Stroke 2: The First Anniversary

It was almost this time exactly one year ago that Dad lost his voice forever.

It's a debate in my mind whether or not today marks a day darker than August 3 when he passed. In August he was released whereas on May 8 he was trapped.

I agreed to work a full day at the bookstore today without realizing what today was. But I'm glad I did in some respects, it probably kept me from bawling all day. There is a funeral at the building today which makes for an interesting environment. It makes for a somber one certainly, which is how I feel too so at least we're all together in it.

I made the mistake of listening to the tape that I most remember him playing in the car when I was a kid. I was in the fetal position within a track. (Also, it's a really good album)

Dream (again)

I had the best dream this morning. We lived in some beach town for the summer. Mom had work and I stayed home to take care of Dad. He was doing beautifully. He could walk and talk a little, his spirits were up and we laughed like old times. I could tell he was still sick but I felt like we were winning.

And then I watched some weird music video, it was a strange animation and it was supposed to be some Kurt Cobain song about his wife and daughter who he was about to leave behind. The lyrics were something like, “she’s my Diana but I feel like I must go home”. And I knew it was the end of the dream.

I woke up and cried. For those first few moments of consciousness I thought Dad was going to be okay, we would get him through and we could all be happy again.

3 Minutes of Pure Joy

The highlight of my work day yesterday was a fellow carrying a copy of American Gods.

“Do you like Neil Gaiman??!!” I asked excitedly. Then he did the best thing — he asked for my recommendations and feelings about Neil Gaiman.

Needless to say he now has a list in his head of what to read next.

To the Departed

Christmas was not always the biggest thing in the Scott household. When I was little we lived with my grandmother who hosted the whole unwrapping, watching football, devouring large meals (ambrosia I remember clearly) affair. After we moved out though, my memories of Christmas at home are rather scant. This isn’t to say my folks cruelly denied me happy memories or experiences, far from. But we tended to give each other little presents pretty regularly. And for the most part we did the gifts in January (uh sales, hello?). When I was quite small my mom worked at the hospital on Christmas so a postponement was a tradition in itself. We went to family functions (like my grandmother’s) so I never actually “missed” Christmas. Okay, except the year I had mono and slept for almost all of December. But on the whole, when I think of Christmas I think of watching “Star Wars” on cable, sleeping late, and reading.

Christmas Eve is forever imprinted in my mind as my Aunt’s (one of Dad’s sisters) night to shine. I picture roast beef, pearl onions, Yorkshire pudding and crackers. I did not know that Christmas crackers weren’t a regular American Christmas tradition until I was well into my teens. What kind of poor kids didn’t get to wear crowns and hear terrible jokes? I think of being with my Dad in particular, I usually stuck close to him at family events.

My Aunt did the dinner again this year and it was strange not having Dad there. But not as strange as I thought. I worried I’d be sullen and detached but I wasn’t. My cousin, who is now the mother of two (almost three) beautiful children, lost her father fairly recently as well. Perhaps I drew strength from her.

We talked about him and raised a toast to the departed. Maybe because his absence was addressed I was kept buoyed and didn’t have an inclination to drift off into a griever’s tempest. (It also helped that I didn’t go heavy on wine, I’m sure.)

I’m really glad it was almost like the “old days” though, to miss it would have been much harder, too much distance. The meal was as delicious as I remember and it was amusing to not be the little one in the room anymore. Plus, a quick glance to my aunt’s bookshelves revealed some nice treats (we Scotts are a well-read bunch :P)

But, as I told my aunt and grandmother, with tears in my eyes, “Everyday. I miss him everyday.”

(Above: Christmas 1991. L-R: My sister, myself, Dad and my Uncle. Love to the departed two.)

Hark! A Villain

There is a villain in the background of Amelia Peabody’s life being referenced in Lion in the Valley. I’m guessing I would know his exploits if I’d read the Amelia Peabody series in order. Anywho, he is referred to as “The Master Criminal”. I know I should be intrigued and concerned by his shadowy existence but all I can think of is “Nemesis” from the comic Hark! A Vagrant by Kate Beaton.This is comic #327, PS.