WebKittyn Warbles
Monday, January 02, 2012
Reflections on 2011, Looking Towards 2012 and a Conversation with My Father
Last year at the end of the year I told Darkstar that if things were the same as they were at the end of the year and my life was the same as it was at the end of the year I was going to take the gun and end it or go the easy way and let the kidneys do me in. I promised I was going to do all I could do make 2011 better than 2010 has been but if it wasn't any better I was done. I meant it when I said it, I even went so far as to write up an official will and make sure Darkstar knew what I wanted done with me after. I spent a lot of nights thinking about it, not in an emotional drama kind of way but more a quiet stoic "I'm just done" sort of way.
It's the end of the year now and it's been on my mind that I said that. While I can't say 2011 has been a banner year I also can't say with honesty that I did all I could to make it a great year so I have to own that and no easy ways out. It bothers me that I was in such a dark place only a year ago.
I'm not making resolutions this year. I'm thinking about my father and what he would say to me if he was here. How he would evaluate my past year, both the successes and the failures. I think he'd have a lot to say.
I did have some major victories in 2011. I finally came out of the dark place and got on the track to living. I've forged bonds with new friends and people that I expect will go places in 2012 - as long as I let them. I got the kidneys under control as much as I am capable of and I went for all the tests I had been terrified to do. I learned to stand on my own two feet and discovered I really am tougher than I thought I was. I can hear him saying 'good work, kiddo' on that much.
I had a lot of failures in 2011. This is where I hear my father's voice, loud and strong, telling me what I already know - what I messed up in 2011.
He would tell me to get off my ass and start living again. He would remind me that those 6 months we had when he came out of the rehab place were a gift as he wasn't expected to recover. He would tell me I got the same gift with the kidneys and he would tell me I'm wasting it.
He would tell me to stop making lists and just do stuff. Stop planning and thinking and if something needs doing, do it. If there's something I want to do - do it. If there's somewhere I want to go - go. Stop talking about doing and do.
He would be pretty pissed off at the way my mother and I can't seem to co-exist and he would tell both of us to shit or get off the pot. He would point to the Kingston Bridge and say go if it's that bad. He would remind me that she can't do everything she used to even if she is in pretty good shape but she needs more help with stuff. He wouldn't want to see his two women at each other.
He would be less than happy with the way I've neglected my health. While I've done well with the kidneys, I've allowed myself to get complacent and I don't move around nearly as much as I need to. He would tell me to get off the goddamn computer and go walk around or something. He would remind me I wouldn't even make it to the trail to Base Camp in the shape I am and he would make it perfectly clear I did it to myself.
He would tell me enough with the feeling sorry for myself. While he would acknowledge that I've come a long way I still get in these funks and withdraw from everyone and lament the cards I was dealt. He would tell me to just cut the shit and remind me in no uncertain terms it could be a lot worse. He would push me to keep going where I was going when I seem to have stopped walking forward.
He would tell me to stop talking about writing that damn book and do it. He would be up to date on e-books and self-publishing e-books and he would be the first one to tell me to go for it and my biggest cheerleader along the way. He would read it, he would critique it honestly and I would soak in every word he offered.
He would tell me to let go of the paintings and the mugs and the other things that are worth so much that could really help my mother out. He would tell me to let go of not getting all of the books, let go of the anger and the resentment. He would tell me to understand why it went the way it did and get over it.
He would tell me I have no one to blame but myself if I don't turn 2012 around. He would acknowledge my limitations as I have but he would also tell me to stop hiding behind them and letting them define me. He would tell me I bring a lot of my misery on myself and while I can't change it all I can certainly stop with the shit I dump on myself.
He would tell me to go back to the things that I love so dearly because of him and have abandoned. Watching golf, reading the authors we both loved so much, watching zombie movies. I haven't been able to truly enjoy any of them (and a few more) since I lost him and I can hear him telling me enough. Read those books for me, kiddo. Enjoy that golf and think of me every time you yell 'GET IN THE HOLE.'
He would tell me to let myself off the hook for not being able to go up there and see him yet. I'm close, I work on it every day but I just can't do it yet. He would understand and tell me I'm being silly and not to get all worked up about it.
He would tell me it's long past time to get back into the social world. Start accepting invitations and stop making excuses that I can't go somewhere because I might start throwing up. He would tell me enough living like a monk, get the hell out there. He would remind me that I'm intelligent and funny and really strange and I have a lot to offer people even if I forget that.
He would make sure I remembered all the victories of 2011 as I tend to be way too harsh on myself. Not every victory has to be major and there were quite a few small ones. I owned up to some major mistakes I made that hurt people early in the year, I owned up to my shitty attitude and self piteous way of life and I managed to turn this around. I've done what so few others have done with the kidneys and I've held on to the people that matter the most.
Most important, he would remind me to have fun with life because it really all can change in a day or a moment. He would make sure I understood this and made the most out of my situation, whatever the situation is. Whether it's living in Nowhere NY for now or being piss poor for the moment or throwing up way too much - make the best of all of it and never forget it could be worse. Never forget what he went through and came out of, what I went through and came out of.
I think I get it, I think he would walk away feeling that I really got it this time. You keep watching over me, Dad. You'll see that it sunk in. I'll be up there to visit the cemetery for my birthday, that's one promise I make to myself, to spend a part of my birthday with you. Me with my purple hair.
