Moving the Earth and the Stars

Meanwhile, back at the ranch ... two and a half years later ...

Watching my father die was hard, but strangely liberating. My dad and mom had a rocky marriage. Of course, no one was in that marriage except the two of them, but from my perspective, Daddy was gone a lot (I talked about that some). Mom lived a life of luxury most of the time, with maids and cooks and gardeners (especially the Philippines). After my sister died, my father turned to alcohol to deal with the pressures of his life and his job. As the years went on, my mom was very mean to him. Every word out of her mouth was spoken in anger, in impatience and belittling. She was impatient when he started losing his hearing. He was the type of man who avoided confrontation at all costs, and he would turn the other cheek. After he retired and relapsed into alcoholism, her treatment of him escalated. At one point, my sister and I went to therapy with him, and we begged him to divorce her. He maintained that he had made a vow, and he intended to keep it. He was of that generation that did that. We hated it for him, but only he knew his own heart, and maybe there were moments of tenderness between the two of them that we never saw. As he lay dying in the hospital, my mom was very caring and strong. When he died, my mom appeared brave on the outside, but I think the reality hit her hard. Especially when it came to light that he had left her in severe financial straits. She works at a university as a graduate school advisor, but now she's almost 81. Not sure how much longer she can do this.

All that brings me to my midlife crisis. As I saw my dad die, having vowed to stay in an unhappy marriage because of his beliefs and convictions, it hit me. I was unhappy in my marriage. I won't go into details, because that wouldn't be nice or fair to anyone. Suffice it to say my inner Third Culture Kid clashed with the "me" that I had created for myself. Having been a "global nomad" most of my growing-up years, I longed for stability. I got married, had children. But it wasn't the real me. I felt unsettled, impatient, always looking for the next thing. I felt that my "waters" ran so deep, and no one, including my husband, got that about me. I tried to talk about my experiences, my thoughts and hopes, but I never truly felt that he truly understood who I was and the thoughts I had. I kept looking for things to fill the void in myself. Graduate school. Traveling overseas for small "fixes" for my wanderlust. And that is just a very small part of why I left my marriage, in case anyone thinks I'm that shallow. I tried and tried to fit my round self into a big old square peg, and did the insane thing of doing the same thing over and over expecting different results. Maybe leaving the marriage was extreme. Not maybe ... it was extreme. I lost friends. A lot of friends. My children have suffered. They stayed with their dad in their house. He was more financially able to care for them, and staying in their house offered some semblance of security for them. I moved into a tiny little apartment not far from the house. I remember the first night I spent in it, sleeping on an air mattress because I didn't have a bed. I tucked myself in and thought, "Well, here I am. It's going to be a bumpy ride!" But I felt free. Scared to death, but free.

I finished grad school. I received my MLIS in May of 2010. I reunited with the love of my life, my college sweetheart, who has freed and accepted the real me in many ways. We are planning an August wedding (actually an elopement). I will always love and respect my ex-husband ... he is the father of my awesome children, and he was kind to me throughout the divorce. We still laugh at the kids' antics, and are jointly concerned with their welfare. He has a new love in his life, and I rejoice at that. I only want him to be happy and have someone in his life who loves him.

So that is the background for the 180 degree turn that this blog will take. I thought I would write about how being a Third Culture Kid has made me who I am today, the good, bad and ugly. About my huge capacity to tolerate and how it makes me sad for people who didn't grow up like I did. I hope that other TCKs will see things in me that resonate in themselves. Maybe by sharing my experiences, we can understand why we are who we are, and what drives us in our lives.

Election Stuff

If you are anti-choice and don't know why; ... if you have never really seen the face of abortion, and the excruciating decision that women have to make ... if you think that slutty women just abort their babies on a whim and don't think any further about that child ... please, please, please read a blog called "Uppercase Woman". I read her entries daily and applaud her every word. She will open your mind ... and as important as the economy is to this election, the war, immigration, jobs, etc., a lot of people are voting based only on abortion. And as narrow and oblique that is, that may be on which issue the election is won or lost. Cecily is a brave, outspoken woman whose voice MUST be heard by both choice and anti-choice groups. I would wager a bet that 99% of those who would vote for a pro-life candidate have NEVER met a woman whose life was changed by abortion. I truly believe that if more people put away their assumptions and their blinders, there might, just might, be a change in this country.

