Bohemiology

"I dreamed a dream in time gone by"

The following Tumblr post is reprinted with my daughter, Ikuni's, permission. It is a sad but beautiful tribute to her father. We still miss him so.

"I dreamed a dream in time gone by...when hope was high and life worth living."

So, I just watched a family video from 2002 because…I just needed to see my dad and hear his voice, ya know?

This video is wonderful and painful at once because it was made just before everything went to hell (my parents’ divorce), like less than a year, I think. The hardest part, besides just my dad, is seeing my brothers actually getting along. I mean, we, all four kids, fought and had the usual fleeting nastiness between us from time to time, but we were all actually siblings, we all cared for each other, and ultimately we were a family unit. Now, my oldest and youngest brothers hardly speak to each other and when they do it’s awful and you wish they wouldn’t. I have basically no contact with my oldest brother now, which I think is best but it still hurts. I’ve remained very close with my older brother, we’re the two middle children, and somehow we’ve managed to stick most things out together. He has the best relationship with my oldest brother out of all of us, but his relationship with my youngest brother is strained nearly to breaking. I wish so badly that I could travel back and somehow salvage the bonds that I can see between us in this video. Mostly, I just want to salvage the joy on my younger brother’s face, something I haven’t seen there in years.

But of course, above all things, I wish I could sit in a Go Cart next to my father one last time, or play Dutch Blitz with him, or go for rides on his motorcycle, or attend Tae Kwon Do classes with him, or wake up to the smell and sound of him cooking breakfast and blasting Black Sabbath downstairs. I wish he could hold me in his arms again and I could feel safe. The incredible thing about my father was that he was one of those people who, no matter how bad it got, no matter what mess you were in, he made you feel like it would be okay because he would absolutely take care of it; he would fix it for you and everything would be alright because he would MAKE it so. But of course, he couldn’t actually fix everything and when it all went wrong we were all powerless.

Besides the sadness that I now impose when I watch this video, there is so much joy in it and I can’t help but smile through every minute. Because there are so many things that have not changed and never will. I am immortalized in this video reading and ranting about one of the characters and analyzing the story (at the age of 12 :D), sitting at the computer writing a story; the music associated with me is Harry Potter, my accent wanders, and I’m generally obnoxious. :) My older brother is constantly playing the drums, painfully camera shy, but so clever and witty and with such great, calming energy about him. My little brother is sarcastic, bombastic, loud and does everything his own way. My oldest brother is prickly but caring towards animals. My mother is lovely, more comfortable behind the camera than in front of it, but cares so much for her children and does all she can to give us a wonderful, art-filled, passionate environment filled with a love of learning and imagination and joy. And although my father is dead, to his very last he was filled with life, so much life, a unquenchable thirst for it; he was a prankster but so honorable and in his last days so courageous and brave. There’s no way to summarize him in words. But how I miss him; his strength, his flaws, his laugh, his sunglasses, his hugs, his humor, his everything.

I wish I could go back, curl up inside this video and live there forever. But I can’t. I was there once and now I am here, and there’s no going back. I wish so much that I could sit with my father in a McDonalds, or help him with grocery shopping again, or pick apples with him at our old house, or be scolded by him for climbing the apple tree when I wasn’t allowed, or get ice cream with him after going to see X-Men in the cinema; I wish I could go for a ride in his truck, blasting classic rock on the radio, shifting the gears for him while he drove. I wish I could wake up one last time to a life and a family that is whole, and a world that is safe. I wish I never knew what it is to wake up and find what was once your life and your family and your world shattered and lying about you in pieces. I wish I had never spent a sleepless night with my brothers after watching my mother taken away in an ambulance due to nervous collapse. I wish I had never had to sit and listen to my father tell us he was going to die in twelve months. I wish I had never sat in waiting rooms after his surgeries all alone watching the last Presidential candidates on the TV. I wish I had never had to hold his hand as I felt death hover about him. I wish I had never gotten out of the shower one morning to find my mother outside my bedroom door, all that she was destroyed, as she told me my father was dead. I wish I never knew what it’s like for half your family to disown you for how you grieve. I wish I did not know what it is to be not even twenty and half an orphan. But more than these things, I just wish he were still here.

