| Sep 04 2011 |
09/04/11
My dear, and gentle friends and loyal readers, while I had wanted to share this particular diary post with you, it has proven to be one of the most difficult ones that I have ever triedto write; for in recognizing the realities of the present, in passing ever backward down the years of half-recollected memory, and of the resultant sense of loss...and of being lost, emotions flowed over and through me, unbidden, that as I was aleady in a mindless fog of pain, and despair, the accumulated depression it engendered made me cry, and I just sat there, tears coursing down my face, as I rocked back and forth in seemingly endless pain and suffering, that I could not...dare not go further, for which I ask your most kind forgiveness for my weakness, as well as my sadness.
As a 'Adult', I fully understand that, once a gift is given, it has truly passed from my hands ( and control ) to that of the recipient; and that, no matter the time, effort, sacrifice, and love with which it is being sent, the person--in getting the gift--may then do anything they please with it. I cannot legislate their reactions to a gift, for it is both unfair, and impossible of me to do so.
Thus, they can--at will, on on a whim--admire, and like the gift; dislike and return the gift; eat it; repurpose it; re-gift it; ignore it....or simply throw it away. And, are not obliged to--in any way--explain or justify their actions. This I know, and understand. It happens no matter what 'I' might like.
Decades, now ago, when I was a child, I eagerly awaited the arrival of Christmas. While colleagues at school ( more out of meanness than anything else ) had tried to divest from me the very idea of 'Santa Claus', they were only partially successful. I loved the pretty lights, the carols, the anticipation, the candy, being with my now late mother and father, and enjoyed the general lassitude of 'Good Will', as it seemed to me, that everyone was just a little more kind, and, happy. Somehow, the very air seemed different, and I was happy, with that lind of happiness that only lucky children evidence.
Even though ( and I knew this ! ) that we had but little money, still, my mother and father and I would spend a most pleasant evening, decorating our little tree, I revelled in the fact that we--as a small family ( I have NO brothers or sisters ), were safe, and together; even my folks seemed more relaxed, less stressed, and....as I recall, they--too--were happy, as only kind and loving parents could be happy.
My father would extract from his wallet, a ten dollar bill with which I could buy for them a Christmas present. I tried to make it last, and as you can well-imagine, the things a nine-year-old can come up with ! Nevertheless, on Christmas morning, my folks treated my paltry, often silly gifts to them as it they were greater than spun gold. And my dear mother and father ALWAYS provided me with a wonderful Christmas, not so much in quantity, but things they instinctively knew that I had secretely wanted.
Nor, were the religious aspects of the holiday ignored, as my dear mother ( a Titan, when she wanted to be ! ), read to me the 'Christmas Story', and we always had a small creche scene near the tree, to ever remind us of the 'true' meaning of the holiday. As I was much too young to attend midnight services, my mother, always the tender of our souls, would make sure that we went to church that Christmas--as she did--in fact, every Sunday--so that 'we' as a family could offer up our sincere thanks, for all of God's mercies to us. And, to thank Him, for giving us a Savior for all the world.
Looking back, in fondness, now, I well remember the cookies, and half glass of milk we left for Santa, that was mysteriously gone Christmas morning, doubtless by my parents who had probably labored half the night , to assemble things while I slept, in such a glorious, magical, and wonderful sleep, that it is one I most surely miss now, amid broken nights of pain and despair, and intrusive bathroom calls to pee.
And, although I may have been awake, I did not automatically rush to wake my mom and dad, until at least six AM. LOL . Not knowing that--in time--it would be I , who had to be awakened.
Scroll with me, my dearest friends, down the years, faster and more fast, still, until about 1992, when my father became so very, very ill; I worked the night shift at a job that--after the first, three years--I began to hate. In the five, and an half years that he lived, if you can indeed call it living, my mother and I tried to care for him at home, as he desperately hated hospitals. I never knew when I would get that, 'middle of the night telephone call' at work, from my mom, whenever there was something wrong that she could not resolve, and I would look at my coleagues whi tod me to go home, and I sped home to see what I could do to help.
