Sunday, July 31, 2011

I Cannot Dwell On It

It's Sunday morning, July 31st.

I am home alone but for the dog, cat, and turtle. Michael joined Claire in San Diego on Thursday to visit his eighty-five year old mother and family. 

I'm thinking of yesterday morning when Dad was here. He'd come to stay for two days. There was a dental appointment and a friend's art opening.

And then later, the email I sent Michael.

it's a beautiful day here...clear, sunny, a bit of a breeze.was up early. took dad back. left him in the foyer of mrs. bush's, he hugged me and walked down the hall with his bag and Thai hat and walking stick. Earlier he had popped out a bunch of his meds, scattering them on the kitchen floor. i found two red pills later. 

working through the general heartache of watching him "lose it", a little at a time, and wishing my brothers were also a part of this process, driving him, seeing him. it just feels like a heaviness right now.

i am cleaning the house and breathing and encouraging myself to detach with love from any heaviness i am holding around dad and his aging and all the other stuff with him...

and... we had a good two days. now I'm glad to have the house to myself. 

except i'm missing you.

he wrote back ~

there is some losing it going on here too; but I cannot dwell on it.

claire said she likes the pier, she likes pelicans and seagulls and the mussels and fish innards and the feel of the ocean and all its stuff, in so many or little words.

It's another summer morning. The best kind.

soft air
cup of tea 
new baby birds squawking to be fed
Chewy working over the torn-up basketball

I told myself no filling the space with television or radio
Instead I'm back-porch sitting, listening to the multitudes in the yard, asking the light to wash over me.


  1. Blessings to you, Betsy. I'm always touched to the heart by your reflections.

  2. Blessings right back, Karen! Thanks so much for reading...