I want to journal!

Let's see, where to start - how to start, it has been so long.  I joined the gym.  Granted, I've only been twice in the last week, but it's a start.  I'm hoping it'll help the aches and pains after the initial aches and pains from all the exercise...seems like something new pops up every week.  I haven't been able to get out and weedeat or take care of the yard very much, and it doesn't look like the surgery will be affordable any time soon.  How can one person blow both rotater cuffs at once?  not sure, but it can be done.

I went to the store today.  It's very different than it was when the Parks family ran the place.  I paused in the parking lot and tried hard to envision Daddy walking to his truck, or imagine Mom was inside waiting for me to help her.  Couldn't do it.  I guess that means I'm finally moving forward.  My God, it took a long time, but things like that do.  It's natural, I hear.

It has rained almost every day this summer - never have seen anything like it.  We're usually in drought this time of the year - in July, you can't buy a rain drop or coax one from the sky.  I remember summers gone by that I would leave the car windows down or hang out laundry in hopes of enticing whatever evil little devil that brings the rain at inopportune times to do his thing.  Sometimes, it worked! Now, we have trees uprooting from the sodden ground seemingly of their own volition.  Crops are drowning, but the grass isn't, and if you wait a week, you can make it through the back yard with a machete or a bush ax.  We can call this one our soggy summer.  I'm waiting to see what the rest of the month and August bring.  And I'm hoping the fall colors will be spectacular.

Well, I journaled.  Like the gym, it's a start.  And now to close this, and try again tomorrow for something that flows more easily.

Letter to Steve

I went to your grave today.
It wasn't as hard as I thought it would be...it's the first time in about a month that I had visited, and it was easier. I'm finding it easier to laugh about things you did that made me so mad when you did them. Remember the time you and Jimmy Martin took my Boston album?? I never did find that, but if you enjoyed it, it's ok with me. Remember the time you stopped the truck on the railroad track with me in it - and the TRAIN was coming? It's a wonder, little brother, that Dad didn't have a big brown stain in the seat I was sitting in - you honestly scared the hell out of me that time. Never did understand why you did it. Now, I'm not laughing about that one, just shaking my head. Which brings to mind the time you took me out on the Gator - how long ago was it? Maybe a year ago...and that cliff, just before we reached the sandpits - you stopped on the very edge of it. I was afraid to move for fear we'd topple on over, but you laughed...Apparently, you liked living on the edge more than I do. You got a rush from things like that. You said so, yourself. I'm not like that...I prefer a little safety and a lot of sanity!
Remember when you took me one Thanksgiving to the tree stand you used for deer hunting. We climbed up in that thing, and you told me how much you liked the peace of it all, even when there were no deer around. You watched the birds, racoons...whatever happened along. I remember how nice it was to be there, to connect with nature.

I remember the birdfeeders you bought, and filled, and enjoyed. I remember the trees and flowers you planted. The twisted filbert is still living, just up the driveway. Your bearded irises have bloomed, and now a hundred others that I don't know the names of are springing up and out and decorating the back yard.

I was afraid I would forget the sound of your voice and the things you did, but you know what? I won't. I thought I would need this journal to maintain a connection with you, but I don't need this, either. It still isn't easy, but it's a tremendous sight better than the initial shock of your death, and the deep pain that ensued after the numbness of it wore off and reality and finality set in. I'll only see your face in photographs and videos. I know we'll never sit across a table from each other and laugh again, and you'll never take me around your yard and show me everything that's growing or tell me how beautiful you think it all is. But you did those things already, and I remember and will never forget. And when the wisteria blooms and its fragrance fills the air, I'll think of you. You'll always be a part of us, you just won't be here, physically.
I'm not deserting you, and don't love you a bit less than I did when you were here, but I don't think I need to write letters to you.

This was just a bookmark, a place to put all that love that some think has no place to go after the loss of someone important in their lives. Steve, I know where that love goes - right where it always was, and higher and deeper, and a universe wide.

September 1

I used to kid Steve about his birthday being a holiday (sometimes it was) and we all kidded him for being born on Mom and Dad's anniversary. 

Well, today would have been his 43rd birthday.  He is very much on mind, and this day is another hurdle to overcome.  I have learned a few things since April - one is that love goes very, very deep, and two, grieving and healing is a long process.

Raising my coffee cup in salute to the life that was.  I wish he could be here.

If

..that transfer coordinator doesn't come her rear back to work, I'm going to Winston-Salem, putting her in my backseat and driving her to prison myself so she can take her job back.

TODAY:

abunchofstuffthatdidn'tquiteregisterinmyfoggybrain, but we got through it, anyway.  Spoke to the DA's office, a sheriff's department, a clerk of court, 200 DOC employees (seemed like it), put the release packets together, called inmates in to sign the release forms, and did the shippers list.  Around 2:00, the system went down.  The shippers list doesn't close until 3:30.  So at 3:30, I was on the phone with another unit asking them to please let me come over and run the final list and the trip tickets for bus day.  And they said yes!  So off to the hospital I went, ID in hand, and to the sergeant's office to do what I could.  Only problem is, the rpm's on my computer wouldn't print the list on my printer at our unit because the system was down and the printer in that office didn't have rpm's.  Shoot.  However, Medical Records welcomed me with open arms, let me log in and do my thing.  By 4:15, I was on the way back, list and tickets in hand.  And when I arrived there...

the most amazing thing was happening.  My supervisor, one of the case managers and the records room lady were pulling the field jackets from the partial list I had run earlier in the day.  I was floored.  NOBODY has ever done that for me before - not medical, not medical records...

