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.

Six Months

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.

Dad and business trip stuff

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!

Get some good rest. Get some good sleep.

“Get some good rest…get some good sleep… love you.”

Or maybe get some good sleep/get some good rest. I think the phrasing was often slightly variable. And it’s also killing and stirring up so much guilt that I cannot right now–absolutely–REMEMBER.

Because for ages, that was part of our nights.

I would take him a glass of iced coffee. He would grab his pills container. He’d take his meds for the night. He’d hand me the now-empty container and I’d put it back in its slot in the main organizer, and I’d pull out the next day’s one. Hand it to him, where he’d tuck it off to the side, ready for the morning.

Far too often there weren’t really many words. His hearing was so bad that I frequently lamented that I had to SHOUT. Practically SCREAM. Sometimes. For him to hear and “get” my words. (Not always. And he was pretty good about reading one’s lips…though I was more difficult for him with this beard and all).

But he’d get this look on his face–maybe a slight smile, maybe amusement, maybe…I don’t know.

And then those words.

Sometimes he’d pause differently. His inflection might vary. Sometimes he’d kinda look at me, hinting for ME to finish it…like he was ensuring that I knew them; that I got them; that I was participating.

That he was sharing and it wasn’t just some one-way thing.

And sometimes it was “I love you,” all three words. And sometimes it was the shortened “Love you.”

I feel like it was only “recently,” though. I said above that it was part of stuff for “ages,” but “ages” COULD just be a year? Two? Definitely within the last 4.

The exceptions were nights that he wasn’t feeling well. Or when I went to bed early. Then Mom would take him the iced coffee.

Mixed in there was often Mom taking Daisey out for her last potty of the day. Often simultaneous–she’d get up to go get Daisey, and I’d grab a glass and the coffee. That always varied.

But I also often got to see and hear Dad and Mom’s exchange to each other.

And I’d be a bit embarrassed; like I was intrusive on what should have been a private moment. But they never seemed embarrassed at my presence.

Right now I can’t pinpoint our last “proper” instance of this routine. I can barely piece together that as I sit here typing this it’s been roughly 56 hours since…since that hospital room.

It’s been–give or take a half-hour or so, maybe less–four days since Mom and I helped him transfer from the power chair back to the lift chair.

It was either then, or when we had helped him first from the lift chair to the power chair, that he had commented on my “grip.” I think his words were “You have a good grip.”

But he did say–if not word-for-word, then close enough–“I couldn’t have done this without you.”

After making sure he wasn’t going to slide out of the chair, and worrying about him NOT adjusting to a “better” position in the chair, made sure Mom was “ok” and came back out to this part of the house.

But before I left I said something–now that I’m typing and trying to remember, my memory is failing me–I probably had “I’ll be ‘around'” and part of me is thinking I included “I love you.” I can’t be sure now–memory fails–if he said it back to me even if I did. I know there was at least once, weakly, between Monday evening and when he was whisked out of this house to be taken to the hospital.

POINT BEING…we never used to be big on saying the words. And whenever this particular nightly routine started, I do remember feeling sorta weird or off or something…because it was never a “regular” or “routine” thing to be said out loud. It was always there; we always knew it; but I guess maybe we both realized that it was good–for both of us–to SAY it. To vocalize it.

Hm. And as my mind has cast back, I think we may have shared the words a fair bit at the nursing homes, too; but it was a different setting and context; albeit the same heart and meaning.

I mentioned “4” years above. Because April 2017 changed our lives forever. Because that was when so many medical things came together in what apparently was a “perfect storm” of things and Dad was first hospitalized and then transferred through three nursing homes from April to December. And he finally was able to come back home, he’d been changed physically. He had the power chair and a wheelchair. He had a walker. Mom and I had become caregivers.

But we had HIM. He was home, he was with us, we were in this house that he so adored, despite the relatively short time we’d been here at that point; the still-relatively-short-time even four years later.

And words now fail me AGAIN; where I sat down thinking to start “a post” I can’t “stick the ending.” Thoughts trail off and scatter. And in the coming days and weeks and months, I suppose I’ll have so much more to share. Look at the expanse of these words began by his goodnight phrasing being in my head this morning.

I had just over 41 years with him…if I could remember everything, if I could convey everything, if it could be singular and comprehensive, that alone would fill volumes. And that’s just ME and MY experiences and memories.

Can’t begin to “do justice” and all that.

But it’s a start. I’ve typed this without breaking down. Tears have leaked, but I’ve gotten these words typed.

And it’s a start.

ONLY a start.