New digs!

Welcome to Blogger! For some strange reason, AOL decided to shut down their journals, which I have been using for over 4 years. Must be the economy, stupid! Not much has been going on here, other than wrangling the kids in their five different schools (how did this happen?) and studying and writing papers for my class. I'm taking Reference this semester, which I am really, really enjoying! I finally feel like I'm truly a library student, after taking two fluff core classes, "Foundations" and "Management". And I got an "A" on my first paper! That really gave me a boost of confidence, let me tell ya!

Colin is home from college for fall break. He actually got a hair cut today; I teased him about having enough hair to donate to Locks of Love. Believe me, he wasn't that far off the mark! I know, I know, leave the kid alone. He's enjoying the heck out of college; good for him. Better that than calling home homesick every week!

Well, this is just an introductory post now that we've moved to Blogger. More to come!

Michael Palin for President

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jf1y9s73Nos

Floods, Funerals, Fleeing a Hurricane

...and other pestilence.  Last Monday and Tuesday, it rained 11 inches here in Charlotte, thanks to Tropical Storm Fay (or what was left of her).  Is the drought over? you may ask.  Apparently not, we still can't water our (brown and disgusting-looking) lawn.  The lake is up to full pond, but we're still in a drought.

We were packing to leave for Baton Rouge on Thursday -- as my dad's memorial service was scheduled for August 30.  I was rooting around in the basement for, who knows what? or maybe I was doing laundry.  A strange odor overcame me, and my first thought was, Dang it, Melanie has brought some food down here and it's spoiled, I'm going to wear her behind out ... wait a minute.  What's this?  Why is the carpet wet?  Why is there about 1/2" of water ... WHAT?  (Well, I didn't really say What? I said something that rhymes with Spit or something along those lines).  David is off in South Charlotte picking up the RV that we've rented for the trip.  I don't want to add to his troubles, but I call him anyway.  I call my friend Mona, who used to work construction and is capable of renovating/repairing houses with one hand tied behind her back.  I'm such a girl ... and she got right down to ripping up carpet, and even brought a box fan.  We got it all up and propped up with 2 by 4's ... with fans blowing every which a way.

So we're a little late getting on the road.  Like 3 or 4 hours later than we had hoped.  We picked up Colin at WCU and got as far as Tuscaloosa, AL at 2:30 in the morning.  We shacked up in a motel, and finally rolled into Baton Rouge late the next afternoon.  My mom is hysterical over the memorial service plans and her washing machine has died, and of course it's the little things that set her off (and as I later discovered me, too).  She starts yelling at me (for whatever reason) and I finally decide at that moment that I'm going to have my nervous breakdown about losing my dad, etc. and I just let the tears do their thing.  I mean, I did cry the week that he died, especially coming home, and the morning he died.  But this was a flood of magnificent proportions.  I needed to wear a hat with a big black veil.  We had company over for dinner that night and I was a pruny red mess.  Oh well, I guess they understood.  Just being in the house and knowing that he was gone, it just hit me.

The service was very nice.  I read my dad's poem, The King's Ring ... supposedly I had a mike at the lectern, but I projected anyway.  Good thing ... my sister told me later that my mike wasn't on, and that the deacon, Tim, was right behind me trying to turn it on and I never noticed him.  I was able to hold it together, no tears ... Debi had to read a passage from Ecclesiastes, and she wavered a little, but it was all good.

David had bought tickets to the LSU-Appalachian State football game, the afternoon of my dad's service.  He was so excited to take his kids to a game in Tiger Stadium -- an experience not to be forgotten.  So to add to the bad news (floods, etc) it was announced that the game was moved up to 10:00 a.m., from 4:00 p.m. because there was this hurricane brewing in the Gulf ... dad's service was at 11:00 a.m., so he kissed those tickets (and the money he spent for them) goodbye.  They did go over to the campus after the game and were able to mill around with the crowd leaving the game, so they almost got a taste of LSU football.  (They routed App. State, by the way).

