In Case You Didn't Notice, This Post Has No Title

Following this is the latest "Mother" post. I normally wait days or even weeks between when the "Mother" posts come to me and when I have finished processing them in my mind and putting them out. (There is one other exception, I bet you can find it.) This time I just wrote it out. I haven't even read it myself yet. In truth, I fell asleep at the computer. That half an hour's worth of "sleep" is all that I have had in about 43 hours. I don't plan on going back to it tonight, but when I do, if it has vanished, you will know why.

I have been sitting here listening to my MP3 player in the otherwise quiet house. To give you an idea of my mood, I have been repeating Snake River Conspiracy's "Vulcan" frequently. Four times in a row just now before "A Boy Named Sue" took over just now while I was typing. I didn't search heavily for a link to a demo of "Vulcan" since I figure some of you might follow the link to find out what song I was talking about before reading any disclaimer that it wasn't family friendly.

For those of you who are unfamiliar with this (read: those of you who aren't MC) the primary function of this song in being repeated is that it is a hard rock song sung (screamed) by an angry woman. The word "Fuck" screamed out repeatedly in semi-isolation seems to be doing the trick for me.

I learned at the wake, from my friend's boyfriend's son that she is not doing well at all. Something I knew. The details were appreciated, but don't improve the outlook. The waiting game isn't easy.

I am not sure, if I attempted to, I could explain why this is effecting me so. Partially because the part I understand is complicated. Partially because there are parts that I don't.

I am not new to death, wakes, funerals. As a human, I have had my share of experience with these for people I knew. Having worked at a funeral home, and being a minister I have been to a number for those I didn't. The latter were mostly at the behest of my friend who lays in a coma in the hospital. This may have something to do with it. Numerous times I went to the wakes and funerals of people who she knew, or people of the community to be supportive of her. That is, to some extent what I did today.

While I knew him, and had the one resounding fond memory of him, I was there to the greater extent because she couldn't be. Odd, given the fact that if she dies she will never know, and if she survives, the fact that I was there does her no good.

My MP3 player has been messing with me. Or my subconscious mind has. It now has about 150 songs on it, 4 of which are by Shakira. (Yes, MC, I just admitted that.) These four are there due largely to the fact that the Pagan shop I worked at for a while played one of her CD's on a regular basis, and so the songs are loaded with memories. Many of them involving my friend. Considering they are only 4 out of 150, they have been playing an awful lot last night and today.

There is nothing I could do in regards to my friend. She is in ICU and even if I can get in to see her, at this point she is still unconscious. Other than information on her, there is little I did at the wake. I added to the visible number of people that noted his passing. I stood off to the side, alone while people I didn't know had the comfort of sharing stories with others they knew. A release of sorts. I had nobody to share these with. A status I could have handled better if not for the fact that concern for my friend weighed over these other things to some extent.

I don't get what the big deal is this time. I am not inclined to be emotional in these situations. Even with family members I haven't been. There Shakira goes again, and it is that one song that reminds me of the tables where I sat with the cards, chatting with her or trying to teach her how to read them. I even now have a vivid memory of that table, cards to the side and she and I were eating lunch. I ate a meatball sub and tried not to make a mess outside of the foil it came in, and she ignored her food as she complained about the man whose wake I attended today, and the fact that the woman whom in the earlier post I gave the pseudonym "Erin" told her she needed to drop him. He would only bring trouble. Odd that it was "Erin" who brought us the trouble initially, and once she was out of the way, the relationship between them had a lot less turmoil. Six years later, at his wake I find out from his son that he had wanted to ask her to marry him.

All of that from one song. Back to Snake River Conspiracy so I can finish my thought. I have never had such an issue with loss, or potential loss, as I do right here. In most of the roles I have played, I can't afford it.

I think...I'll tell you what I think, that I have no idea what the statement I was going to make here was. I think it is time for bed. "Don't You Want Me Baby" is on my MP3 player. I think I will smoke my last cigarette listening to that and imagining chocolate chip cookies being snatched out of a convertible (if you haven't seen that commercial I think you have missed out. I laughed so hard, though it is not so funny at the moment.) Then I will finish downloading the latest additions to my music library. (More angry music.) Then I will problem turn "Vulcan" up for one last run before I try and black out.