The accumulation of medical equipment, with their attendant beeping, and noises, quickly made off the house a 'sick room'. And I was often awake, and running errands for my folks, often putting in eighteen hour days, until I became exhausted.
Gradually, the holidays...ALL the holidays became as just 'regular' days, with little meaning or purpose. We had enough 'near misses', emergencies, and hospitalizations, even on the holidays, that were always just bad, that I was too weary to care anymore. I became bitter, resentful, even, of the now seemingly 'enforced' amiableness of the holidays; the Christmas lights more reminded me of the flashing lights of Dad's medical equipment when something had gone horribly wrong. The carols just annoyed me, as did, what I called, 'forced gaiety', by persons, who would too soon revert to their usual meanness.
On many occasions, I opted out of taking Christmas Eve off, in favor of giving it to a co-worker who had small children at home. And was as soon satisfied with taking off Christmas Day night, or even, the night after that, so little did it mean to me; the 'presents', what there were of them, could stay under the tree a few more days; in point of fact, they could have stayed there forever.
I did put a small tree, decorated, and lit up on the table next to dad's recliner so that, during the night, when he was often awake from pain, he could look at those little lights, as he once told me they, 'made him think of happier times'. How sad, how very sad it was. I daren't cry in front of him, so I saved my tears, when on Christmas morning, as on too many other mornings, that I barely managed to thank my God for his son, my Savior, as my muddled prayers were too wearily said, confused, and too full of need, to be really prayers at all; I begged for angels, but got none.
And, dearest friends and gentle readers, if I have not lost you yet, please let us scroll down to some two Christmases ago.
Even then, I was is undiagnosed pain, and trying to live on SSDI. I no longer worked, nor, could I drive a car, so that my poor dog and I were penniless.
Imagin--then--my utter surprise to learn my late Uncle had left me a small sum in his Will !!!!! For weeks, I just looked at the check in sheer disbelief, for in truth, the reality had not set in, and it all just looked like abstract, meaningless numbers to me.
And while I did invest some, I decided to express my love and devotion to my handful of friends, by having--for me-- a 'blow-out' Christmas. Since I could no longer drive, I poured for weeks over catalogues, happily encircling an item with that person's name. In anticipation, the joy of the holiday returned, I hummed carols, and arranged for these presents to be delivered to them; I even laughed as I found something 'unique' for that friend, and, being able to buy it, did so in a grand mood. And, these were for friends, whose friendship had lasted decades, and that I truly loved them, and wanted the holiday to be special !
And while I knew some gifts were bound to bomb, and, BTW, niether wanted, nor sought reciprocity of any kind, I wanted to share my good fortune with them, as I knew that I would never be able to do so again.
Gradually, though, I became very aware that something, somehow, somewhere had gone terribly, terribly, and unexpectedly wrong. For, more often than not, my gifts occasioned--not joy--but a kind of yawning and bored reaction, in which, I was remembered as casually as one might remark upon the weather. Some gifts, were--in fact--never opened; some were summarily returned to the manufacturer sight unseen. And there were other, ugly, surprises that awaited me.
A friend of over three decades, stating that he and his wife had not sufficient wall space on which to hang it, took a $400.00 painting I thought he would really like, and tossed it out in his un-air-conditioned garage, where--surely--it will ruin; and then complained to me that it would simply cost too much, and require too much time, to box up, and mail it back for a refund or an exchange.
He also..as I recall, raked me over the coals for 'violating his privacy' when I had telephoned all over Chicago, simply to get the name of a chocolate that, three years before, he had declared to be his most favorite on earth. I had even written a little poem about it; so when he began to yell at me, I read him the poem, reassured him that his sacred privacy was still intact, and that--frankly--he had pissed me off, AND hurt my heart. After about an eon of telephone silence, did he apologise for blowing up on me.
Only two friends actually telephoned me to than me for their gifts, and only one, bless her, took the time to make a list of everything I had sent her, and about each thing, how much she loved and treasured it. Just one.
I had made a nice donation to a local half-way house, and it took them over a year-and-a-half, to even send me a scribbled note to let me know that they had even recieved my donation.
And while I expected no reciprocity, the only few, treasured things I got for Christmas came from a friend who is disabled and legally blind, scarcely able to afford presents at all.