“I dreamed a dream in time gone by / when hope was high and life worth living / I dreamed that love would never die / I dreamed that God would be forgiving / Then I was young and unafraid / and dreams were made and used and wasted / There was no ransome to be paid / No song unsung, no wine untasted / But the tigers come at night / with their voices soft as thunder / as they tear your hope apart / as they turn your dream to shame. (…) I had a dream my life would be / so different from this hell I’m living / so different now from what it seemed / Now life has killed the dream / I dreamed.”

And none of this changes the fact that the phone bill is late

A slice of my financial life: I have $20 in checking, $25 in savings. The only way the bank lets me keep a savings with a balance so low is to agree to auto-transfer $25 from my checking to my savings once a month. I realize I don't have that amount in checking, so I transfer $10 from my savings to my checking so they can transfer $25 from my checking to my savings.

But, first, a post that doesn't require xanax to write

My guy, Nez, introduced me to Contra dancing--New England style folk dancing where couples move down two facing lines, exchanging partners and who knows how many microorganisms as they go (have I mentioned I'm a bit of a germaphobe?). Each week I come prepared with comfortable shoes and a big, bottle of hand sanitizer.

But, I love it. Contra dancing is awesome. Sweaty, but awesome. Though, actually, the dancing doesn't sweat, it just causes me to, which is why I've purchased a few swishy skirts and dresses to help keep air circulating around me as much as possible.

Recently, I bought this flowing, off-the-shoulder, tie-dyed dress (imagine part gypsy, part hippie), and I wore it to the next dance where I proceeded to twirl and swing and do-si-do with Nez and umpteen others. I had a grand time.

As we walked to the car afterwards, though, I noticed Nez' hands were all blue and purplish. We were like, WTF? Was there a newly painted rail somewhere? Something on a door handle? Had he contracted a strange, rare palm disease?

Nope. I'd not pre-washed my dress and the dye (aided, I'm sure, by all the perspiration) had worn off on his hands.

Then it hit me. LOTS of men had danced with me, hands on my waist, that night. Oops. My apologies to those who went home wondering if they'd lost all circulation to their extremities.

Fair warning

"You should write about these things."

I'm sitting in a brown, leather chair across from my therapist, who's looking at me with kind but determined eyes.

It took me seven years to find Dr. G. After an uninformed general practitioner, an inept family counselor, three or four we-couldn't-give-a-shit psychiatrists, and one nice but ineffective psychologist, I finally discovered a therapist who is competent, compassionate, and helpful.

"I know, I should," I say, looking down at my hands in my lap.

This has been my response whenever he's encouraged me to write, the response I give before going home to not write anything at all.

But, now. Now is the time. At least, I hope it is. I'm going to do my best to get it out and onto paper, so to speak. I hope to share some of it here. Maybe a lot of it here.

And this is where the fair warning comes in. There are things I want to write about that are dark, unsettling, and possibly controversial. Certain events from my past are not pretty. I've also changed a lot in the last year or so. I'm fairly sure a few things may be upsetting to some.

I still plan to post about the arts and continue to share odd, little anecdotes from my life, but I also don't want to censor the hard stuff. And, yeah, some of you might be thinking, the hard stuff? She wrote mostly about her ex dying of cancer for months, there's more? The answer is yes, I have a whole host of difficult issues to talk about (are you running for the close button yet?).

So, Dr. G, I'm taking your advice. On to the gut spilling.

Long night's journey into day

I sat in the passenger seat of my best friend's van, while Ikuni was inside our apartment grabbing a few things. I asked, "I can't even go in and put on some makeup?"

My friend leaned toward me and smiled. "Think of it this way. You look more...authentic like that."

Ikuni climbed into the back seat and we started toward a local hospital, known for having one of the best psychiatric wards in the city.

That was last August. When it all became too much. The grief. The anxiety. The anger.

It was one of the hardest days of my life. Also, a first step toward healing.

