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.

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.

That day I was dropped off

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I AM NOT “The Griever.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I know he didn’t leave me on purpose…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I love you, kid. I love you.”

“Mick?”

“It hurts me.”

[GASPS]

“Mick?”

“MICK?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But now…we’re into the second year.

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

From a facebook post

I crashed “early” last night.

And yet…

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

1:43am.

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

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

At least for me.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But again, here, today…1 year.

One Year…later…

And sometimes seems so fresh still.

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

I guess we’ll see.

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