• Skip to primary navigation
  • Skip to main content
  • Skip to primary sidebar
  • Skip to footer
  • About
  • Contact
  • Blog
  • San Diego Momma
  • Nav Social Menu

    • Email
    • Facebook
    • Instagram
    • Pinterest
    • Twitter
San Diego Momma

San Diego Momma

Sharing some humor, a bit of writing and way too much information

Home / Etcetera / Climbing the Steps

Climbing the Steps

Etcetera

“Do you think of your life?”

 

I couldn’t ask, because we don’t talk that way. But I watched his eyes squint nonetheless.

 

“Do you think of your life, Dad?” The words seeps from my fingers instead. It’s the only way to get them down. They’re not something I say out loud.

 

It used to be we couldn’t talk that way simply because he wasn’t home much. A business trip, a move, a plan of some sort. He felt best in motion; most alive I supposed. Less likely to think about…death? Whatever it was, he couldn’t sit still. I began to imagine that if he sat immobile for any length of time, he’d fade away, slip through life.

 

He sits more now, and I pretend not to notice.

 

He calls weekly with news of a death in the family, a cancer, a sudden illness. My Uncle Smitty choked during lunch, suffered cardiac arrest, and died a week later. He wasn’t much younger than my dad; we send condolences and flowers and wonder:

 

“Do you think of your life?”

 

His best friend heard from the oncologist. The lung cancer howls from a safe distance. Today, he’s OK. I look through mustard yellow photo albums; he and my dad lounge against one of the cars of the day, smoking, laughing, living.

 

I don’t think I want the photos from now; the needles in the arm, the shadows in the eyes.

 

My dad lives with my step-mom in a condo complex filled with old people. He became president of the condo association because everyone kept dying, and they couldn’t keep anyone in office for long. He laughs when he says this; always a joke on his lips, a pretend heart attack for laughs, a brush-off of imminent death.

 

During a recent joke, a darkness flits across his face, a temporary jolt, a pause in the laughter, a realization we both refuse to acknowledge.

 

So we watch TV. His old friends are gone: Jackie Gleason, Bob Hope, John Wayne, but there’s a show on PBS about country music.

 

Even his beloved Kenny Rogers looks different.

 

He falls asleep in the recliner, a comforting image from my childhood, when his loud snoring assured me he was home.

 

In between business trips, my dad reluctantly visited the doctors my mom made him see. In the days and hours before his appointments, he yelled and resisted and teased, “If I’m going to die, I don’t want to know it.”

 

But there was the diabetes and the high blood pressure; the ulcers and the dangerous cholesterol. The chicken-fried steak for breakfast and the homemade french fries for dinner, the forgetting to take his pills and the blood sugar blackouts.

 

My healthy mom died before he did.

 

I don’t know if that’s what causes his shadows.

 

Last year, he began sending his children stories. Long-forgotten and unspoken. Our lineage, our hometown in Norway, great-grandma Josie’s predilection for liquor. One email, titled simply “Mom and I” recounted the story of how they met in such vivid detail I read through tears. It began:

 

Hi Guys,

Seeing as I am on a roll, I thought you guys might like to hear how Mom and I met and moved into marriage. This is a tough one…

 

I wonder what it was like for him to write knowing he’s all that’s left of him and her.

 

Last month, my dad returned from his childhood home in Sparta, Wisconsin. My step-mom’s sister-in-law passed away a month earlier and her house needed to be cleared out. No family close by was much alive to complete the job. He and my step-mom spent three weeks sorting and cataloging and dumping. They managed to see some of their high school friends while in town and my dad called me on the way home, melancholy.

 

“Not many of us are healthy anymore” he told me.

 

I knew better than to respond. He doesn’t talk that way too much, and I opened my heart to give his words some space.

 

A beat, not even a minute later, and he began to joke again; but I’d glimpsed the shadow.

 

I thought of all this the other day when I watched a movie that took place in the 70s. The soundtrack evoked that first stingpunch of summer love, the must of the gymnasium during P.E., the cloudiness of marshmallow fluff. My soul alternated between flying and crying. So many days, so many days…turning into…another kind of day. A year, a decade, a mustard yellow photo album.

 

Or the dry bite of bread pudding every day for a year when money grew tight, the dark smudge of newspaper ink smeared on fingers picking up news of World War 11, the phantom ache of a sister plucked by cancer in the middle of the night.

 

A million things like that, singular and collective; each of us alone, each of us the same with the thought, with the letters, with the shadows. My dad’s unmouthed questions are mine now and on it will go. One day my daughter may write them like me and on it will go. On and on and on.

 

But today is today, until it’s tomorrow.

 

Do you think of your life?

 

Share this:

  • Twitter
  • Facebook

July 11, 2011 · 22 Comments

Sure I’d love to see you again

Previous Post: « Education Kills Creativity
Next Post: PROMPTuesday #161: Summer Memories »

Reader Interactions

Leave a Reply Cancel reply

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.