I cannot find the words to say my last goodbye

At 7:22 this morning Ex passed away. The children and I were able to visit with him before he died. To hold his hand. To look into his eyes. To tell him we loved him.

Evergreen

~by HYDE

I lie awake beside the windowsill
Like a flower in a vase
A moment caught in glass.

The rays of sunlight come and beckon me.
To a sleepy dreamy haze
A sense of summer days.

If only I could stop the flow of time
Turn the clock to yesterday
Erasing all the pain.

I've only memories of happiness
Such pleasure we have shared
I'd do it all again

This scenery is evergreen
As buds turn into leaves
the colours live and breathe
This scenery is evergreen
Your tears are falling silently

So full of joy you are a child of spring
With a beauty that is pure
An innocence endures.

You flow right through me like a medicine
Bringing quiet to my soul
Without you I'm not whole

This scenery is evergreen
I need you far too much
I long to feel your touch
This scenery is evergreen
You've always been so dear to me

This scenery is evergreen
It sorrows at the sight of seeing you so sad
This scenery is evergreen
I wish that I could dry your tears

The bells have rung the time has come
I cannot find the words to say my last goodbye
This scenery is evergreen
You've always been so dear to me

He said he loved me, too

Ex has taken a turn for the worse. His lungs filled with fluid, which caused an erratic heartbeat and other life-threatening problems. They've drained the fluid and that has helped, but it's only temporary. We are making plans to see him as soon as possible. We at least all had a chance to talk to him by phone. I told him I loved him. I haven't said those words to him in over five years, but they have always been in my heart.

When it was all still yet to be lived

We met at a youth conference on a sunny afternoon. My friend and I were walking up a concrete ramp to the auditorium and he was walking down it. Or more like bouncing down it.

He was energy embodied. Trim, athletic...glowing.

He introduced himself to us, though, I knew who he was. He'd been on our youth pastor's "Most Wanted" list for months. Before his sixteenth birthday he'd experienced drugs, sex and juvenile detention. He liked to angle his stereo speakers together on the floor, lie with his head between them and blast Black Sabbath. He said he thought about God when he was high.

That summer he stunned his friends and made a profession of faith. Some of his demons left for good. Some, as time would show, didn't. But, the future was nowhere to be seen on that bright, sunny day.

I don't remember what we talked about at that first meeting. I just remember laughing.

After that, we "ran into" each other often. At the pool. The gift shop. The snack bar. Since my friend and I were always together, I assumed he liked her. She was blonde and buxom and I was...not.

When he asked to sit with me on the ride home and we talked nonstop for five hours (except when we stopped at McDonald's and he ate five Big Mac's) I began to think he might actually like me.

I left for college that fall and we wrote each other every week. I still have all our letters. I keep them in a red folder...

I'm thinking a lot about Ex these days. Right now, he's trying one last treatment. It's killing him, but we hope it's killing the cancer more.

To answer my own question

8th grade. While those around her celebrated new curves, she was ashamed of every protruding bone. She never wore shorts, even on the hottest days, and she usually wore long sleeves to cover her toothpick arms.

But, that day she choose a blue top that left her limbs bare. She liked the top. The color looked nice against her skin and because of the gathers in front it actually made it appear she had a body. If it just had longer sleeves...

She would wear it anyway. Maybe it would be different. This time.

After the assignments were given, students gathered at various tables. She approached a group of girls, talking among themselves.

As she pulled up a chair, a young beauty scowled, pointed to the exposed arms and said, "What is wrong with you, little girl." The others laughed.

She never wore the blue top again.

I'm no longer the stick thin young girl, but unfortunately my self confidence didn't grow as my body eventually did. I still walk into a room feeling like everyone will dislike me.

My mom says I was more outgoing when I was little, before I started getting teased.

I wish I could find that part of me again.  

Self-deprecating minds want to know

When you walk into a room full of strangers do you think:

A) Most will like you
B) Most will dislike you
C) Some will like you, some will not
D) You don’t give a pig’s patootie if anyone likes you

Explain.