Last Words

It has been a rough month since my dad passed. The funeral, the family issues, the constant driving to Bellingham. However, I am a very very lucky person, I got to speak to my dad as he was passing away.

There are no real lost words or expressions of love. We have always told each other that we love each other. While my childhood had a lot of problems with poverty and alcoholism, there was never a lack of love. That includes actually saying it and showing it, not just an “unacknowledged” understanding.

Jello and I were fortunate though. Jello was able to talk with him on the phone before my dad lost the ability to talk that way. I know Jello wished he could have made it up to see dad, but the surgery results wouldn’t let him travel that far.

I was fortunate as well. While I was up visiting my mom as she and the rest of my family watched over him in the last week. I went into the bedroom, hugged him, kissed his forehead and told him that Jello and I loved him.

As if from a zombie movie, his eyes shot open and focused on me. There was a bit of shock on my part, he had been unconscious all day, hadn’t really even responded to me earlier. He grabbed my head and lifted himself up to kiss me, hug me and tell me how much he loved Jello and myself and how proud he was of us.

We talked for a few minutes more, but he was so tired and exerting so much effort that I just laid beside him for a minute and told him it was ok. I was there. He went back to sleep.

That was the last time I talked to him. I know he woke up and talked a bit with the rest of my family, and when I came up the day before he passed I sat with him for hours holding his hand as he slept. He would  respond if I told him I loved him by squeezing my hand. I probably could have pushed him to come up again, but he was finally resting, no pain, no trouble breathing and he was calm. So I just held his hand.

I am back!

MyTwoBoys
My two boys!

I am back!

This will probably be a short update purely due to exhaustion. I did want to pop in and say I am alive and I will be updating a lot of stuff soon. It went really well comparatively. I missed the husband a lot, but Philadelphia beats out Atlanta on every single category (nicer, more progressive, more LGBT friendly, better weather).

I am still hit with jet lag, but I think tomorrow I will post a ton of things here, plus on accidentallygay.

It is just good to be home, especially with a husband and a cat who both really missed me.

Ice

Had another dream last night, once again I didn’t write it out immediately so it is a bit blurry.

It started out that I lived in what seemed to be an area much like Bellingham, except it was dead of winter and everything was iced over as if a bad snow/ice storm had occurred. The house I lived in looked partially burned down, things were all icy on the inside as well (as if it had rained, or perhaps the fire department had been there).

It was cold and I was wandering through the ruins of a giant house, then it morphed into along the streets. At some point the dream had morphed again into being on a large scientific vessel in the deep ocean. We ended up somewhere down in the artic. There seemed to be a huge ship that had been lost, we started exploring it as some sort of salvage type of experience.

As we explored the frozen ship, people started to go crazy. It was a bit like a horror movie, by the end of it some of my crew had bashed each other’s heads in, or killed each other or even themselves in some other pretty horrific horror movie, style. This occurred for quite a while. It appeared that we as the crew of the exploring ship, were exposed to something that made us all crazy. The remaining crew were hiding in different rooms and I was eventually approached by a group that they were going to kill me (they had been going room to room killing people). They had found me guilty for some crazy idea, that I couldn’t even explain now. I somehow talked them into letting me do it myself and they gave me an hour to finish the business.

It was about this time that I noticed we were near land, (as in only a couple hundred feet) and there was a town on the land. It appeared to be a nameless Canadian town (a Canadian chain restaurant I can’t remember now, maple leaf flag, etc). I jumped into the icy water and swam there instead of “taking care of myself”. I walked into the small town’s park in the center and I noted in the distance a couple of the buildings were on fire.

I also noticed screams and people being chased. Crazy parents having their kids play in the park, some of the kids had been killed and propped on swings. Other parents were encouraging kids to kill homeless while others appeared totally rational and going about their daily business (which seemed even crazier then the killers who were acting weird). I was sneaking through the town trying to find dry clothing and food.

I woke up at this time, unfortunately I needed to go to work. The fan was blowing cold air on me, so at least I understood why the entire dream took place in a frozen place.

Fred Phelps

Today there was an article that Fred Phelps, the founder of Westboro Baptist Church, is in a hospice dying. I have thought about this day in the far past, the final days of one of the most hateful men is actually something I put thought into before.

Years ago I would have cheered his death. I would have hollered, hooted and made it a reason to throw a party. Even before my husband came out, I had many friends (including my at the time wife) who were either gay or bisexual. Not only that, but his treatment of pretty much everyone else made me hope for his death. It wasn’t just the protests of funerals, but the way he treated his own church members as well.

I would hope not only that he dies, but that he would die in extreme agony, alone and distraught that no one cared for him. I even hoped that maybe he would think at the end that it had all been a lie. I hoped for whatever last moment crushing of his spirit (and body) that could happen.

However, today when I heard about his impending death I realized a few things.

  1. I haven’t actually thought about him in a long time, even when I see the shenanigans on the tv, he leaves my mind as soon as the news article is over. I haven’t given him a single ounce of energy beyond the initial response everyone has to his church’s actions.
  2. I realized that I wasn’t ecstatic that he was dying. There is no overwhelming joy, and no desire to throw a party. In fact I kind of felt empty about it.
  3. After I read the article, my response was for me to hope that he found some sort of peace in these last few days. I know some people don’t think he was troubled by what he did, and that may be true. Something was broken inside of him though, I hope maybe he got some clarity.

I am not sure what the change in my outlook is, or really when it happened. I suspect as I grow older that maybe I take a longer view of the world, or maybe I have just seen enough hatred in the world that I don’t want to give it any more energy then it gets from me.

I don’t forgive him for what he did, and I wouldn’t weep if he ended up in his own hell (if something like that exists), but I don’t have the hatred myself towards him. Unlike a lot of people who are crowing upon his demise, I just sighed, clicked the link and moved on (well except for this blog post and my realization I didn’t have the hatred anymore).

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2014/03/16/fred-phelps-dying-death-westboro-baptist_n_4974584.html