I’m talking “being gone” from “home” at least overnight–traveling further than a return-same-day thing. Where you’re “put up” at least overnight somewhere as a result of the job.
While it was hardly “frequent,” I do remember Dad having to travel for work occasionally.
And largely due to what he brought back, I remember several distinct such trips.
First, there was that trip to Detroit, I believe; in 1989/1990…the dawn of the “Turtles Craze” when the TMNT figures were maybe at their height and NO ONE had the actual turtles themselves in stock. Dad had gone on this trip, and when he came back, he had all 4 turtles, April O’Neil, and Casey Jones for me.
Another was Hawaii either end of 1992 or early 1993 when the “Doomsday!” (Death of Superman) cards were the hot thing. He came back with 2 unopened boxes of the cards for me; this yielded (if I recall) at least 3 full sets of the main cards, and a set of whatever the chase cards were (that I’m currently drawing a blank on in 2022).
Of course, both of these trips I would’ve been 8-12 years old, very much a kid, and so it makes sense, I guess, that what stood out was what he brought back FOR ME. There’s also that as a kid, I simply remember/knew that Dad went off to work every day; that he would bowl or golf some evenings after work, etc.
Those turtle figures were a Really Big Deal at the time. I don’t recall FOR SURE but I have this vague notion that he VAAAAAAAASTLY over-paid for them, GIVEN their “hotness” at the time. As I’m typing this, I’m thinking he may have said something about paying around $20/each…but again, that’s a vague notion and I don’t have a solid, specific memory of the number or such. Whatever he paid for them, it was definitely a premium, even by 2022 pricing (5-6 times retail price in 1989/1990!)
And the Superman trading cards…I remember him at some point disclosing to me that he’d paid $90/box for them…that was $180! ($2.50/pack…each box had 36 packs). And again, that was 1992/1993. Even now in 2022 I’d be really gritting my teeth and thinking hard about having to pay $90 for some cards, EVEN in 2022 buying a now-vintage box of those very same cards!
But these were a couple things where they were stuff I was VERRRRRRY much wanting at the time, and they were sold out/unable to be found locally, but when he found them while he was traveling for work, he splurged on ’em, to be able to make his son happy. As an adult, I’ll regularly travel certain distances “hunting” some particular figure or such; though these last couple months ESPECIALLY that particular interest has been sorely dimmed. I definitely do not remember Dad ever doing that for anything for himself (not the way I do, anyway!); so his going out of his way and looking for stuff while traveling was that much more significant to me and my memories.
And while it wasn’t so much bringing something back for ME; another “travel for work” I remember was his going to Washington, DC for a few weeks in 2001 or so. I don’t recall what FOR; but it was a few weeks, and I was working at the summer camp in Michigan that summer; so the only real impact for ME (since I myself was gone most of 10 weeks!) was one weekend that I did drive back to Eastlake to ‘visit’ and Dad was gone at the time. I don’t recall the full context, but I remember that summer being when he started using a cane.
As I think about that now, I realize that means it was about 16 years–more than 1/3 of my life–that he had/used canes; though on THAT I don’t really recall it being quite so prominent a thing until years later when he got more reliant on the cane. And of course after he fell in 2017 and was in the nursing homes, the rest of the time it was the powerchair, wheelchair, or walker(s) rather than a cane.
I know he likely traveled for work more than that, but those stand out most to me in MY memories. And these do not get into the fact of his military service and being stationed around the world (like Guam). I was born on Guam; he was restationed to the Detroit area and then Cleveland before retiring. So all the world-traveling was before I was born. I suppose that stuff would be fitting for another post, where I’ll need to talk more to Mom for details!
It was during the summer of 2001 that I started to REALLY “branch out” and “discover” more music on my own…I grew up primarily listening to “oldies” and the “oldies” radio station(s) because that’s what my parents would listen to and have on in the car. And I was perfectly content with that. You could say they were verrrrry lucky with me. (That might be a subject for some other time, though)
So it was 2001 that I “officially” “got into” country music. Basically, “contemporary country,” late-90s/early-2000s. Alan Jackson, Toby Keith, Martina McBride, Shania Twain, loads of others. Established artists, newer ones, a mix. If it played on CMT or the Toldeo country station (99.9FM?), I considered it country, and that was the stuff I got into.
Skip ahead a year, to Fall of 2002. I came across a Joe Nichols song that hit me pretty hard with its opening verses.
My dad chased monsters from the dark He checked underneath my bed And he could lift me with one arm Way up over top his head
He could loosen rusty bolts With a quick turn of his wrench He pulled splinters from his hand And never even flinched
In 13 years, I’d never seen him cry But the day that Grandpa died, I realized
Unsinkable ships sink Unbreakable walls break Sometimes the things you think will never happen Happen just like that
Unbendable steel bends If the fury of the wind is unstoppable I’ve learned to never underestimate The impossible…
Well, change that “13 years” to “9 years” and it was basically my story.
I had just turned 9 in early December 1989. As I recall, virtually every Christmas we’d visit Zanesville and Pittsburgh–Dad’s family and Mom’s family–but that year was a bit different. Grandpa–Dad’s Dad–was in the hospital. I don’t recall any WORDS, but I do remember going in WITH Dad, to see Grandpa.
And then before we left Zanesville, we went back to the hospital, and Dad went in alone. I don’t recall for sure, but I have a guilty half-remembered memory of not wanting to go in again. (Thinking as I type this now in 2022, it’s likely I had already come to have an aversion to hospitals). I was Nine, and “a little kid” (compared to now 41) and blissfully ignorant of so much in the world and life and alllll that.