Happy 2012, Dad. Thank you for the conversation and for making me see what's what. I'll be counting on your spirit to get me through the hard times and the times I don't think I can make it. I love you dearly, Dad. I dedicate this year to you.
It's the end of the year now and it's been on my mind that I said that. While I can't say 2011 has been a banner year I also can't say with honesty that I did all I could to make it a great year so I have to own that and no easy ways out. It bothers me that I was in such a dark place only a year ago.
I'm not making resolutions this year. I'm thinking about my father and what he would say to me if he was here. How he would evaluate my past year, both the successes and the failures. I think he'd have a lot to say.
I did have some major victories in 2011. I finally came out of the dark place and got on the track to living. I've forged bonds with new friends and people that I expect will go places in 2012 - as long as I let them. I got the kidneys under control as much as I am capable of and I went for all the tests I had been terrified to do. I learned to stand on my own two feet and discovered I really am tougher than I thought I was. I can hear him saying 'good work, kiddo' on that much.
I had a lot of failures in 2011. This is where I hear my father's voice, loud and strong, telling me what I already know - what I messed up in 2011.
He would tell me to get off my ass and start living again. He would remind me that those 6 months we had when he came out of the rehab place were a gift as he wasn't expected to recover. He would tell me I got the same gift with the kidneys and he would tell me I'm wasting it.
He would tell me to stop making lists and just do stuff. Stop planning and thinking and if something needs doing, do it. If there's something I want to do - do it. If there's somewhere I want to go - go. Stop talking about doing and do.
He would be pretty pissed off at the way my mother and I can't seem to co-exist and he would tell both of us to shit or get off the pot. He would point to the Kingston Bridge and say go if it's that bad. He would remind me that she can't do everything she used to even if she is in pretty good shape but she needs more help with stuff. He wouldn't want to see his two women at each other.
He would be less than happy with the way I've neglected my health. While I've done well with the kidneys, I've allowed myself to get complacent and I don't move around nearly as much as I need to. He would tell me to get off the goddamn computer and go walk around or something. He would remind me I wouldn't even make it to the trail to Base Camp in the shape I am and he would make it perfectly clear I did it to myself.
He would tell me enough with the feeling sorry for myself. While he would acknowledge that I've come a long way I still get in these funks and withdraw from everyone and lament the cards I was dealt. He would tell me to just cut the shit and remind me in no uncertain terms it could be a lot worse. He would push me to keep going where I was going when I seem to have stopped walking forward.
He would tell me to stop talking about writing that damn book and do it. He would be up to date on e-books and self-publishing e-books and he would be the first one to tell me to go for it and my biggest cheerleader along the way. He would read it, he would critique it honestly and I would soak in every word he offered.
He would tell me to let go of the paintings and the mugs and the other things that are worth so much that could really help my mother out. He would tell me to let go of not getting all of the books, let go of the anger and the resentment. He would tell me to understand why it went the way it did and get over it.
He would tell me I have no one to blame but myself if I don't turn 2012 around. He would acknowledge my limitations as I have but he would also tell me to stop hiding behind them and letting them define me. He would tell me I bring a lot of my misery on myself and while I can't change it all I can certainly stop with the shit I dump on myself.
He would tell me to go back to the things that I love so dearly because of him and have abandoned. Watching golf, reading the authors we both loved so much, watching zombie movies. I haven't been able to truly enjoy any of them (and a few more) since I lost him and I can hear him telling me enough. Read those books for me, kiddo. Enjoy that golf and think of me every time you yell 'GET IN THE HOLE.'
He would tell me to let myself off the hook for not being able to go up there and see him yet. I'm close, I work on it every day but I just can't do it yet. He would understand and tell me I'm being silly and not to get all worked up about it.
He would tell me it's long past time to get back into the social world. Start accepting invitations and stop making excuses that I can't go somewhere because I might start throwing up. He would tell me enough living like a monk, get the hell out there. He would remind me that I'm intelligent and funny and really strange and I have a lot to offer people even if I forget that.
He would make sure I remembered all the victories of 2011 as I tend to be way too harsh on myself. Not every victory has to be major and there were quite a few small ones. I owned up to some major mistakes I made that hurt people early in the year, I owned up to my shitty attitude and self piteous way of life and I managed to turn this around. I've done what so few others have done with the kidneys and I've held on to the people that matter the most.
Most important, he would remind me to have fun with life because it really all can change in a day or a moment. He would make sure I understood this and made the most out of my situation, whatever the situation is. Whether it's living in Nowhere NY for now or being piss poor for the moment or throwing up way too much - make the best of all of it and never forget it could be worse. Never forget what he went through and came out of, what I went through and came out of.
I think I get it, I think he would walk away feeling that I really got it this time. You keep watching over me, Dad. You'll see that it sunk in. I'll be up there to visit the cemetery for my birthday, that's one promise I make to myself, to spend a part of my birthday with you. Me with my purple hair.
Happy 2012, Dad. Thank you for the conversation and for making me see what's what. I'll be counting on your spirit to get me through the hard times and the times I don't think I can make it. I love you dearly, Dad. I dedicate this year to you.
Page 1 of 1 pages
<-- Steal me!
