A little deeper than *meh*

Commuters on Pine Street in Seattle - December 19th, 2008. Photo by me, of course!

There are big D's and little d's when it comes to feeling depressed - excluding clinical depression. You know, the highs and the lows we all go through.

This picture is just a few years ago in 2008, taken just a few days before Christmas and all was well. This was a happy day (of course, it snowed - a LOT!) and I remember there were some *meh* days and some good days. Little d's for me - not really even depression, almost something that was brought on my myself. You know feeling a little bad because you ate the whole box of cookies, or just feeling lazy one Sunday morning and not making it to the gym - it leaves you feeling *meh*.

I don't think I've ever known real depression and sadness until now - my first of Big D's. I've had my beloved dogs pass away, my grandparents and aunts and uncles... even friends my age in their 30's die from cancer or car accidents, but still never landed in a Big D.

Honestly, it's still kinda the same except the swell is just bigger. It permeates more of my everyday life and sinks into the bone at times, but then amazingly it lifts and I feel better for awhile. Sometimes I worry the swell of the Big D is too big and I'll get sucked under and wont be able to ride it out but it seems to be OK.

I've opted out of prescription anti-depressants and opted instead for something called 5-htp which works to help me manage but doesn't eliminate the Big D's - which I prefer.

Anyways, looking forward to those little d's again. Yesterday was particularly bad with all the Christmas stuff - looking for trees and decorating the tree, wrapping presents etc.- all things which were very special and bonding mother-son times for me when I was a kid and as an adult. Actually, especially as an adult - because we carved out time from our busy schedules to be with each other. I worried that I wouldn't be able to shake it then suddenly noticed I was feeling much better by the afternoon and evening. Whew.... what a feeling of relief! A sense of feeling normal again.

I know I seem to go on about this but even writing this down helps. Now I have that song stuck in my head... "I'm going through the Bid D and don't mean Dallas... I can't believe what the judge had to tell us... I got the Jeep and she got the Palace..." yeah, different Big D!

A time to say goodbye?

I thought today as I reflected upon the past Thanksgiving holiday  - specifically Thursday, which we spent at my (deceased) parents house - that going there, celebrating there, inviting friends and family there with everything in tact and unmoved since my dad passed away in March allowed us to celebrate Thanksgiving as our old family one last time. A year ago we didn't know that was our last Thanksgiving together as a family, so this year we acted as if they were still and that this was our last year together with them, even though they are already gone. If that makes sense.

And I know people say "Oh, but they are always with you!" which may be true, but this year we acted as if they were actually here, not just with us in spirit. We prepared the same foods, prepared the house, ate off the same dishes - the whole shebang. It might seem a little creepy or odd, but I think my sister and I needed this. I'm not sure we'll do Christmas the same way, maybe this was all we needed - but I don't think we'll be here next year.

It's all part of saying (or not saying) goodbye, which is hard and I haven't done... maybe it would be more accurate if I said I'm not done... yet. It's hard to imagine that you can never talk, see or touch the person you loved most in this world ever again. Right now it still feels as if they are here, just not right in front of me. Maybe in another room or on vacation, but not gone forever... I can't imagine that.

I called their home phone the other day ( I have not disconnected their line yet) and hearing my mom's voice on their voice mail didn't get me emotional, it just sounded and felt so normal. I was surprised that I didn't feel moved or that it didn't seem like a nostalgic memory. It felt very current, and I could have left a message like "mom - dad - it's me, call me back!" but didn't, mostly because I didn't want my sister to hear it, get emotional, and more importantly - discover that I randomly call their number. This is so not letting go... yet!

So I know the day is coming, and maybe it's not an actual day but a slow passing of time that allows me to think of things differently. I can almost hear well intended friends asking me if I've processed through their death, if I've let go - and insisting that there is a specific way to deal with letting go. Even more annoying would be friends insisting that regardless of what I have already done, I haven't really really let go, and should immediately make a plan to do so upon hearing their words of wisdom. These plans often involve burning sage, visiting a seaside cliff, screaming or making an appointment with a therapist. I think I'll stick to what I've been doing - talking with my parents, my family, crying, being angry, mad and sad... rinse, wash, repeat.

But I know what the other side of letting go will look like for me, or at least I think I know. When I let go and the event of their passing lifts from my shoulders, it will allow me to stop thinking of their last moments with us as if they happened yesterday; it will allow me to think beyond my parents' final days and caring for their dying comfort; it will allow me to be at peace with their death and allow me to talk with my parents freely, not with questions of their wellness, about their passing, about how things could have gone differently; it will allow me to appreciate my parents as the whole, wonderful people they were throughout their entire lives; it will allow me to live free of  second-guessing the decisions I made on their behalf; it will allow me to be happy again.

I know I have not said goodbye, but I will.

Eventually.

A Psychic?!

My dad with me on the way back from getting
some firewood the September before he died.

