I can only assume that people are getting tired of reading about grief and loss. I'm sort of getting tired of being sad all day. And angry. Annoyed. Tired. Distracted. Disturbed. Pretty much, if it is a negative emotion, I have been feeling it.
I'm not sure that I'm ready to start teaching tomorrow afternoon. I just finished my syllabi this afternoon. Now, I have to sort of get my head in the game, Figure out how I'm going to make it through the next seven days without going completely insane.
I have much to accomplish before my sister's visitation on Saturday. I have a poem and eulogy to write. I have to assemble a couple of photo memory books at Walgreens. Tonight, I'm meeting with Father Larry to discuss the funeral Mass. Pick out the readings and responses. I think the music is pretty much taken care of. Then there's the food. And the holy cards. And the name plate for the cremation stone at the cemetery.
As I said, seven days to slowly lose my grip on reality.
Two years ago, I was dealing with a different kind of crisis.
August 24, 2013: Pneumonia and Die, an Apology, an Appendix
Finally I sat down on this bench, where it wasn't so goddam dark. Boy, I was still shivering like a bastard, and the back of my hair, even though I had my hunting hat on, was sort of full of little hunks of ice. That worried me. I thought probably I'd get pneumonia and die...
Yes, Holden comes close to dying in Catcher. By the end of the book, he's really sick, mentally and physically. But he's a survivor. You never doubt that. He's going to pick up the pieces of his life and live it on his own terms, no matter what. I think that's why Holden is such an iconic figure in American literature. He speaks the truth, and he calls out people who are false in any way.
Well, I owe all of my disciples an apology for pulling a disappearing act these last couple of days. I swear I haven't been in hiding or on some desert pilgrimage. I have done a lot of praying, though. A lot. But it wasn't deep and theological. It was more like, "Please, help me, God. Help me. Help. Help."
I ended up in the ER last night after experiencing stomach pain all day. I got there at 7 p.m., and I was in the operating room by a little after midnight. I thought it was some kind of gallbladder attack, that I was going to get some pain medication and be sent home. Instead, the ER doc came in after my CT scan and said, "Well, you have appendicitis." Pretty soon, a surgeon was standing next to my bed, and within the hour, I was talking to an anesthesiologist.
Yes, I gave birth to a bouncing, pink, inflamed appendix. I think I'm going to name her Pia, because she's given me quite a pain in the ass. Hospitals don't keep patients very long anymore. I was discharged around 11 a.m. today.
I'm sore. Tired. Hungry. And in need of another pain pill pretty soon. I'm going to try to get back in the saddle pretty soon, but, tonight, this little apology/explanation is all I can manage. I'll try to be a little more creative tomorrow.
Right now, Saint Marty needs to get his little Pia to bed.
|I think she has my eyes|
Confessions of Saint Marty