All the anticipation, the eagerness, the joy of the holiday turned to ashes in my mouth.
I realized that time changes, people change, and friends change, and it merely case-hardened my heart; we are all getting older, though--apparently, no wiser, and that applies to me more than to they. I decided that just about everything I had done vaporized and fell into some Black Hole.
Now, regrettably. I KNOW better. Any further, that should any, extra money ever come into this house again, I will spend on myself, and on my dog. For, even though I cannot afford it, I still like nice things for myself, and dog, and for my house. I'd like some new clothes...a little jewelry, maybe, some new, comfortable furniture for my home, particularly considering the state of my health, and of how long I may be able to stay here, until the time arrives in which I must be more fully cared for.
So...when a colleague once told me that Christmas was her favorite holiday, I did not seek to in meanness, 'break her bubble', though when asked, I did state that, if I could not have the kind of Christmas I wanted, then I wanted none. For I will not seek to sabotage anyone's feelings contrary to mine. I still put up a little, decorated tree, mostly for guests to see whenever they may visit me..and that's not often.
And so, my dear friends, and loyal readers, I learned an invaluable, but costly lesson. One I will never forget.
Though, if pressed to do so, I will quietly admit that--once, before I die--I would love to be taken on a winter, early evening, genuine sleigh ride with genuine horses, while wrapped in a turkey rug to keep out the cold, and to listen to the sleigh's bells, and the horse's clopping along, with steaming breath, to convey us to some distant, quaint lodge, there to sit, with drink in hand, in front of a roaring fireplace, from which I would gladly retire to a nice, soft bed, full of pillows, and quilts, to sleep a sweet, uninterrupted, and sound sleep, my dog on the carpet beside me, as I drowsily remembered my dearest mother and father, and of the times that were--to me--the happiest of ones. For that, I would be truly grateful to God.
To my many dear friends at MDJunction, please allow me to wish for you 'pain-free' days, and quite, undisturbed nights, and pleasant fantasies of your own that may both warm, and comfort you.
All my love, 'Zahc/Charles'
My dear, and gentle friends and loyal readers, while I had wanted to share this particular diary post with you, it has proven to be one of the most difficult ones that I have ever triedto write; for in recognizing the realities of the present, in passing ever backward down the years of half-recollected memory, and of the resultant sense of loss...and of being lost, emotions flowed over and through me, unbidden, that as I was aleady in a mindless fog of pain, and despair, the accumulated depression it engendered made me cry, and I just sat there, tears coursing down my face, as I rocked back and forth in seemingly endless pain and suffering, that I could not...dare not go further, for which I ask your most kind forgiveness for my weakness, as well as my sadness.
As a 'Adult', I fully understand that, once a gift is given, it has truly passed from my hands ( and control ) to that of the recipient; and that, no matter the time, effort, sacrifice, and love with which it is being sent, the person--in getting the gift--may then do anything they please with it. I cannot legislate their reactions to a gift, for it is both unfair, and impossible of me to do so.
Thus, they can--at will, on on a whim--admire, and like the gift; dislike and return the gift; eat it; repurpose it; re-gift it; ignore it....or simply throw it away. And, are not obliged to--in any way--explain or justify their actions. This I know, and understand. It happens no matter what 'I' might like.
Decades, now ago, when I was a child, I eagerly awaited the arrival of Christmas. While colleagues at school ( more out of meanness than anything else ) had tried to divest from me the very idea of 'Santa Claus', they were only partially successful. I loved the pretty lights, the carols, the anticipation, the candy, being with my now late mother and father, and enjoyed the general lassitude of 'Good Will', as it seemed to me, that everyone was just a little more kind, and, happy. Somehow, the very air seemed different, and I was happy, with that lind of happiness that only lucky children evidence.
Even though ( and I knew this ! ) that we had but little money, still, my mother and father and I would spend a most pleasant evening, decorating our little tree, I revelled in the fact that we--as a small family ( I have NO brothers or sisters ), were safe, and together; even my folks seemed more relaxed, less stressed, and....as I recall, they--too--were happy, as only kind and loving parents could be happy.