Comments

  1. Trish says

    July 11, 2011 at 2:38 pm

    Beautiful.

    Reply
  2. Momo Fali says

    July 11, 2011 at 2:45 pm

    My heart is heavy. I can’t bring myself to ask my parents that question.

    Reply
  3. Ali says

    July 11, 2011 at 3:00 pm

    What a thought-invoking post…beautifully written, as always! I don’t just wonder about my elders and whether THEY think of their lives, but I think of my own, as well, and wonder which memories I will share with my kids, and how…and which ones I will never get the chance to share.

    Reply
  4. Casey says

    July 11, 2011 at 3:00 pm

    Wow. I’m speechless. I check in with your blog from time to time (new to San Diego). Your writing is fantastic. I love this post.

    I don’t have a relationship with my parents, sadly. But, I knew my grandparents well. I’ll take that.

    Reply
  5. christy says

    July 11, 2011 at 3:00 pm

    Oh man. I do think about it, and I don’t dare ask anyone I love about this. I don’t know why, I guess I just can’t handle it. Absolutely lovely read though – I’m glad you shared it.

    Reply
  6. Smalltown Mom says

    July 11, 2011 at 4:14 pm

    Beautiful writing. That really hit me. I lost so many wonderful family stories when my mom and her sister died. I am really grateful I coerced my dad into writing most of his autobiography. That’s a little piece of him that I and his grandsons will have forever.

    Reply
  7. Alexandra says

    July 11, 2011 at 7:05 pm

    I could talk of this forever.

    I have a mother who won’t speak of her life.

    My history end with her.

    Reply
  8. Shary says

    July 11, 2011 at 7:24 pm

    Thank you for this post. I talk to my parents often and most of our conversations are about family news, but from time to time, we talk about what really matters. I’m inspired to aim for that more often.

    Reply
  9. Michelle M. Jones says

    July 11, 2011 at 9:32 pm

    Intense. Perfect.

    Reply
  10. Playing4 says

    July 11, 2011 at 11:10 pm

    Absolutely beautiful! I Love your work! Thank You.

    Reply
  11. green girl in wisconsin says

    July 12, 2011 at 9:00 am

    This post makes me sad. I have no ties to any past, but thankfully I have a mother in law who is passing along her life with our kids. But my branch of the tree? Dead. Withered and chopped off.

    Reply
  12. Cheap Sally says

    July 12, 2011 at 12:22 pm

    So heart-wrenching. Thank you for opening up and sharing this.

    Reply
  13. Dennis says

    July 12, 2011 at 9:25 pm

    Makes your heart ache. I spent some time with a family member by his bed recently. He told me stories about all the best memories in his life. Sad to think that he’s not making very many beautiful memories anymore. So very sad.

    Reply
  14. Mama Mary says

    July 13, 2011 at 8:39 pm

    So much I want to write but I need to go find the Kleenex box. And actually, I can’t even find the words. Only ones I can choke out through my fingers are: I love you.

    Reply
  15. Monica says

    July 13, 2011 at 8:51 pm

    How poignant. It’s important to talk about these things while you can, but very difficult. Both my parents died years ago. My mother who was younger, died first. My father was already very ill and I remember talking to him, and he kept repeating the same thing. He wanted to die and there was nothing me or my siblings could do. Soon enough he got his wish. He just saw no point to going on without my mother. Thanks for sharing your story.

    Reply
  16. Cheryl @ Mommypants says

    July 13, 2011 at 9:08 pm

    Jeebus Deb, you brought it. Wow. Amazingly written. I’m blown away. Truly.

    xo

    Reply
  17. Jessica says

    July 13, 2011 at 9:17 pm

    yet again, brilliant. My dad returns from Canada and each time says the same thing, “all my friends are dead or demented”. He’s 84.

    Reply
  18. Joann Woolley says

    July 14, 2011 at 9:50 pm

    It was a little like reading Edgar Allen Poe… you captured it so well. I think I might call my mom tomorrow. We haven’t talked in months.

    Reply
  19. Tim@sogeshirts says

    July 15, 2011 at 1:28 pm

    Thought provoking, sad, and just fantastic writing by you Deb. Makes me think how short it really is for everyone.

    Reply
  20. Sugar Jones says

    July 18, 2011 at 4:46 pm

    Wow. What a gift to get those letters from your dad. I have a few old letters from my dad. Of regret mostly. I wish we would have had more time to talk about life.

    Reply
  21. Teresa says

    August 1, 2011 at 7:50 pm

    Wow!

    Reply
  22. Nichole says

    October 4, 2012 at 10:12 am

    It was beautiful and haunting when you read it at CA, and it’s every bit as amazing here.
    So beautifully done, my friend.
    xo

    Reply

Primary Sidebar

I love words. Every one, every time. (Except “moist.” That word can go.) …read more

  • Email
  • Facebook
  • Instagram
  • Pinterest
  • Twitter

Sure. I’d love to see you again.