I ran 14 copies of the list and the dental hygienist stapled them.  I only had to stay 20 minutes overtime...

and tomorrow, Deborah wants me to sit in on the disciplinary hearings so I can see how they're done.."Just in case you have to do it one day."  Aha.  I feel a position upgrade coming on.

 

swamped

Busy day today...filling in for the transfer coordinator and getting the first taste of what it's like to be directly involved with paroling inmates.  Contacting the officers who are to pick them up, getting an ETA to pass on to operations.  The first arrives for one inmate, turns out he's a friend of my brother's.  We chat until our CO brings the (ex) inmate in to sign his papers and get his transition folder.  I witness the signatures and get some of my own, turn over the transition folder to the newly free man.  He gives me the willies, staring hard at me with no particular expression on his face.  And they set this man free.  Hard to imagine.

James, the maintenance guy, stops me in the hall.  He's a friend of Mike's, too, and he has made it his business to check up on sis every time he comes to the facility.  Always has a kind word and a weird little grin on his face.  Today he asks me about Daddy.  I tell him Dad is in pain.  He makes a sorrowful face.  I quickly ask him how he's doing, he says fine, and walks away, taking the inmate helper in green clothes with him. 

The second PPO arrives for the second inmate. He isn't as thorough as the first PPO...they and the inmate are out of there in less than 10 minutes.  On my way back to the office, Dr. E from the hospital comes through the lobby.  We chat for a minute.  It's only the second time I've seen one of the doctors since leaving the hospital.  It was good to see him.

Working on the releases for the weekend...I have to break the news to this rotation that the one who is being released Sunday will have to be driven 70 miles to a shelter.  He doesn't want to go there, but that's where he's going because none of his family want him to live with them.  He insists on a bus ticket and to be let off at the court house in his home county, but it's too late, since he agreed days before to the shelter.

The system is back up, finally, and I backlog the 47 who transferred in on regular and special buses.  Chilly calls, asking about records and extending an invitation for Vinnie's Famous Nurse's Station Cinnamon Coffee.  No time.  There's work to do.  And the work is good...and the people are good, and I'm where I want to be.

Busy.  I like it.  It's a different world than the one I go home to.

Let It Be.

In three days, it will have been one month since Steve passed away.  It seems like it was just a few minutes ago...odd, how time stands so still and flies by so fast at the same time.

I had to step away from everybody for a couple of nights this week, to try and come to grips with the loss.  It's kind of hard to do that when you keep finding out things that make it seem as senseless as it was unreal.  Like he wouldn't let anyone call the rescue squad for him, saying he was just tired.  That he was taking Oxycontin and other drugs because he was in pain and wouldn't (couldn't) see a doctor about his health problems because he had no insurance.

Damn it all.  If he had let us, we would have helped him.

And then there are the unexplained things that kept happening after he passed.  The front door at his house opening by itself - it scrubbed on the carpet.  Patience and I saw that.  The garage door opening by itself.  His phone number on a sticky note jumping off of the refrigerator at Dad's house.  A message from beyond?  A spirit caught between earth and the Universe?  I don't know...my logical self tells me we're human and look for signs after a loved one has passed on, anything that would reassure us that death is not the absolute end.  And my emotional self tells me, he's still here...

Everyone was talking about how Steve had "visited" them.  With Dad, it was a dream that Steve came to him and said, I can breathe now.  With Patience, it was the candles blowing sideways and the doors opening.  With Mike, it was a warm hand on his shoulder as he was driving.

I can't for sure say that Steve has come to me, except for the song that popped into my head as I was going over and over all that had happened and questioning why.  Out of nowhere the lyrics came...Let It Be.  I remember nodding, as if to say, Okay, I understand.  But I didn't.  And then last Saturday I visited Patience, and she and I were talking.  She was having a really good day, but still, I broke down and cried.  And from the radio came the music...Paul McCartney singing Let It Be.

Is that what I wanted?  To let it be, to just accept it and to stop torturing myself with all the why's and what ifs?  Or was it a message, for me.  Was it my visit.

The middle of last week, I went to Steve's grave for the first time since the day after the funeral.  I had no idea why I was compelled to go there, but I had to.  For a while, I just stood there and stared down at that long rectangle of bare earth.  And then I started talking.  I told him I didn't understand why he refused help, why he didn't come to any of us.  Why he wouldn't let anyone call an ambulance - three people had tried.  I told him that maybe he didn't have to die, that if he had let somebody - anybody - help, maybe he might still be with us. And I told him I was so MAD at him, but that was because I do love him..not because I didn't.  That little monologue ended with my hope for him that wherever he might be that he was free from pain and that he didn't need anything of this world anymore.  And I left.

Driving down the road...with the radio on...still somewhere off in the distance, not really paying attention to anything except how I was feeling...the music came over the radio.  Paul McCartney singing Let It Be.  Maybe I really had had a visit from Steve.  Perhaps not.  But if letting it be is what has to be done, then that's what I'll do.

Namaste.

When I find myself in times of trouble, mother Mary comes to me,
speaking words of wisdom, let it be.
And in my hour of darkness she is standing right in front of me,
speaking words of wisdom, let it be.

Let it be, let it be, let it be, let it be.
Whisper words of wisdom, let it be.

And when the broken hearted people living in the world agree,
there will be an answer, let it be.
For though they may be parted there is still a chance that they will see,
there will be an answer. let it be.

Let it be, let it be, .....

And when the night is cloudy, there is still a light, that shines on me,
shine until tomorrow, let it be.
I wake up to the sound of music, mother Mary comes to me,
speaking words of wisdom, let it be.