Oh, did I mention the hurricane?  They started mandatory evacuations of New Orleans and the southern parishes on Saturday ... and started contraflow (both sides of the interstate traveling North) late Saturday night.  We knew we were in for an adventure.  The scope of which we had no clue.  Suffice it to say that our usual 12 hour trip to Charlotte took about 32 hours, (with a 6 hour stop north of Atlanta at 4 in the morning, which was the first place we could find a motel with available rooms!)  Oh, and the detour to Cullowhee to take Colin back to college. 

There were signs everywhere saying "Gustav evacuees!  Shelter ... next exit!" and car after car with Louisiana plates.  Even when we stopped in Gainesville, GA, the motel was filled with Louisiana plates.  It was awful.  We did maneuver that "hog" of an RV along some back roads in Mississippi to avoid the "parking lot" that was I-55.  And finding a gas station that had gasoline was another challenge.  We felt a little selfish trying to fill up the RV ... when evacuees around us needed to fill up their cars so they could keep going.

Met with the insurance agent today about the basement.  It's pretty well dried up but still smells pretty mildew-y.  Oh, and I'm supposed to havesurgery to remove my right ovary* either this Friday or the 19th of September, don't know which yet.  Will the hilarity ever end?

*if you're really interested, I have a hemmorhagic cyst that has been making my life so much fun lately.  It needs to go.

Dad

Daddy died peacefully on Friday August 15.  He had been unresponsive for about a day and a half before, so there was no suffering.  It is surreal ... and for some strange reason, the world keeps on going.  People still do their stuff, planes keep flying, kids keep playing outside.  Death is not special.

When I got to Baton Rouge on Monday he was awake.  He looked me in the eye and told me he was ready to die.  (Direct quote).  I told him that if that was his wish, that we were behind him 100%.  He had been talking to Tim, the deacon at his church, and had made his spiritual peace. 

The only prayer that I had was that it would be quick.  And that prayer was answered.  As I was flying home, it was a beautiful sunny day and looking out the window I envisioned Dad's spirit shooting heavenward.  What a beautiful day for his soul to be free.

Retrospection

My dad is in the hospital again.  Melanie and I spent a pleasant few days in Baton Rouge last week, visiting with the parental units, and sibling.  Dad seemed fairly good ... going up & down the stairs, albeit a little slowly.  He has compression fractures in his spine, as a result of osteoporosis, as a result of chemotherapy which he had several years ago for non-Hodgkins' lymphoma.  Well the cancer didn't kill him, but the treatment nearly has.  And probably will.  At any rate, I got back to Charlotte Wednesday night, and he & I had a great conversation on the phone about stuff.  Thursday I got a call from my sister that dad had fallen.  He had a fracture at C-2 in his neck.  This can't be good.

There is no paralysis, but he had surgery Monday morning to put a screw in to stabilize the fracture.  After the surgery he had trouble swallowing.  A swallow x-ray showed aspiration to the lungs.  They are starting him on steroids, and tried to put in an NG tube for nourishment.  However, after 3 tries, they gave up.  Tomorrow morning, they are putting in a PEG tube surgically.  My mom, up until now, has been a fountain of strength, but this evening, she sounded a little rattled.  My sister says she is feeling like a bobblehead.  I am flying down this Friday, for moral support. 

Everyone knows that there will be an end.  No matter how much we try, no matter how much plastic surgery we have (speaking completely in general of course!) we're still going to die (and end up as a slightly better looking corpse, if we've gone under the knife).  And we know that our parents will get old and die.  But when we're faced with it, it is terrible to contemplate.  I guess many many books have been written about losing our parents.  No matter how close or not close we are to our parents, it is a significant loss. 

In my case, my dad and I have had our moments of closeness; many of distance.  When I was a child he was gone.  A lot.  For a month or more at a time, traveling the world with his job.  The world was a lot bigger back then; you just didn't hop planes as frequently as you can now.  If he was in Japan, he stayed in Japan for weeks at a time.  Sucked for my mom!  Even when we joined him at his overseas posts, he traveled still more!  But I guess we saw him more frequently (which wasn't saying a lot).  When I was home last week I found several picture albums showing mom and dad in Bangkok.  On a ship going across the Pacific.  In Venice.  In the Netherlands.  And some had me in them.  I remember going on Home Leave from Manila by way of Taiwan and Japan.

But no matter how distant we were, he is still my dad.  There is a plethora of feelings attached to that word.  Too many to put into words.  The thought of him not being on the planet with us any more is just too painful to consider.