Categories

Archives

Blogroll

  • Blog This Mom
  • Da Goddess
  • Dirt and Noise
  • Discover San Diego
  • Foolery
  • Juggling Life
  • Mama Mary Show
  • Mel, A Dramatic Mommy
  • Mom Zombie
  • Mommy’s Martini
  • Motherhood is Not for Wimps
San Diego Momma

Footer

Archives

  • Email
  • Facebook
  • Instagram
  • Pinterest
  • Twitter

Categories

sandiegomomma

sandiegomomma
Back in Lake Geneva after 36 years… Circumstance Back in Lake Geneva after 36 years…
Circumstances have changed since post-Prom-picnic-circa-1986-vibes…
#WhereIsBryanAdamsNow
Dorm drop! 🏫👩‍🏫🥲💕 Dorm drop!
🏫👩‍🏫🥲💕
💫Travel poster for Saturday wine tasting.💫 💫Travel poster for Saturday wine tasting.💫
Celebrating the new 16-year-old with a quick Santa Celebrating the new 16-year-old with a quick Santa Monica trip.
And now she knows she doesn’t want to live in LA….
#LifeLessons
It’s happening….. It’s happening…..
Barely tolerating me….. Barely tolerating me…..
Beach day with my “little” one while big sis e Beach day with my “little” one while big sis explores Cal Poly…
Life transitions. Beautiful but I haz the olds.
#NotAboutMe #Whhhhyyyyy
A rare Bubbie sighting. Spotted in the wild. #HeDo A rare Bubbie sighting. Spotted in the wild. #HeDoesntLikePictures
Sunset squad. Brought a picnic and drinks to Del M Sunset squad.
Brought a picnic and drinks to Del Mar and watched the waves and horizon. Not too crowded or cold - another good hang with the neighborhood gang! ❤️❤️
Imprinting 2021 holidays on my brain (and in my In Imprinting 2021 holidays on my brain (and in my Instagram) (and in my antibodies). It’s a COVID New Year’s Eve…
Husband and I down for the count(down).
BUT. We’re doing decent and it’s cozy up in here…
Winery times! Winery times!
Guys on couch watching football; girls in kitchen Guys on couch watching football; girls in kitchen talking about everything.
Smells like a Sunday neighbor night. ;)
Line dancing lessons… My two left feet did nothi Line dancing lessons…
My two left feet did nothing right - but they did it with gusto.
Looking for a new book to read! #BookClub Despite Looking for a new book to read! #BookClub Despite the seeming divine intervention from above, we weren’t struck with the “perfect” next book to put on our list…..
Post-white-water-rafting super exhaustion. (Oh my Post-white-water-rafting super exhaustion.
(Oh my gosh you guys…! No! I’m not a sports model! But I totally understand how you might think so.) 😜😜😜
I wanted my hair to do that. #NordicSisters I wanted my hair to do that.
#NordicSisters
Dad’s hats on the people who loved/knew/laughed/ Dad’s hats on the people who loved/knew/laughed/sang with him.
Miss you Dad. Hope we do your hats justice. Lord knows we’ll have fun in them, just like you did. 😇
Paso Robles! Wine tasting beauty. It’s stunning Paso Robles! Wine tasting beauty. It’s stunning here. And the landscape is nice too ;).
Found my brother’s old ad copy. Good fun-writing Found my brother’s old ad copy. Good fun-writing inspiration...
Just in case I wasn’t feeling ancient enough, th Just in case I wasn’t feeling ancient enough, the rainbow jumper and white bobby socks oughta do it. No but wait! There’s a bowl cut. Annnnnnnddd giant gold-rimmed specs.
#CentennialFashion
Load More... Follow on Instagram
  • About
  • Contact
  • Privacy Policy

Copyright © 2023 · Hello Chicky

We use cookies on our website to give you the most relevant experience by remembering your preferences and repeat visits. By clicking “Accept”, you consent to the use of ALL the cookies.
Do not sell my personal information.
Cookie settingsACCEPT
Privacy & Cookies Policy

Privacy Overview

This website uses cookies to improve your experience while you navigate through the website. Out of these cookies, the cookies that are categorized as necessary are stored on your browser as they are essential for the working of basic functionalities of the website. We also use third-party cookies that help us analyze and understand how you use this website. These cookies will be stored in your browser only with your consent. You also have the option to opt-out of these cookies. But opting out of some of these cookies may have an effect on your browsing experience.
Necessary
Always Enabled
Necessary cookies are absolutely essential for the website to function properly. This category only includes cookies that ensures basic functionalities and security features of the website. These cookies do not store any personal information.
Non-necessary
Any cookies that may not be particularly necessary for the website to function and is used specifically to collect user personal data via analytics, ads, other embedded contents are termed as non-necessary cookies. It is mandatory to procure user consent prior to running these cookies on your website.
SAVE & ACCEPT