Struggling

It's been a while since I wrote, I know. I kept thinking that I needed to write something, but just haven't had it in me. (Thanks to those who inquired after me and said they missed me. I appreciate that, I really do.) I had intended to write a joyous entry about passing the health care bill (there may still be one about that); or one about the death threats and epithets being hurled in Washington; or maybe about the Hutaree nutarees arrested in my neck of the woods. I may be down, but I'm still paying attention to politics, and it's actually taken my mind off of the sadness tsunami.

That's not working tonight, so maybe it's time to write some of this out. I'm mostly doing okay, and many times things feel pretty much like normal, but today was a matter of helping Mom go through some of Dad's papers and stuff. First off, it hurt my heart to see my Mom trying to cope with all of these things. She's really doing pretty well, but admitted that it's toughest in the evenings. That's when her and Dad would sit and eat dinner, then watch something on TV, talk about things...the thought of Mom sitting there missing Dad so much is almost more than I can bear. But she is bearing it, so I need to, too.

A couple of things really got to me today, though. When my family went to Washington, DC for the WWII Memorial dedication, my sisters and I got him a little flag pin for his lapel. It wasn't horribly expensive, but it was pretty nice, with little diamond, ruby, and sapphire chips. My sisters were down at Mom's the other day, and they put our names in a hat to see who would get the pin, and it was me. Mom gave it to me today and told me that he really loved that pin, and was so proud of it...always pinned it to his lapel when they went to church or any other place where he wore a suit coat.

Then as I was going through one of Dad's briefcases (he had four, for some reason), I found his nametag from his National Guard days—just a black rectangle with his last name on it. I saw that for so many years on his uniform, always perfectly squared, and I don't think I'd seen it since he retired some thirty years ago.

What really got to me was related to his nametag. I was in the basement, copying a few things, shredding a few others. I noticed his shoe-shine kit sitting there, a wooden box with the slanted foot rest on top. I opened it, and there were the various containers of Kiwi black polish, the brushes and the cloths. The smell of polish wafted up from the box, and I remembered all the times I went down to the basement, where Dad's office was, and talked to him while he polished his shoes, or used Brasso to polish his belt buckles. I was always close to Dad, and even though we had our conflicts (Mostly about music! But Dad, you were so right about Johnny Cash, and I'm so glad I learned to appreciate him the way you did.), we genuinely enjoyed talking to each other. Sometimes I'd smear the polish on his Guard shoes, and hand them to him to polish with the brush and then the cloth. And we'd talk. It's no surprise that when I was 6 or 7 years old, all I wanted for Christmas was a G.I. Joe. I got other presents, but Joe was my favorite.

It struck me that sometimes scents can be as powerful a trigger as sights or sounds. You don't think of an aroma having as much power as the others, but believe me, when I opened that kit, it was as visceral a memory as anything else. It also pleased me to know that although Dad was long retired, he still took pride in having well-shined shoes. He really did always look "spiffy!"

So it was a tough afternoon and evening. But a little while ago, I got an email from my sister Sue, and she said she'd talked to Mom this evening. She said Mom sounded really positive, even somewhat excited, about sorting through some of this stuff and getting a handle on the financial stuff. She is off to the Armory tomorrow to work on getting the military pension and insurance in order, and I know they will take good care of her. I wouldn't be at all surprised if some of them recognize Dad's name, either from the Guard or from our large family in that town. I was feeling pretty miserable earlier on, but I believe I worked my way through it, with a little help from my friends. Thank you, and you know who you are. :)

Oh, and just so you know that feisty Beth is alive and well, I'd like to say that some recent Anonymous comments (now deleted) on the entry I made about my Dad's funeral were not appreciated. They were catty, bitchy, and apparently designed to do nothing more than stir up trouble, like life is some kind of fucking soap opera. I tracked the asshole down, and with the help of a friend, they were confronted and vanquished. I have no idea what this person's problem was, other than being a lunatic bitch, or what she was trying to accomplish, but yeah...really classy to write shit like that on an entry about my Dad's funeral. If she happens to visit here again, a couple of caveats for her: IP addresses don't lie, and Anonymous comments have been permanently disabled here. If you want to harass me, you're going to have to take the time to create at least a bogus profile in order to do so. But keep in mind the first item, and I'll reiterate: IP addresses don't lie. And if I ever happen to run into you, you might have a few dozen pounds on me, but what I lack in size I make up for in sheer fury, and I've got a tongue like a whip. I will make you cry. I guarantee.

There. I feel better. >:]