My father would extract from his wallet, a ten dollar bill with which I could buy for them a Christmas present. I tried to make it last, and as you can well-imagine, the things a nine-year-old can come up with ! Nevertheless, on Christmas morning, my folks treated my paltry, often silly gifts to them as it they were greater than spun gold. And my dear mother and father ALWAYS provided me with a wonderful Christmas, not so much in quantity, but things they instinctively knew that I had secretely wanted.
Nor, were the religious aspects of the holiday ignored, as my dear mother ( a Titan, when she wanted to be ! ), read to me the 'Christmas Story', and we always had a small creche scene near the tree, to ever remind us of the 'true' meaning of the holiday. As I was much too young to attend midnight services, my mother, always the tender of our souls, would make sure that we went to church that Christmas--as she did--in fact, every Sunday--so that 'we' as a family could offer up our sincere thanks, for all of God's mercies to us. And, to thank Him, for giving us a Savior for all the world.
Looking back, in fondness, now, I well remember the cookies, and half glass of milk we left for Santa, that was mysteriously gone Christmas morning, doubtless by my parents who had probably labored half the night , to assemble things while I slept, in such a glorious, magical, and wonderful sleep, that it is one I most surely miss now, amid broken nights of pain and despair, and intrusive bathroom calls to pee.
And, although I may have been awake, I did not automatically rush to wake my mom and dad, until at least six AM. LOL . Not knowing that--in time--it would be I , who had to be awakened.
Scroll with me, my dearest friends, down the years, faster and more fast, still, until about 1992, when my father became so very, very ill; I worked the night shift at a job that--after the first, three years--I began to hate. In the five, and an half years that he lived, if you can indeed call it living, my mother and I tried to care for him at home, as he desperately hated hospitals. I never knew when I would get that, 'middle of the night telephone call' at work, from my mom, whenever there was something wrong that she could not resolve, and I would look at my coleagues whi tod me to go home, and I sped home to see what I could do to help.
The accumulation of medical equipment, with their attendant beeping, and noises, quickly made off the house a 'sick room'. And I was often awake, and running errands for my folks, often putting in eighteen hour days, until I became exhausted.
Gradually, the holidays...ALL the holidays became as just 'regular' days, with little meaning or purpose. We had enough 'near misses', emergencies, and hospitalizations, even on the holidays, that were always just bad, that I was too weary to care anymore. I became bitter, resentful, even, of the now seemingly 'enforced' amiableness of the holidays; the Christmas lights more reminded me of the flashing lights of Dad's medical equipment when something had gone horribly wrong. The carols just annoyed me, as did, what I called, 'forced gaiety', by persons, who would too soon revert to their usual meanness.
On many occasions, I opted out of taking Christmas Eve off, in favor of giving it to a co-worker who had small children at home. And was as soon satisfied with taking off Christmas Day night, or even, the night after that, so little did it mean to me; the 'presents', what there were of them, could stay under the tree a few more days; in point of fact, they could have stayed there forever.
I did put a small tree, decorated, and lit up on the table next to dad's recliner so that, during the night, when he was often awake from pain, he could look at those little lights, as he once told me they, 'made him think of happier times'. How sad, how very sad it was. I daren't cry in front of him, so I saved my tears, when on Christmas morning, as on too many other mornings, that I barely managed to thank my God for his son, my Savior, as my muddled prayers were too wearily said, confused, and too full of need, to be really prayers at all; I begged for angels, but got none.
And, dearest friends and gentle readers, if I have not lost you yet, please let us scroll down to some two Christmases ago.
Even then, I was is undiagnosed pain, and trying to live on SSDI. I no longer worked, nor, could I drive a car, so that my poor dog and I were penniless.
Imagin--then--my utter surprise to learn my late Uncle had left me a small sum in his Will !!!!! For weeks, I just looked at the check in sheer disbelief, for in truth, the reality had not set in, and it all just looked like abstract, meaningless numbers to me.
