What?


It’s a Saturday night and I’m blogging.

Shouldn’t I be doing the boyfriend thing?

That is usually what is up if the post is not posted.

“When was the last time you blogged,” he asked me this afternoon.

“It’s been a few days, but I will be writing tonight,” I replied, and I knew I would.

Not necessarily because I have to, but because I want to.

I have become a little less stringent in my blog every day.

When I accepted the post a day challenge, from this very site, WordPress, back, oh I don’t know, five, six years ago, I was adamant.

ADAMANT.

That I would post everyday.

And I came really close to that.

I may have missed a post now and then.

I may have not had internet or I may have been out in deep playa at Burning Man; but for the most part, I was pretty on it.

The new relationship has changed that.

Not for the good or for the bad, it’s just a change.

And I like that I am allowing myself to be flexible.

To write when I need and want to write, for myself, about myself, and for no one but myself.

To forget the audience and just write what I need to write.

Oh yeah.

And my father woke up out of the coma.

With no filter.

“I need to scratch my balls,” I heard him say to the nurse, who was trying heartily to stifle his laughter and also to detangle the phone cord from around the many different tubes, cords, and monitors that he is hooked to.

He was really incoherent.

But odd things would get through to me, despite the crackle of a bad connection in Anchorage and the shoddy reception I was getting as I hopped in front of double bay window at work watching the rain sluice down the street.

The nurse explained that he had woken up and asked to speak to me and to my grandmother.

He, the nurse, also said that my dad was pretty groggy and out of it, but really had expressed the need to speak to me.

Despite denying that he had any recollection of me being there, I knew, that he knew that I had been there.

He didn’t know it was my birthday when we talked until I told him.

Then he told me that he was seventeen when he had me.

Not sure how that math works, he’s 65, and I’m 42, but hey, dad, glad to hear your voice, even in its querulous, the nurses are annoying me by not letting me scratch at myself (I tried to explain that he wasn’t and shouldn’t be allowed to scratch his head, since the skull flap was still open).

He also “cawed” at me like a crow.

Which I took as a great sign.

A weird sign, granted, but a sign that he was cognizant of somethings even if he was having a challenging time saying what was on his mind.

I had left a card with the nurses, one that I had gotten at the gift shop at the museum, it had an etching of a raven on it with the tribal reflection in the snow of the animal’s shadow.

I took the cawing to mean that my father had gotten the card and that he had either read it or had it read to him.

I found tears springing to my eyes.

I wiped them away.

I had to be going soon, the boys were running rampant, my boyfriend was going to be taking me to dinner and I needed to leave and get on my bicycle and get home and shower and be ready at 7:15p.m. to go to my surprise dinner.

The surprise, being, that my dad had woken up.

I rode my bicycle home is a semi-state of shock.

My phone battery dying.

Wondering who I should call, who did I want to call, did I have the energy to engage with any of it.

I just wanted to have my birthday and my boyfriend and not be apart of the drama anymore.

Showing up and answering phone calls and talking to relatives and family that I have not had much interaction with since I was young girl was draining.

So too seeing the state my father was in and what the twelve years intervening had done to his body and spirit.

He’s a tough old guy and what is it “they” say?

God protects children and drunks?

I think that covers it.

I told my sister, well, I texted her, that was as much juice as my phone had and when I was trying to get it together to do the next right thing in front of me, I just plugged it in and declared that the rest of the night was going to be my birthday and that I would call, connect with, and contact all relatives, family, friends, and anyone else who needed to know the status of the father up in the Anchorage hospital bed.

I took a shower.

I put on a pretty dress.

I put on too much makeup and felt like a tart and didn’t really care.

I went to a fat dinner with my baby.

He too me to Bobo’s.

It was smashing.

I had surf and turf.

Blue black filet with 1/3 of a Dungeness crab.

The crab is in season and wowzers, it might have been the sweetest, most delectable crab I have ever had.

We also split a wedge salad with pancetta and Point Reyes Blue Cheese, a side of brussels sprouts, with more pancetta, and a side of garlic Portobello mushrooms.

It was divine.

I was replete.

It took me a little while to settle down.

To get into the spirit.

It has been a ride.

It really has.

When I reflect that this time last Saturday I was sitting in an ICU room with my father’s hand in mine, not knowing what the next day would bring, wanting to be done with the grief and sorrow and knowing that there was more walking through the dark hallway to go, I had no idea that one week later I would be sharing about the experience in a Starbucks up in Noe Valley and recounting the gratitude I had for the experience.

Life is intense and fast sometimes and you blink and the next page has been turned, I don’t know what this next chapter holds for myself of my family, suffice to say I think I will be staying in touch more with then I have in the past.

I really don’t know where this next year is going, but I know that I am in the right place, with the right man, the right job, and the right fellowship around me.

I am blessed and alive and know it.

Even when I walk through the darkest hallways, I know that there is a light and a way out.

It just won’t look at all like I think it should.

But that is good.

It always looks better.

The outcome always.

Always.

So much greater than my best laid plans.

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