I'm currently whittling my way through something called probate (something you have to do when you are the executor to an estate). I'm actually signing over the deed to my parents' house this week, working with a probate lawyer on a few other nightmares and trying to decide what to do with some unsettled finances.

This is where the psychic comes in!

Apparently, my mom's best friend spoke with my sister this week and she went to a psychic (I would never guess her to see a psychic, but hey - it was for charity!). She learned that my parents are apparently with my sister night and day, never leaving her side! WOW! Even if you don't believe in spirits and psychics, the idea just makes you feel better. She was also told that their son, which would be me, needs to "tell them what I want!" Tell whom, exactly? That's the big question!

Are they referencing love, money, jobs? I know my mom wanted me to marry Matthew and have babies, but she knows I do what I want.. I know my parents pretty much trust me to do what I please in the job arena as well. So the big things are pretty much settled. The one thing I can think of is... these damn unsettled accounts!

So yes, as non-romantic and life changing as it may seem, I feel that if there was one thing my parents would want, it would be to "tell them [finance folks] exactly what I want [long list of options]."

Consider that one of the last things my dad said as he was dying in the hospital, gasping for breath, was that we return his medical equipment and call his medical suppliers so that no extra fees would be assessed and equipment delivered. He made us promise to do this immediately following his passing. I think it gave him a sense of cohesion, a sense of still being our father, dictating as he always did, and of reassuring us that life needs to go on - and more importantly, go on as scheduled. Because he was an hour early for every appointment in his life after all...

I can only imagine how much anxiety my dad would have knowing that I might wait until the last possible month to file some of these papers!

I'd better get moving.

Little names.

Ame calls Ian E. E for the first sound in the already short name, Ian.

When she stares at herself in my iPhone and asks "who dat," I say Amelia. "Amee-yah," she says.
But really we all call her Ame, pronounced Ahh-mee.

That is, when we're not calling her 'Cessa (with the C as an S sound) - short for PrinCESSA.

'Cessa.

Ian says "Shesha," unable to say the 'S'.

Of course this is just the last bit of short names added to a long list of short names,  a tradition that seems to extend indefinitely on both sides of our family. I can tell you this: my sister is this generations name shortening extraordinaire!

We had a beautiful yellow lab that we called Noid. Short for Mitz-noid, a derivative of her real name, Mitzi.
That one somehow got longer. So we went from Mitzi, to Mitz-noid, to 'Noid.

Often the end result has no similarity to the original name; it's not like Mike for Michael... it's more like Dick for Richard!

Perhaps my favorite is my sisters short name: "Tos," like toast without the 't'.

It *is* actual short for "Toast," which is a shortened form of the name "Toast 'em," which is a shortened version of "Toast 'em Up." My father gave my sister this nick-name based on her daily routine; as she would get ready for school she would drop bread in the toaster and run to fix her hair and make-up... my father would listen for it intently and shout down the hall towards the bathroom "Toast em up!" when it popped. Since it happened daily, we used it as a sort of warning bell to be ready for school and never really used it as a name until one when my dad yelled in a crowd 'Toast 'em up!" while looking for my sister. Within a short time he used it whenever he wanted to get her attention and shortened it to "Toast!" then somehow, like the 't' was too much, dropped to "Tos!"

My father is dead now but I can still hear him yell and it still makes me smile, "Tos!" The funny thing is that it sounds exactly like "toes," which is ironic because my sister thinks feet and toes are the grossest part of the body and will deny owning any of her own. I wonder if she has thought about it. I won't tell her, just in case.

Speaking of 'sounds like'... did I mention her real name is Julia? Very pretty. But I've always - since childhood - opted for a shorter, simpler "Ju." Which, sounds exactly like.... "Jew."

Ju. Jew. Sounds same.

Apparently, whenever I've been trying to get my sister's attention among throngs of people I've been yelling "Jew! Jew!/Ju! Ju!".

And my short name is G...  short for Michael.

Hair?! SCHMARE!

[repost from a locked post a few weeks ago]

I really just wanted to show off some - o - my body. per usual.

Folsom is approaching, so I hope to get only more rockin over the next few weeks.

My hair is gettin a long long LAWNGGGGUH. But it doesn't make me any less beautiful, does it? I quite like it. Gives ya'll somethin to hold on to during that wild ride, I say!

Google owns Blogger... FINALLY!

After much trial and error, I realized that the reason I could not log in to this blog to FINALLY (after 5 years) update my blog is not that I couldn't remember my Yahoo! email associated password, but because Blogger, now a part of Google, is closing the gap and requiring ALL users (including pre-Google association) to have a Google associated account. In other words, if you don't have a _____@gmail.com login, you need to make the "migration" or forever lose your content the day before Halloween. That is, October 30th, 2011.

Luckily, I just happened to secure my account with my pre-existing Gmail account.

Long live duckylick.blogspot.com!

This is my first post.

No one will read this.

No one knows its here.

I'm not sure if this will be emotional and the galaxy is the limit type of thing, or to start on something very direct and divisive like institutional racism.

Hmmm.