Skip ahead a couple days, and we had some sort of gathering. I don’t recall if it was a “Christmas party” or just some thing for “the kids,” but I remember having at least a couple friends over. Whether I’ve amalgamated memories, blending something in that wasn’t there, I couldn’t swear to in court.
But…December 28, 1989. While we were going about being kids, the house phone rang. I can’t remember if I picked up immediately that “something” was “wrong” or not. I suspect Mom came and got me, probably took me aside to tell me.
That call was from Zanesville, and Grandpa was gone.
Again with 32 years between now and then and the faulty memory of a barely-9-year-old, but I then remember finding Dad in their bedroom to tell him I was sorry about Grandpa, and seeing him in tears.
It was the first time I’d ever seen him cry, and it would be a lotta years after that before I would ever really realize the significance of that moment.
And there’s a LOT of stuff that “hit me” in my college years. I have a vague memory that the first time it really, truly hit ME just what I’d lost, what WE’D lost, with Grandpa, was in my dorm room one night when it kinda crashed into me and I broke down in tears.
But seeing Dad cry, I suppose that was the first time I saw that side of him; saw him hurt, and not the absolute indestructible papa bear that wasn’t afraid of anything or vulnerable to anything.
And back to that song… “Sometimes the things you think will never happen, happen just like that…” How terribly, heartbreakingly true.
Intellectually, you may know something’s gonna happen. Intellectually, logically, statistically, clinically, coldly, simple fact-ly, whatever. But your heart doesn’t necessarily believe it. Your heart may never be ready, however much you tell yourself intellectually that you are, however much you steel your mind for a pending loss, etc.
And thanks to the heart, that way…sometimes the things you feel will never actually happen [to you and/or your loved ones], happenjust like that.
Tuesday, December 28, 2021, Dad was rushed outta here by the EMTs to transport him to the hospital. I say “rushed” because I didn’t get a chance to TALK to Dad before they had him out. I had noticed the clock on the wall said 11:37am somewhere around there. Never realized it’d be so…”significant.”
35 1/2 hours later we got that call. Just short of 39 hours after he was transported from the Cave, from this house…he was gone.
There’s a Toby Keith song that opens with the following:
American girls…and American guys We’ll always stand up and salute We’ll always recognize When we see Old Glory flyin’ There’s a lot of men dead So we can sleep in peace at night when we lay down our head
My daddy served in the Army Where he lost his right eye But he flew a flag out in our yard ‘Til the day that he died He wanted my mother, my brother, my sister and me To grow up and live happy In the land of the free…
I remember the first time I heard this song back in probably 2002 (nearly 20 years ago!) the resonance it had for me. Back THEN it was more in seeing the various use of symbols, and personification of stuff…there’s words for it that I don’t recall at the moment, being so far removed from academia.
But the song came to mind to me yesterday for these opening two parts.
Moreso the second, but the first holds well in my eyes.
Cuz see…Dad was a veteran. He was in the US Navy for 21 years. He served on a ship in Vietnam, where he was exposed to Agent Orange, which contributed to so much of his health decline in recent years.
The song lyrics–and I’ve never researched to see if these are Keith’s words or some songwriter; whether they’re autobiographical or “just” the narrator; etc–reference the fact of someone’s father serving in the Army; my Dad served int he Navy.
My dad did not lose an eye or limb, but had that AO exposure over there. But despite that, and despite all his medical conditions these past few years in particular…he always considered himself so very blessed. To be here, to be alive. For Mom (oh, how he would go on about how he loved her and was so blessed by her!), for me (and he would “embarrass” me telling me how proud he was of me, to be my father, to have seen the man I’ve become, etc), my sister (I can’t/won’t speak in her stead); for all that he’d come through. Never “why me, Lord?” He was thankful for the opportunities it gave him to share of his faith; the opportunities he had to GIVE, to help others; and so on.
And he had a flag out in the yard all he could. Flagpole(s) in the yard, or mounted on the house and/or mailbox. It was always so important to him to see that flag flying. Even when his son had no clue the depth of its meaning to him.
Three of the four flags in the front yard. Photo by Walt Kneeland 1/5/2022
In recent years, Dad had these huge flagpoles installed in the front yard, with solar lights mounted to them, to fly the flags. The US Flag; our Ohio state flag; the US Navy flag; and a POW flag.
He also has the US flag flying on a pole in the back yard, where he could see it from his main chair in “the cave.”
So that line about flying the flag out in the yard until the day that he died….oh, how that is 100% true here!
There’s a lotta stuff around this house; and mini statues and such out amidst the flowerbed and such…the word I feel Mom and I have most used to “categorize” the is “Patriotic.”
That was Dad.
Whatever politics, he loved this country, and seemed glad to have served; especially to see the life he was able to give my Mom, sister, and me, HAVING served.
I feel like there should be so much more for me to say, here, now. But I also feel like a lot of it would be presumptuous of me; trying to speak FOR him. Or putting words into his mouth. Or whatever other sayings fit. I wish I had talked to him more about this kinda stuff. I wish I’d talked SOOOO much more with him despite all the time and times we did spend talking.
But I can only speak for my impressions gotten from him, and my observations, and what I knew. And I am confident that for him, it was all so much deeper and complex than words I can find on a Thursday morning continuing to mourn losing Dad just hours over one week ago.
The Life of Walt 