And while I did invest some, I decided to express my love and devotion to my handful of friends, by having--for me-- a 'blow-out' Christmas. Since I could no longer drive, I poured for weeks over catalogues, happily encircling an item with that person's name. In anticipation, the joy of the holiday returned, I hummed carols, and arranged for these presents to be delivered to them; I even laughed as I found something 'unique' for that friend, and, being able to buy it, did so in a grand mood. And, these were for friends, whose friendship had lasted decades, and that I truly loved them, and wanted the holiday to be special !
And while I knew some gifts were bound to bomb, and, BTW, niether wanted, nor sought reciprocity of any kind, I wanted to share my good fortune with them, as I knew that I would never be able to do so again.
Gradually, though, I became very aware that something, somehow, somewhere had gone terribly, terribly, and unexpectedly wrong. For, more often than not, my gifts occasioned--not joy--but a kind of yawning and bored reaction, in which, I was remembered as casually as one might remark upon the weather. Some gifts, were--in fact--never opened; some were summarily returned to the manufacturer sight unseen. And there were other, ugly, surprises that awaited me.
A friend of over three decades, stating that he and his wife had not sufficient wall space on which to hang it, took a $400.00 painting I thought he would really like, and tossed it out in his un-air-conditioned garage, where--surely--it will ruin; and then complained to me that it would simply cost too much, and require too much time, to box up, and mail it back for a refund or an exchange.
He also..as I recall, raked me over the coals for 'violating his privacy' when I had telephoned all over Chicago, simply to get the name of a chocolate that, three years before, he had declared to be his most favorite on earth. I had even written a little poem about it; so when he began to yell at me, I read him the poem, reassured him that his sacred privacy was still intact, and that--frankly--he had pissed me off, AND hurt my heart. After about an eon of telephone silence, did he apologise for blowing up on me.
Only two friends actually telephoned me to than me for their gifts, and only one, bless her, took the time to make a list of everything I had sent her, and about each thing, how much she loved and treasured it. Just one.
I had made a nice donation to a local half-way house, and it took them over a year-and-a-half, to even send me a scribbled note to let me know that they had even recieved my donation.
And while I expected no reciprocity, the only few, treasured things I got for Christmas came from a friend who is disabled and legally blind, scarcely able to afford presents at all.
All the anticipation, the eagerness, the joy of the holiday turned to ashes in my mouth.
I realized that time changes, people change, and friends change, and it merely case-hardened my heart; we are all getting older, though--apparently, no wiser, and that applies to me more than to they. I decided that just about everything I had done vaporized and fell into some Black Hole.
Now, regrettably. I KNOW better. Any further, that should any, extra money ever come into this house again, I will spend on myself, and on my dog. For, even though I cannot afford it, I still like nice things for myself, and dog, and for my house. I'd like some new clothes...a little jewelry, maybe, some new, comfortable furniture for my home, particularly considering the state of my health, and of how long I may be able to stay here, until the time arrives in which I must be more fully cared for.
So...when a colleague once told me that Christmas was her favorite holiday, I did not seek to in meanness, 'break her bubble', though when asked, I did state that, if I could not have the kind of Christmas I wanted, then I wanted none. For I will not seek to sabotage anyone's feelings contrary to mine. I still put up a little, decorated tree, mostly for guests to see whenever they may visit me..and that's not often.
And so, my dear friends, and loyal readers, I learned an invaluable, but costly lesson. One I will never forget.
Though, if pressed to do so, I will quietly admit that--once, before I die--I would love to be taken on a winter, early evening, genuine sleigh ride with genuine horses, while wrapped in a turkey rug to keep out the cold, and to listen to the sleigh's bells, and the horse's clopping along, with steaming breath, to convey us to some distant, quaint lodge, there to sit, with drink in hand, in front of a roaring fireplace, from which I would gladly retire to a nice, soft bed, full of pillows, and quilts, to sleep a sweet, uninterrupted, and sound sleep, my dog on the carpet beside me, as I drowsily remembered my dearest mother and father, and of the times that were--to me--the happiest of ones. For that, I would be truly grateful to God.
To my many dear friends at MDJunction, please allow me to wish for you 'pain-free' days, and quite, undisturbed nights, and pleasant fantasies of your own that may both warm, and comfort you.
All my love, 'Zahc/Charles'
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