I am sorry for having inflicted all of the above on any readers that made their way to the end of this. For those who didn't, you will probably have surmised that I would say that is life, or something close to it.

A Mother's Brief Words On Death

She lay there on the altar, hands folded and resting on Her waist. I couldn't look at Her and not flash back to earlier in the day when I looked upon him laying there in the casket. One major difference I noted immediately was that the cosmetics had given him some life-like coloring, where She was pale, nearly to a point of transparency. I felt a chill rising from the underground lake at my back and the air was damp and cold.

"I even effect the atmosphere in here." I commented out loud, as I noted that the normally bright and sparkling jewels were steady and muted, lending a soft and unintrusive light, again much like the funeral parlor I had been in. I looked again at Her folded hands and unchanging expression, and I could feel the pain again. I wondered if, with the effect I had on everything else I could effect the environment just a touch and the altar would turn into a casket.

"If you could, what purpose would that serve?" Her voice asked me as Her lips did not move. "I am not dead, am I?"

"That you are not." I responded. While I knew this to be an obvious truth, a part of me wanted to walk up and touch Her. As if that gesture could reassure me.

"I have never forbidden it." She replied. "In fact I would welcome it. You should know this."

"There are a lot of things I should know." I replied. Hesitantly I stepped forward. All of the way up to the altar. My breath quickened, and I didn't know whether it was because I had never come this close to this altar before, or because of the irrational connection to death that I couldn't shake. I held my hand out, hovering just above Her.

"Go ahead." Her voice said. With a laugh She added. "You will not wake me."

I lowered my hand and pressed it on the altar for a moment, reverently touching the corner, as I had done when I approached him the same evening. Then I stepped back to create space.

"You are troubled." She said.

"This is an example of you incredible powers of perception?" I quipped.

An enormous weight lifted for just a moment off of my chest as Her lips curved in just the slightest smile. "Of course." She replied. After a pause she continued. "Tell me what you were thinking when you were at the wake."

"You know what I was thinking."

"We've discussed the relevance of that comment in the past." She chided.

"I thought a number of things." I answered. "Which do you want me to discuss?"

"All of them."

"I thought that I didn't really belong there." I began. "That the odds of anyone being there to whom I could be a use would be small."

"You thought this even before you went." She pointed out. "So why did you go?"

"I went for Her, for the most part." I told Her. "I went because she couldn't. And because I had known him, and his family deserved to see that he did not move on with a passing that was unnoticed."

"At the very least, I think you helped contribute to the latter, don't you?"

"Perhaps."

"You told his sister when she introduced herself that the simple fact that so many people were there that she didn't know was a telling sign of the impact her brother had made. Do you think that helped at all?"

"I don't know." I admitted.

"I do." She replied. "Tell me what you said to him."

I relayed the words I had said referencing a moment he and I had shared. A moment he frequently spoke of afterwards. I waited as the last of my words hung in the air.

Finally Her voice softly broke the silence. "I think those words had a beneficial effect on the man you said them for, don't you?"

"No. I don't." I answered. "They had no impact whatsoever. He couldn't hear them."

"You knew that when you spoke." She pointed out. "You didn't say those words for his benefit. You said them for yours. You spoke them to ease your own pain, and for a moment, it worked. I would say your mission was accomplished."

"I would say it was much more accomplished if you gave him a grace period." I replied, annoyed.

"A grace period? To set his affairs in order?" She questioned. "You know it does not work that way. You also know why."

"I meant on the other side of the coin." I answered. "So he could benefit from the knowledge of how much impact he had, in what ways. Couldn't we be allowed to at least witness our own funerals? Kind of a final tally?"

"To what end? What use would this knowledge be immediately after when he was no more?" She asked. "Would it not be easier to be clean cut?"

"I guess." I replied.

"You are temporary creatures, as you well know. The end comes when the end comes. That is all there is to it."

"Will she make it?" I asked, finally.

"You know I won't answer that question." She answered me.

"If she does, she will wake with the knowledge that he is not only gone, but she has missed even the final goodbye of the wake and/or funeral. He will simply be gone. Add to that her medical issues stemming from this, and if she manages to pull out of this, she could very well just end up wishing she hadn't."

"True."

I paced. "I am not saying that I would wish it to be the case, certainly her children wouldn't, but I can't help but wondering if my prayers for her survival might be selfish."

"You know they aren't selfish reasons." She replied. "Your reasoning is true, as is your clear and whole hearted desire to have her back. Now rest. Leave it in my hands."

"Can I trust you?" I asked, pusing it a little in the sarcasm department.

"It isn't like you have a choice." She said with another smile. There was a pause. "Sunday mattered." She said.

"Did she have anything to with that?" I asked.

"Of course." She answered. "Come, take my hand."

I approached slowly, and finally reached out and took her hand in mine. With a rush of light, and a warming through my soul, my surroundings went black.

Things So Easily Missed

I read the story about the accident several days ago. While at work today I scanned the article about the young boy who died. As is too often the case I skipped over the names of the victims as being irrelevant to me. If they impacted my life I would have heard from someone by now.

Martha read the story a few days ago in the paper, and she read the article this morning. She also just scanned it. My daughter brought the same section of the paper to her three times, and three times my wife simply placed it aside. The fourth time Martha's eyes caught a name as she was placing the paper aside.

One of the drivers that was killed was someone we knew. One of the most seriously injured individuals that is still in the hospital is the woman whose relationship with him is the only reason I knew him beyond being the guy from the pizza shop. The only reason MC knew who he was at all.

I cannot decide what ethical aspects might be involved, so having no reason to share with folks who don't know her, I will not print her name here. To those of you of any religion who read this blog, I ask that you pray for the recovery of a woman important to me. Have faith in your god that He/She will know who is being referenced. For those of you who don't have any religious position, I can request nothing of you. At least not of those who don't personally know me. Those of you who do might want to check in with me to make sure all is cool on this front. (Or you might not. I imagine I will be fine.)

The past way too often effects the present unexpectedly. Exemplified by the fact that one of those who might want to know that this friend could use some old friends by her side may also not know what has happened, but I don't even recall his last name. I only know his first name and where he lives. While out of the way, I may have to go that route in the next few days to make sure he knows.

MC, since I said you know who the individuals in question are (if only peripherally) I will clarify for your sake. The man who is lost is the one who took exception with you leaving his windows open when you were moving his couch. As, by connection you could tell, the woman in question would be the one you presumed I referred to in an earlier post.

That is all that I can really say about this issue for the moment. I know those of you outside of our circles may feel left out, but that is life, or something close to it.

Understanding Versus Perception

An intelligent being can initially (and emotionally somewhat continually) perceive something quite different from rational understanding. This may or may not be news to you, but it is the basis for many elements of my life, and I imagine many of yours as well.

The rational mind can understand that the one who can not drive will fall by the wayside to those who can when the joining of friends has a limit of possible participants and is long distance. The rational mind has no problem with this. The irrational perception recognizes the fact that two successive friends jap on him on the same night. Two friends he went out of the way to hook up with when he had plans that stood without them. The irrational mind screams at the fact that the plan involving many friends was originally presented in the manner that it was expected that he would be there, despite not knowing of these plans, then rejected as superfluous. The irrational mind recognizes that the first friend japping on him was expected and the second has never done so, let alone in a fashion of stating he already assumed his presence at the arrangement before rendering him superfluous as a poor second cousin.

The rational mind recognizes that every human being has different tastes, likes and dislikes, and the closeness of relationship has no effect on these differences. The irrational mind can't understand why he would sit through four hours of Klingon opera just because she wanted to partake in the entertainment yet she can practically throw a ear phone at him after two beats of a song he has finally got his hands on that he wants to hear.

A rational mind understands that the important things in life involve work, which pays for necessities, which alleviate some minor level of worries that allows him to go to work again to resume the cycle. An irrational mind can't sleep because this cycle doesn't allow him anything to offer to prevent the most important person in his life from vanishing while he is too busy trying to pay for her roof to have time left to pay attention.

The rational mind keeps hearts beating, roofs over heads and food over tables. The irrational mind wonders where his life went while he did all of this.

The irrational mind wonders what, if anything people will think of this writing. The rational mind says that the myriad reactions are part of life, or something close to it.

When Wanderer's away...

.... I stole the couch from his blog and dragged it over to mine. That's why there's nowhere to sit.

In all reality though, Wanderer, when are we going to hear from you again?